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

"——My life had already been completely changed."


Wang Shouyi—or rather "Thirteen Fragrances," had become very aware of this fact.


When he was very young, he had dreamt of an otherworld.


It should be the magical imaginings everyone had as a child—opening one's wardrobe to find it led to a wondrous, novel otherworld; or walking through some rarely trodden alley to arrive at an underground gathering of monsters or something; or going on adventures in dreams with classmates and friends every day, then waking up to resume the identity of a normal person and carry on with daily life.


Of course... Such legends-filled romantic fantasies vanished as one grew up.


It wasn't that adults had their imaginations stifled.


Chapter 430: Childhood Dream