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

Annand immediately became somewhat interested, "Can you tell me more?"


Nigel substituted tea for wine and took a small sip.


He then sighed and began to recount to Annan the story of his journey from the beginning:


"At first, I received a letter from an old friend. He helped me out a lot when I had just returned to the world of art... He is a wizard and a well-known artist within the industry, a student of the legendary 'Eye of Lag.'


"When I came back to the art world, I was sorely lacking in fame. I had considerable confidence in my paintings at that time—after all, they were ones that Yawen had deemed 'acceptable.'


"But in the end, they were only 'acceptable,' not 'very good' or 'nice.' My skin wasn't thick enough to exploit Yawen's slight praise to promote myself under his name.


Chapter 14: The Imprisoned Light