The End
Chapter 726: The Vanished King
When Chen Mo arrived, the room was completely silent.
Wen Ya’s eyes were downcast, staring fixedly at a single spot on the table without shifting her gaze, her expression entirely absent-minded. Chen Cheng didn’t say a word, merely pouring glass after glass of liquor down his throat. Yang Fan sat cross-legged to the side, staring blankly downward; the cushion next to him had at some point been rubbed frayed by his hands, pulling out a pile of loose threads.
“…”
Chen Mo paused his steps. His gaze fell on Chen Cheng, who was covered in bandages, and he frowned slightly. “Your injuries shouldn’t be fully healed yet. Did the doctor allow you to drink?”
“…No.” Wen Ya glanced at Chen Cheng, seemingly only just noticing his arrogant disregard for medical advice. But this time, even her admonishment was half-hearted: “Alright, that’s enough, stop drinking.”
The usually sharp-tongued and articulate Chen Cheng kept his head lowered gloomily. In a rare display, he didn’t talk back, simply and obediently placing his half-full glass back onto the table.
Yang Fan seemed to not have heard a word of their conversation. He merely reached out a hand, blindly groping around the table while lost in thought.
It wasn’t until he took a half-sip that he realized it was actually Chen Cheng’s half-glass of liquor. A fiery burning sensation seared from his mouth down his throat, causing him to cough violently.
Chen Mo: “…”
He sighed, took a step forward, and snatched the glass from Yang Fan’s hand to prevent it from spilling onto the carpet during his violent coughing.
After doing this, he looked around and asked:
“Where’s Orange Candy?”
This sentence finally pulled Wen Ya out of her own world. As if she had developed some sort of stress response, she suddenly sat up perfectly straight:
“What? What did she do now?”
Chen Mo: “…………”
He pointed to the next room: “It’s fine, I found her.”
The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with a toy knife in front of her with great interest.
Wait, no!
Chen Mo took a sharp breath.
The tip of the blade glinted coldly in the light, looking extremely sharp.
— This thing was real!!!
He lunged forward a few steps and snatched the item away from Orange Candy’s hands.
Robbed of her beloved “toy,” Orange Candy neither cried nor threw a tantrum. She lifted her eyelids, a cold sneer unfitting for a child of her age appearing on her face, and stared up at Chen Mo for a long while—for some reason, Chen Mo felt that her look was saying, “Don’t worry, I can get it back again.”
Chen Mo retreated back into the room and placed the two fruit knives on the table, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
He turned to Wen Ya:
“Is it my imagination, or has she really grown taller?”
“It’s true, not an illusion. Compared to the last time we met, she has grown a full eight centimeters,” Wen Ya said.
Although Orange Candy temporarily still looked like a young child, her height and weight were increasing rapidly every day. Because of this, disciplining her was becoming more and more difficult.
Wen Ya took a deep breath, rubbed her face, and looked up at Chen Mo:
“What about you? How have you been lately?”
Chen Mo briefly recounted his conversation with Qi Qian from earlier that afternoon.
“Anyway, I’ll be helping them out for a while next, but it’s only temporary. I’m not one of them, after all—”
Saying this, he suddenly stopped talking for no apparent reason.
Chen Mo’s gaze fell on the tabletop. After hesitating for a few seconds, he finally spoke: “By the way, during this time, have you felt…”
“What?” Wen Ya asked.
“…” Chen Mo looked away. “Never mind.”
And so, silence descended once again.
They sat around the table without saying a word.
Everyone looked equally absent-minded and weighed down by heavy thoughts.
But soon, a knock on the door broke the silence.
Wen Ya snapped back to reality and got up to open the door.
Before the visitor even entered the entryway, a sweet, fragrant smell rushed into the room like a whirlwind—warm and sugary, filling every corner of the room.
Orange Candy, who was still in the next room, whipped her head around, her large eyes shining like a hungry wolf.
“Everyone, hurry up and wash your hands.” Ji Guan walked in. The buzz cut on his head was shaved down to the scalp, and there was a fierce, unorthodox look in his eyes. The malicious ghosts clinging to his neck and shoulders had green faces and sharp fangs, yet he was carrying a massive pastry box in his hands.
