Not praying for ten strings

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky.
Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist.
Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody.
Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell.
Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly—
"Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you."
Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, "the Just", the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.

Super Righteous Player

"Jiu'er is playing the role of Philip's mother now, isn't she..."


Annans's expression suddenly turned somewhat strange.


Although he still found it difficult to associate that delicate elven girl—with her bright golden curls and bright emerald eyes that shone like a doll's—with Philip, the dead fat man.


But looking at Jiu'er now, he could probably imagine what the "The Rhetorician" Philip looked like in those days.


Annan suddenly realized something, "What about Nafry Flamel? Since she was able to come back as the cornerstone of this nightmare, doesn't that mean she didn't die at least until after Philip had grown up?"


Chapter 408: The Emperor's Teacher