There were approximately twenty-six days left until the arrival of the A-ranked national-level sequential game.
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News Update One: "Abnormal Weather in the Open Sea, Airline Routes Blocked"
As night fell, in the depths of the world unknown to humans, a massive tsunami surged and churned, creating waves hundreds of meters high. Life was forbidden!
The towering lighthouse on the solitary island trembled incessantly as the night watchman prostrated himself under the calamity, gazing at the struggling cargo ships in the distant deep sea.
Roar—Woo—
The roar of a colossal beast echoed through the night, tearing through the atmosphere, crushing everything in its path, making even the roar of a falling whale seem insignificant.
"My luck is terrible. I knew it would be the 'Vanguard' rank again..."
Amidst thunder echoing in the black clouds, where the sky and earth lost their colors, atop a legendary monster towering five hundred and seventy-two meters high, Perpetual Night's Lament, the third-ranked member, the Monster Cultivator, stood with a dejected look, hands in his pockets, his water-stained white lab coat billowing in the wind.
Woo—the low growl of the monster scared away seagulls, shaking the seas in all directions!
Advancing, heading towards the direction of Z-country, advancing, stirring up endless waves.
Perpetual Night's Lament.
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News Update Two: "Forecast: Rare Century-Long Meteor Shower Approaching"
In the tranquil Purple Wisteria Garden, ancient and intricate magical books moved on their own without wind, and Perpetual Night's Lament, the tenth-ranked Witch, set down her porcelain tea cup.
Around her, not only was there a deep purple night color, but also an eighteen-layer, extremely large-scale transcendental magic array, with exquisite symbols resembling a white tower, illuminating this starry but dim world.
On the natural round table adorned with purple wisteria, next to the porcelain tea cup containing red tea, archives of past world wars caught the witch's attention.
Outdated printing techniques, yellowed black-and-white photographs, a middle-aged to elderly man—a retired German postman, thin and smiling.
"To have killed hundreds of thousands of people in the past, the number one in the D-rank that even B-rank players can handle... this opportunity for a man-made catastrophe... you must seize it..."
The witch closed the old archives and meditated with her eyes closed...
Then she smiled.
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News Update Three: "New Generation Healing Medication in Development, Volunteers Needed"
In a hidden underground research facility in City A, a person locked in a prison cell watched as researchers came and went, taking samples of his cell tissue.
The title of the "Number 1 in the D-rank" rank shone brightly, emitting a chilling light that brought fear.
He still sat nonchalantly on a stool, legs crossed, smiling and seemingly carefree, casually adjusting his gray beret.
His gaze shifted to his raised wrist, where faint magical particles flickered imperceptibly, the mark of the witch silently descending.
"Finally, the wait is over..."
He sighed as if lamenting the passage of time, then withdrew his hand, which had been adjusting the gray beret, and looked down at the top-notch sealed floor.
The light from the ceiling illuminated his shadow, and the surrounding cameras followed his every move. It was an extremely oppressive and dreary prison cell.
But all of that didn't matter because it would soon come to an end...
"I've been hiding for seventeen rounds, and now it's finally time to return to Perpetual Night's Lament... Ha..."
On the surveillance screen, he appeared to be deep in thought, and the surveillance personnel of the research facility did not notice his muttered words...
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News Update Four: "Fire Breaks Out in Antique Shop in Coastal District of City A"
Are there truly gods in the world?
In the profound chaos of the night, the scorching sea of fire devoured the cozy shop that had been run for half a lifetime, obliterating all the displayed antique treasures in billowing smoke.
Whether it was blue porcelain from the official kilns, wooden furniture, or paintings by renowned artists...
Nothing was left—neither the shop, nor wealth, nor memories...
The elderly owner of the antique shop knelt helplessly in the depths of the sea of fire, surrounded by thick smoke and roaring flames, with only a tattered sweater in his embrace as his sole reliance.
It was a sweater knitted by his deceased mother, cheap, old, and not at all attractive.
Are there truly gods in the world?
The elderly man questioned his heart for the second time, his trembling body becoming even more insignificant, even prostrating on the floor, his eyes moist.
The crackling sound of burning grew louder in his ears, and the temperature had reached a lethal level. It was unbearably hot, but the old man hugged the sweater even tighter.
He never believed in gods; he had never believed in them his entire life. Starting from the world war several decades ago to this peaceful night...
This world was materialistic, devoid of the existence of gods—his deceased mother had said the same.
However, now that he had lost everything, the only one who could possibly save him was the non-existent god.
So, for the third time, he questioned his heart—Are there truly gods in this world?
"There are," a calm voice, like a tranquil ancient well, seemed to see through his heart.
At the moment the indifferent words resounded in his ears, the old man suddenly raised his head, facing the raging sea of fire, scanning his surroundings, but he couldn't see anyone.
His consciousness had already become blurry due to the temperature and smoke, but the old man's cloudy eyes moved, seeking that glimmer of hope.
Crackle... Snap... The flames made it impossible to open his eyes, and all he saw here were the burning flames.
"As expected..." he murmured to himself.
The old man didn't know that "Shadow" had been standing in front of him, indifferent to the increasingly terrifying sea of fire, as shadows spread and grew.
A hallucination...
Unable to see anything, the old man lowered his head in despair, staring at his mother's sweater.
Memories from his childhood flooded his mind—his mother's care, playing with friends, festive feasts in the village, the lively sound of firecrackers...
The old man had reached his limit; breathing became difficult, and he weakly collapsed on the floor.
In an instant—
Whoosh—the sea of fire retreated, much to the old man's astonishment.
"The player qualification has been granted. You will participate in the sequential game."
Are there gods in this world? The old man widened his eyes, struggling to clear his blurry vision.
"The visual barrier has been lifted. You will see the real world."
The sea of fire dissipated, and in the place where the mysterious figure in black had stood amidst the engulfing shadows, hands in pockets, a silent barrier formed in front of him.
"Player abilities being extracted..."
"Ah... Ah... My God..." the old man choked up.
"Your ability is..."
Upon hearing this, "Shadow" remained silent, casting a sidelong glance at the old man. His hair swayed in the wind, and his profound black eyes inspired awe.
"God... My God..." The old man bowed his head slowly, earnestly, kowtowing. "Thank you... Thank you..."
Between the wavering night, "Shadow" departed silently, without a sound.
"Thank you... Thank you..." The old man continued to kowtow. "I..."
"E-rank ability: Devout Believer."
He clutched the sweater his mother had left behind, raised his head, and stared blankly at the empty spot where "Shadow" had stood moments ago...
"You are..."
In the next moment, he dispiritedly withdrew his gaze, bowing his head and sinking into the dilapidated antique shop, where the fire had subsided.
"...my God."