He looked up at the people in the room and called out,
“Come try my new recipe!”
The sweet aroma of pastries filling their noses instantly dispelled the slightly gloomy atmosphere in the room.
A hint of a smile finally appeared on Yang Fan’s face. He turned his head toward the source of the voice and raised his voice: “Brother Ji Guan, you’re here?”
However, this time, Ji Guan hadn’t come alone.
Qi Qian stepped through the door behind him. The long trench coat he wore made his figure look even taller and more upright, carrying a trace of travel-worn chill.
Looking at this uninvited guest, Chen Cheng raised an eyebrow and was the first to attack: “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were all here, so I came to join the fun and also discuss the follow-up progress with Chen Mo.” Qi Qian habitually ignored Chen Cheng and looked at Wen Ya. “The host doesn’t mind, right?”
Wen Ya shrugged noncommittally. “Come in and change your shoes.”
Chen Cheng sneered sarcastically, “All you do is wander around other people’s territory all day. Is this your guild?”
Wen Ya hit the nail on the head: “You’re exactly the same.”
Chen Cheng, who was actually a member of Eternal Day: “…”
With the addition of the two of them, the atmosphere was finally no longer so lifeless.
The large box Ji Guan brought was placed on the table, and everyone was free to take the desserts inside—it was filled with various cakes, muffins, and donuts, with bright cream that made one’s mouth water. Orange Candy had already pounced from the inner room and was occupying the table, stuffing her mouth with one in each hand. She ate fiercely like a small wild beast, her cheeks bulging.
Several high-level anchors were either standing or sitting. Wen Ya’s living room had originally been quite spacious, but now it inexplicably felt a bit crowded.
And Qi Qian had also brought them the latest news.
The Nightmare anchors had basically settled down. It didn’t take them long to realize that without Nightmare backing them up, it was hard for them to act as recklessly as before. Furthermore, although their Talents were powerful, they fundamentally consumed their souls and were not inexhaustible. Because of this, their initial arrogance quickly faded.
More importantly, the strongest batch of anchors had already been served a severe warning back on the cruise ship.
As for those left over… they hadn’t even been qualified to participate in the encirclement and suppression battle in the first place, so naturally, they posed little threat now.
Because of this, the vast majority had obediently reunited with their families. The few who still harbored ulterior motives had been firmly suppressed by Qi Qian and the others during this period.
What they still needed to deal with now were the instances scattered everywhere.
“By the way, how are your physical conditions recovering lately?” Qi Qian turned to look at the others and asked.
Chen Mo paused. “Not bad.”
Although it took a long time, he could feel his power slowly recovering.
Chen Cheng shrugged and said impatiently, “The same.”
The wounds on his body were also recovering at a normal rate.
Qi Qian’s gaze fell on Orange Candy, who was still fiercely stuffing pastries into her mouth. “I see she has grown a lot taller than before too, hasn’t she?”
Wen Ya, while helping wipe Orange Candy’s hands and mouth, managed to reply:
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” Qi Qian crushed the empty beer can in his hand, threw it into the trash can, and nodded to himself.
“What is it?” Chen Mo caught an unusual implication in his words.
“Out of all the anchors I’ve contacted recently,” Qi Qian said, “the only ones who have been able to recover from the depletion of their Talents are you guys.”
“…”
The group tensed.
Indeed, the consumption of Talents could not recover autonomously. And now, without the restoration from Nightmare points, and without the items it provided to delay alienation, their seemingly normal “recovery” was actually the most unusual thing.
“So, have you come to any conclusions?” Wen Ya asked.
“No. If you’re willing, you can cooperate with me later for some tests, but to be honest, I highly doubt they’ll yield any useful results.”
Qi Qian shrugged and sighed.
“However, I must say, ever since Nightmare disappeared, our luck has been consistently good. It’s almost as if something unseen is helping us.”
Whether it was the calm before the cruise ship overturned and collapsed, the disappearance of the Dead Sea’s corrosion, or the recovery of their non-renewable power.
The room unconsciously fell quiet.
Everyone looked dazed, lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Ji Guan saw Orange Candy reaching for the last piece of cake. Startled, his body abruptly stood up before his brain could even process it: “Hey, wait a minute, leave one for…”
Before he could finish his sentence, he suddenly froze.
