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

"Become the Charioteer... control the Power of the Chariot?"


    It seemed like nothing but a delusion.


    "But since you chose to appear before me at this time," Annan narrowed his eyes, "and tell me all of this... does it mean that your chosen time has already arrived?"


    He looked at Annan and concluded, "You will not die here today.


    "But I will completely control your mind... as a ritual, to ascend as the Charioteer and reclaim the great power buried in history.


    "What this world needs is not Annan Winter, but the Chariot—if I indeed have the potential to become the Chariot, then as for our destinies, and who overpowers whom... it will all come down to skill."


    How could he completely control me?


Chapter 458: Instant, or Eternity