Chapter 398: Prelude to the Storm |
Fragrant City, East District. The headquarters of the Balance Church.
Asakura Yuko opened her eyes in her office and glanced at the time displayed on the vintage alarm clock in the upper-left corner of her desk.
It was precisely nine o'clock at night, the latter half of the twenty-four-hour day. A time when some were falling asleep, others were just beginning their nightlife, and still others would ignore the hour and continue to burn the midnight oil.
Asakura Yuko knew that she would die at precisely nine-thirty. The alarm clock would ring right on time and, with no one to turn it off, would blare incessantly until someone found her body.
Before entering every instance, Asakura Yuko always prepared for death, setting an alarm for half an hour in advance. Thus, she felt no surprise now, not even a flicker of sorrow or lingering attachment.
In the *Holy City* instance, she had unexpectedly discovered that White Crow was using the effects of an identity card to control her. After regaining her senses and analyzing past events, she realized the Balance Church was not a suitable force to usher in a new world.
And so, she had made the impromptu decision to seal the Taboo Scholar identity card within the instance, restoring the balance of power among the various factions. It was as simple as that.
“Yuko, what happened?” White Crow pushed the door open, her face etched with concern. “Did you see something in the instance? The Taboo Scholar card is known to create powerful illusions...”
“The Taboo Scholar card will remain forever in the *Holy City* instance,” Asakura Yuko said calmly.
White Crow’s voice turned slightly cold. “Yuko, what exactly happened? Who killed you?”
“I did,” Asakura Yuko replied without looking up. “The one who killed me is myself. I thought about dying many years ago but lingered in this world because I mistakenly believed I had found a reason to live. Now, I have once again lost any value in continuing to live. It's better to make a conscious exit sooner rather than later.”
Emotionally, she disagreed with White Crow’s methods, but rationally, she knew that White Crow’s actions were necessary and reasonable given the current situation. As such, having temporarily broken free from control, she had become an obstacle that had to be removed.
Things had progressed to a point where there was no room for deviation or a change of course. As a variable, her only option was death.
White Crow watched Asakura Yuko calmly and said with sincerity, “I respect your choice. If you are truly tired, you can rest for a while and await your awakening in the new world.”
Asakura Yuko remained silent. The room fell quiet, the only sound the soft breaths of the two women. The space, less than ten square meters, felt surprisingly vast and desolate.
Without a word, Asakura Yuko lowered her head and continued writing on the paper. At one point, she abruptly asked, “Why? Leader, you knew I agreed with your ideals, that I would support your righteous decisions. Why did you still have to do it?”
White Crow lowered her gaze to the papers on the desk, her voice as still as a deep well. “I’m sorry, Yuko. I can’t trust anyone, nor can I accept any possibility of failure. The ritual for the Visionary Orator is about to be completed. I will not rashly tolerate the existence of any variables.”
Asakura Yuko closed her eyes. “I understand.”
A piercing alarm shattered the silence. The pen in Asakura Yuko’s hand fell with a *clatter*, leaving a jagged scratch across the white paper.
The bell, like a death knell, echoed through the room, a prelude to a requiem. Outside the window, a tree full of crows and magpies took fright, launching into the air with a frantic flutter of wings.
White Crow silently watched as Asakura Yuko slumped in her chair, her pupils dilating as the color drained from her cheeks. She quietly walked over, turned off the alarm, reached out to close the dead woman’s eyelids, and then picked up the papers from the desk to look them over.
There were pages upon pages of flowing text: records of the Balance Church’s major past events, chronicles of White Crow’s own deeds, and newly written opinions on recent decisions and orders. But there was nothing about Asakura Yuko herself.
White Crow read for a moment, then casually fed all the pages into the shredder in the corner of the office and pressed the switch.
The low hum of steel teeth chewing through paper filled the room. She watched the fine shreds fall like ash and sighed softly. “Those who cannot accept sin await the final curtain in the realm of death, while schemers and ambitionists push this endless game toward its conclusion. It has always been so, throughout history.”
“We’ve come too far. The Balance can no longer turn back.”
White Crow swept away all the paper shreds, turned, pulled open the office curtains, and pushed open the window.
In the heavy darkness of the night, a shimmering golden halo pulsed, trailing streaks of light as it danced and soared through the air. Gradually, it coalesced into a giant golden flower bud—the very same Flower of Rules that had appeared in the *Holy City* instance...
...