Leave one for who?
Everyone was already here, weren’t they?
But, for no reason, in that brief instant, a thought had flashed through his mind and slipped out through his throat, the tip of his tongue, and his lips inadvertently.
—Leave a bit for ■■■.
Just like that, Ji Guan stood blankly in place, unable to snap back to reality for a moment.
For some reason, it felt as though a gaping hole had opened up in his heart, with freezing wind blowing straight into it. It didn’t hurt; it just felt terrifyingly empty, as if something incredibly precious inside had been lost, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t remember what it was.
It was usually hard to notice, but whenever they were on the verge of ignoring this feeling, a tiny, sharp thorn would occasionally pop up in their hearts, prick them gently, and then vanish without a trace.
“…………”
The fleeting joy brought by Ji Guan’s arrival disappeared, popping like a needle bursting a bubble.
The room sank into silence once again.
An invisible wind howled through everyone’s chest. The group looked at each other in silence, like a room full of stray dogs.
There were no anomalies. Everything around them was perfectly normal; the whole world was so normal there were no issues at all. Survivors of the disaster wept, embraced, and smiled; long-lost family members reunited with laughter and joy.
But, for some reason, they just felt panicked.
A panic like a piece of their lives had been gouged out, yet they were completely unaware of it.
Was anything wrong?
No.
Did anyone disappear?
No.
Bewilderment seeped out from their very bones, spreading little by little, ultimately turning into a colossal beast that enveloped the entire room.
Rustle, rustle—
Suddenly, a strange rubbing sound came from under their feet.
Looking down, they met the grinning face of a paper doll.
Its blood-red mouth was stretched wide to its ears, and a pair of dotted-on eyes stared straight up at them. Its deathly pale face looked exceptionally eerie in the dim light.
“?!”
Even though everyone present had experience with this, suddenly seeing this scene without any warning still made them involuntarily shudder.
“Awooo—”
Orange Candy, like a fierce chihuahua let out of its cage, howled and pounced on it with a vicious look in her eyes. Wen Ya reacted quickly, grabbing her around the waist and snatching away the fruit knife that had somehow appeared in her hands again: “Damn it, when did you find this again…”
Rustle, rustle.
The paper doll tilted its head. Its mouth opened and closed, but it emitted a familiar female voice:
“Tomorrow afternoon at 2 PM, see you at the pier.”
It was Yun Bilan’s voice.
That’s right, this was what they called the “traditional” communication method.
After delivering the message, it turned around and walked away with a rustle, rustle.
“…” Qi Qian couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do their messages really have to be this scary?”
Every time a message was passed, it made one’s heart skip a beat.
No matter how many times it happened, it was hard to get used to.
“Still, what do you think they’re calling us for?”
Wen Ya set down the still-thrashing Orange Candy. The scuffle that lasted less than half a minute had caused her to break a sweat.
She turned her head and looked at the others in the room:
“Could something be going on?”
A secret thought grew in their hearts, something indescribable and inexplicable.
“God knows.”
Chen Cheng twitched the corners of his lips, his voice carrying an anticipation that even he hadn’t realized. “We’ll know when we get there.”
Inside the cemetery.
The grass was lush, and it was devoid of people.
A tall man with a weary expression stood silently in front of one of the tombstones. He had stood there for an unknown amount of time, so long that he had almost become a pitch-black, freezing sculpture. The setting sun behind him had fallen, and a trace of cold afterglow scattered across his shoulders.
Finally, he moved.
Hugo lowered his eyes; heavy, cold dew had long settled onto the shoulders of his coat. He reached into his coat pocket, took out a cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it to his lips.
“…”
However, right at this moment, his movements suddenly stopped.
The cigarette rested against his lips, leaving a touch that was impossible to ignore.
Just like this, Hugo maintained the posture of biting the cigarette without moving, lost in unknown thoughts.
Finally, after a few seconds, he took a deep breath and removed the cigarette from his lips.
“…!”
Suddenly, Hugo snapped his eyes up, his gaze looking in that direction like a falcon.
He saw an eerie paper doll standing at the entrance of the cemetery, flashing a massive smile at him.
The dim room was frighteningly quiet. All the curtains were tightly drawn, and there was no sound at all.
Knock, knock.
A light knocking came from the door.
However, the sound seemed to drop into an abyss, not stirring a single ripple, nor a single sound in response.
“Baby,” the person standing at the door paused, waiting. “Baby?”
“Are you going to the horse ranch with your little brother this afternoon?”
But after standing there for just a moment, an impatient, spoiled voice came from behind: “Mom, Mom, what are you still doing? The ponies can’t wait anymore, we should go!”
“Coming!” The woman raised her voice in response.
She turned her head, looked at the tightly closed bedroom door, shook her head, and said helplessly, “Alright, if you don’t want to go, then don’t. We’ll go together when there’s a chance, okay?”
The footsteps clattered away, the sound carrying a hint of relief and ease that she herself hadn’t even noticed.
Click.
Along with the sound of the lock, all noises faded away.
Inside the pitch-black room.
The white-haired, black-eyed boy did not look up.
He didn’t have much of an emotional reaction to this.
Since he could remember, as far as his eyes could see, it was only the pure white walls of the hospital. In his ears, he could only hear the beeping of monitors and the endless sound of the ventilator. He had known early on that his family was probably very wealthy; otherwise, they could hardly afford these astronomical medical expenses. However, his impression of his parents was very faint—only occasional distant glimpses through the thick glass. At first, the visits might have been more frequent, but as time went on, they might not even come once in a month or two.
Because of this, his disappearance had also been quickly accepted.
For his family, aside from some inevitable but predestined sorrow, what they felt more was likely a sense of relief that “this day has finally come.”
During these few years, his parents had long since returned to their normal lives and once again had healthy children of their own.
Therefore, after he returned from being missing for three years, miraculously cured of his severe illness, apart from the standard surprise, crying, hugging, disbelief, and joy of reunion, the gazes they directed at him were also mixed with an imperceptible trace of awkwardness and being at a loss.
Towards this, Bai Xue was neither surprised nor did he take it to heart.
His parents had already done their utmost for him; in any other family, he wouldn’t even have grown to this age.
However, Bai Xue didn’t intend to try to participate in the illusion of a harmonious family they were trying to maintain—the long time spent dealing with life and death, malicious ghosts, malice, betrayal, and slaughter had long made him lose any interest in these hypocritical embellishments.
He lowered his eyes, laying the playing cards out on the table one by one.
Since the Nightmare ended, he had been staying in his family’s villa, never stepping out the door even once. Even the contacts from his former companions in the Nightmare had received absolutely no response.
From that moment on, he had been working day and night.
A playing card landed on the table.
Three of Hearts.
He muttered silently in his heart.
The card was turned over—indeed.
However, this situation, which should have been commonplace, caused his gaze to pause for a long time.
“…”
Bai Xue stared at the playing card on the table for a full several minutes. Suddenly, he reached out, gathered all the cards already laid out on the table, put them back in his palm, and then once again, started dealing from the first card—he didn’t know how many times he had done this during this period, but he had never once actually dealt out an entire deck. Every time, when he was halfway through, he would suddenly stop, and then, just like this time, pick them all up and start over from the beginning.
His expression was calm, his eyes stubborn.
As if he had to wait until there was an exception.
Rustle, rustle!
The sound of paper rubbing came from a corner of the room.
Bai Xue paused his movements. He turned his head, his gaze looking in the direction the sound came from.
The eerie, terrifying paper doll slowly squeezed in through the crack under the door. It turned its head, staring at him with a pair of bizarre dotted-on eyes. It made a “rustle, rustle” sound, then opened its mouth and began to speak.
“Tomorrow afternoon at 2 PM, see you at the pier.”
1:50 PM.
The largest pier in the city.
The sky was clear, the sun shining brightly. Although it was already late autumn, the direct sunlight was still somewhat dazzling.
Chen Cheng raised a hand with relatively fewer bandages to shield his eyes:
“Why did it have to be 2 PM? This sun is deadly.”
The others stood to the side, waiting quietly.
“And honestly,” Chen Cheng continued blabbering, “aren’t they afraid of causing a riot or something? There are so many people here, if a ghost ship suddenly appears—”
“Can you just shut up?”
Qi Qian gave him a cold look.
“Haven’t you gotten tired after talking the whole way?”