“Sorry, I’m late.” In a hazy dream, Dong Xiwen pushed open the door to a room and sat on a chair near the entrance.
After seeing the two people already sitting in the room, he blinked twice. “Um... Leader, little bro... can you fill this poor schmuck in on what’s happening?”
Dong Xiwen had grown accustomed to communicating with “Yuan” through dreams lately. Though he officially remained under White Crow’s command, he had secretly become a co-conspirator with Yuan.
He had never wanted to get involved in political struggles, hoping only that the Balance Church could, as they advertised, overthrow the Federation government and change this wretched world.
But as the great purge within the church progressed, countless meritorious veterans, elders, and core members were executed on trumped-up charges. He had watched helplessly as blood stained the pale stone tiles, and inevitably, doubts about the Balance’s ideals began to surface, along with a sense of unease, for their fate could easily be his.
Even though Yuan had promised him nothing, nor done anything more to earn his trust, he still found himself psychologically drifting closer to this mysterious politician—simply because he disagreed with White Crow’s methods.
This meeting seemed no different from any other, yet Dong Xiwen never expected to see the image of his long-dead brother, Dong Ziwen, in this space that resembled his own mind palace.
He had originally thought his brother was just barely clinging to existence, possessing a jade pendant out of desperation after his death. But now it seemed things weren’t so simple. Yuan had likely orchestrated it from behind the scenes, and Dong Xiwen himself had been part of the calculation from the very beginning.
“Brother, you guessed right. My death was part of the plan.” Dong Ziwen, dressed in a black leather jacket, his face lost in shadow and impossible to make out clearly, continued, “I was about to be exposed, so death was my only escape.”
“Your joining the Balance was part of my design. We needed a newcomer—someone pure, someone who would absolutely never betray us—to rise to prominence, attract White Crow’s attention, and then watch her as one of her confidants.”
Dong Ziwen’s tone was casual, a simple and natural statement, as if he saw nothing wrong with his actions.
Dong Xiwen had expected to feel rage. After all, when he thought Dong Ziwen had been murdered, he had gone on a year-long rampage.
He had killed people, been investigated by the Federation, been hunted down, crossed oceans to reach the Balance headquarters, and had even come close to being riddled with bullets...
But now, he was surprisingly calm, asking with an unruffled expression, “Why?”
“Because White Crow wants to create a god,” Yuan said coldly. He clearly thought Dong Xiwen was asking why they were opposing White Crow.
After all, to an outsider, the Balance Church had two leaders who each managed their own duties without interfering with the other. Their ultimate goal was to overthrow the Federation, so there was no need for them to become mortal enemies.
So now, he explained succinctly, “White Crow hopes to use the immense power of a god to subvert the Federation and bring the world under divine rule.”
“I can’t presume that she desires a dictatorship. Having a perfectly just god establish strict rules is, admittedly, one way to achieve absolute equality.”
“But I have always believed that humanity should be able to choose for itself, free from divine interference.”
“Ha. Alright, I get it.” Dong Xiwen nodded slightly. “So, what’s our next move?”
Dong Ziwen stared intently at him. “Brother, I remember you got a minor card, but I couldn’t see its face. What card is it?”
Dong Xiwen manifested a red-and-black card between his fingers. On its face, a magician in red took a deep bow, surrounded by cheering spectators reduced to black silhouettes. A splash of scarlet adorned the chest of one figure, looking at first glance like a bleeding heart.
“Audience,” he answered candidly. “It belongs to the Foolish Trickster set.”
...
Weird Investigation Bureau, Jiang City Branch. In an observation room five floors underground, six chairs were arranged in a row. Each was occupied by one of the representatives who had entered the *Holy City* instance.
Fu Jue sat in the chair farthest in the corner, calmly recounting the events of the instance: from the early stages when Qi Si participated as a god-tier NPC, causing the live broadcast to be shut down, to the later stages when the Ancestral God unexpectedly revived and killed nearly every player, with only the identity card holders surviving.
The five representatives remained strangely silent. Not only did they not refute Fu Jue’s statement, but they would occasionally nod in agreement, indicating that what he said was true.
The other representatives who hadn’t followed the instance felt that things weren’t so simple, but with no other way to learn the full story, they could only pace anxiously outside the door, frustrated and impatient.
An investigator from Crystal County burst into the observation room, grabbed Fran Parker by the shoulders, and shook him violently. “Fran, tell me it’s not true! This isn’t the first time you’ve faced a god. With your rank, how could you have died so easily?”