Chen Cheng sneered and was just about to shoot back with even more venomous words when the roar of a car engine was heard not far away.
The group’s gazes paused, and they turned to look.
A polished, luxurious Rolls-Royce pulled up.
The driver got out and opened the door: “Young Master, watch your head.”
The black-eyed, white-haired boy stepped out of the car without saying a word.
Watching this scene, everyone’s eyes widened involuntarily.
Eh… No way?
Bai Xue nodded at the driver, turned, and walked toward the group. The moment he met their stunned gazes, his footsteps faltered. He looked around, and after confirming that the person they were looking at was him, he asked in confusion, “What’s wrong?”
What do you mean what’s wrong…
You never said you were a rich second-generation heir!!
But, before they could recover from the shock of “Bai Xue’s family seems very rich,” another tall figure slowly walked over from not far away, entering everyone’s view.
“Hugo…?”
Hugo, who had disappeared on the second day after returning to reality and couldn’t be contacted by anyone, had actually appeared once again without any warning.
He wore a long black woolen coat. His high brow ridge was pressed down, and the weary expression between his brows hadn’t dissipated in the slightest. After noticing the crowd’s gaze, he nodded as a greeting: “Mm.”
Chen Cheng asked, “You’ve had no news at all this whole time, we all thought you were dead—”
Before he could finish his sentence, he received a heavy kick on his shin, forcing him to swallow the rest of his words.
Wen Ya smiled and looked at Hugo:
“What have you been up to during this time?”
Hugo: “Some private matters.”
During this time, he had delivered the bodies of his friends back to their homes, helped them handle the funeral arrangements, and left a sum of money for their families.
“…”
Although it was only a few words, after he finished speaking, silence fell all around.
After speaking, he took a box out of his pocket and poured a few mint-flavored chewing gums into his palm.
Seeing this, Qi Qian was momentarily stunned:
“Chewing gum?”
He looked at Hugo, revealing a surprised expression: “You quit smoking?”
“Mm.”
Hugo lowered his eyes and responded.
“I don’t smoke anymore.”
Before they knew it, it was already 1:59.
However, the surface of the sea was still completely empty. Seagulls flew in the sky, and the sea was incredibly calm.
“Where’s Su Cheng? Don’t tell me he’s late?” Ji Guan guessed.
But, as soon as his voice fell, the surrounding air suddenly turned cold. A dense, milky-white fog silently spread across the sea surface. Without any warning, in just the blink of an eye, the sun in the sky was hidden, and the surroundings became so pitch-black they couldn’t see their fingers in front of them; the visibility suddenly dropped extremely low.
In the dense fog, a towering, lofty corner approached silently.
It was a massive black cruise ship. Like a ghost, it appeared out of thin air on this stretch of the sea.
At this moment, it was exactly 2 PM sharp.
“Clang!”
With a heavy sound, the gangway was lowered, crashing onto the pier.
On the ship, the figure of the Tarot Reader appeared at the end of the gangway.
Seeing their long-lost friend, everyone’s expressions relaxed, and smiles appeared on their faces.
“Long time no see, you’re looking good,” Wen Ya greeted with a smile.
Indeed, contrary to their memories of him when the Nightmare ended last time, Su Cheng’s condition looked much better. It seemed that during this time, his control and mastery over the cruise ship had advanced by leaps and bounds. He had even learned the trick of making the cruise ship make landfall—after all, last time, they couldn’t get any closer once they reached the waters near the land, so they had no choice but to rely on a larger piece of debris from the ship’s deck and forcibly paddle their way back.
“What, are you still a ghost now?” she joked.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Su Cheng shrugged, a smile also appearing on his face. He placed his palm on the railing, and it passed right through. “Still a ghost.”
“Come on, board the ship first.”
Saying this, he turned around: “Just don’t walk right through my body. Although I’m a ghost, it still makes me uncomfortable.”
The colossal black ship slowly sailed away from the pier.
The thick fog covering the pier gradually dissipated. As the sunlight shone down once again, that massive cruise ship had also vanished, leaving not a single trace on the sea surface, as if it had never appeared in the first place.
Led by Su Cheng, the group once again walked into the interior of the cruise ship.