He was all but screaming his intention, trying to get Fran to accuse Fu Jue of deliberately harming them. He might as well have grabbed Fran’s hand and pointed it directly at Fu Jue.
But Fran just shook his head slightly, his voice hoarse. “The Ancestral God... is different from other gods. It just glanced at me, and I couldn’t move... I’m sorry, I really don’t want to relive that experience...”
Exhaustion and lingering fear were written on every representative’s face. These dead men walking were listless and dejected, making it hard for anyone to press them further.
Another investigator from an outside county looked at Fu Jue and sneered, “Fu Jue, they all died in the instance, yet you’re the only one who survived. Don’t you plan on explaining that? Whether you stood by and did nothing or were simply powerless to help, you’re no longer fit to lead the entire Weird Investigation Bureau, are you?”
Fu Jue lifted his gaze, his tone flat. “The Final Instance begins in twenty-seven hours. Any player who wants to replace me is welcome to queue into the same instance with me. We can determine the most suitable victor to participate.”
The fate of the five representatives was still fresh in their minds. To queue into an instance with Fu Jue at a time like this was tantamount to telling him, “I don’t want to live anymore. Please, send me on my way.”
The investigator glared at him. “So what you’re saying, Fu Jue, is that you admit to intentionally letting them die—or even using the instance to get rid of them?”
“I never said that,” Fu Jue replied, turning his head to look at the man, his enunciation crisp. “But I have always believed that indulging in internal strife right before the Final Instance is an irrational, worthless, and foolish act.”
The investigator was about to say more, but Fu Jue simply stood up and walked toward the door.
Just then, Li Yunyang walked in from the opposite direction. Seeing Fu Jue, her expression grew solemn. “Senior, Councilman Hayes called. He wishes to speak with you in person tomorrow.”
Fu Jue said, “Brooke Hayes. A Weird Game player, ranked 97th on the all-time list, one of the founders of the Weird Investigation Bureau. He stepped back in 2026 and stopped participating in new instances. I ran into his son, Vader, in the *Holy City* instance. Is he calling about that?”
Li Yunyang shook her head slightly. “He didn’t say anything specific, only that he’s already on a flight to Beidu.”
“Alright, I understand.” Fu Jue nodded slightly, his glasses reflecting a white glint of light. “Please inform him that I will meet him tomorrow at two in the afternoon at the Beidu headquarters.”
He was about to move past her and leave when Li Yunyang suddenly called out, “Senior, forty percent of Jiang City has been affected by the weird contamination. Director Shao’s situation isn’t looking good. I was thinking...”
“Li Yunyang, you need to conserve your strength as much as possible before the Final Instance,” Fu Jue interrupted. “The Final Instance is the root of all this weirdness. If we don’t resolve it, any other effort is futile.”
“After May 5th, I will begin dealing with the source of the contamination.”
...
Jin City, Qi Family Village. Qi Si opened his eyes in bed. A profound exhaustion enveloped his entire body, layer by layer, making it difficult to move his limbs. Even his thoughts felt sluggish.
The struggle with the Ancestral God over his body hadn’t caused any physical damage. What remained was more of a spiritual erosion. For the first time in a long while, he felt fear and bewilderment, as if caught under an unstoppable natural disaster, making him acutely aware of his own insignificance and mortality...
“Qi Si, what’s wrong with you? Your face is paler than my paper figurines.” Xu Yao hung upside down from the ceiling, staring at him.
Her interruption was like a sacred chant rousing someone from a deep nightmare. The threads of discomfort coiling around him dissipated, vanishing into nothingness in an instant.
He sat up and said listlessly, “It’s nothing. Just some dangerous, long-dead creature that crawled out of hell. It’ll probably spend the next while trying to claim my life, that's all.”
“Who?” Xu Yao asked curiously. “Who else could possibly try to take your life?”
“The Ancestral God. You wouldn’t know her.” Qi Si replied dismissively, picking up his phone to glance at it.
A new text message was displayed prominently in his notification bar: [Final Instance secret cooperation. Fu Jue]
As always, it was from an unknown number that couldn’t be called back or traced. Only the tone of the message confirmed it was indeed from him.
A strange smile finally touched Qi Si’s lips. “It seems your plan is proceeding smoothly, and your ambition is just as audacious as ever. Interesting... very interesting.”