Compared to when they left last time, the interior of the cruise ship, though not exactly brand new, had changed greatly—the human faces that had previously covered the ship’s hull had disappeared. Although everyone present knew they were still there, they had clearly been concealed using some method. The scars left by the last great battle were still vivid in their minds. The section above the auction hall that had been ripped open could no longer be restored; the ruined walls and debris were exposed to the sky, giving off a decadent feeling of a desolate place waiting to be rebuilt.
The sky darkened at a visible speed, turning as pitch-black as midnight in just a few short minutes. Yet, cold stars still sparkled on the horizon.
The seawater below also turned pitch black, silently supporting the hull of the cruise ship as it quietly moved forward.
The departure of the Nightmare did not mean that the “reverse side” of this world had disappeared with it. However, the evil aura that had previously permeated this space had entirely faded away.
They felt a freezing, unearthly chill brush against their faces, but it was silent and clean, like the whispers of the undead.
While passing through the center of the auction stage, everyone’s footsteps couldn’t help but pause.
“…”
Their gazes were uncontrollably drawn to that empty high platform, as if some unknown attraction existed there.
Right then, Su Cheng’s voice came from up ahead:
“This way!”
The group woke as if from a dream. They took one last deep look at the high platform before finally following Su Cheng’s pace: “Coming!”
Just like that, under Su Cheng’s lead, the group soon entered a room that had been tidied up fairly cleanly.
“I’ve been using this as the Captain’s cabin lately.”
Su Cheng introduced.
Although the real Captain’s cabin was deeper within the cruise ship, that place was far too evil and bizarre, making it unsuitable for living in or receiving guests.
“Oh, right, there’s someone I think you guys might want to see.” Su Cheng thought of something, turned his head, and pointed not far away.
A young man with a baby face and canine teeth was standing not far away.
The waiter uniform and the name tag on his chest from before had disappeared, replaced by a simple hoodie and pants.
He obviously seemed a bit unaccustomed to his current identity. He just nodded and gave them a somewhat awkward greeting:
“Yo.”
“No. 8!” An obvious look of pleasant surprise appeared on Wen Ya’s face. “You’re back!”
“Yeah, mm.” No. 8 was startled by her enthusiasm and involuntarily took a half-step back, nodding. “You could say that.”
Although he had successfully restored his physical form, No. 8 had been completely alienated into a non-human a long time ago. Despite realizing that he wasn’t originally a member of this ship’s crew, there were still no signs of his human memories returning. Therefore, even though they had escaped from the Nightmare, his codename remained No. 8.
However, the good news was…
“I’m the First Mate now.” No. 8 pointed at himself and said with extreme pride.
From a croupier to the First Mate, how could that not be considered a promotion?
Chen Cheng muttered: “But there are really only two of you on this entire ship…”
Before he could finish, he received another kick from Wen Ya.
This time, the kick landed exactly on an unhealed wound, causing Chen Cheng’s expression to completely twist in pain.
Su Cheng: “Alright, have a seat. We’re going to be sailing for a very long time next.”
“So, what did Yun Bilan call us here for?” Chen Mo asked.
Su Cheng: “It’s still unclear. I know just as much as you guys. After all, you’re familiar with this communication method she devised; she can only transmit one sentence at a time.”
Inside the Captain’s cabin, the group sat in different corners.
The atmosphere was very relaxed as they laughed and chatted.
They exchanged updates on their recent lives, talking about what they had been doing since leaving the Nightmare—Wen Ya complained to them about how arduous it was to take care of the shrunken Orange Candy and tried to bargain with the others to get them to babysit her for a few days. Qi Qian told them about the current state of the real world and the progress of his cooperation with the government. It was a pity that the dry affairs he spoke of didn’t garner much interest; he was interrupted after only a few sentences. Seeing him deflated, Chen Cheng let out a gloating laugh from the side. Bai Xue sat in the corner, his mind wandering. Although he still showed no readiness to join the conversation, both his expression and body language were much more relaxed than when he was in his “home” in the real world.
Just like that, they chatted from their current situation to the past, from recent events to the previous instances.
“It’s truly amazing when you think about it,” Ji Guan sighed with emotion. “I really didn’t expect that so many of us with completely different personalities could actually gather together and become friends, even though we aren’t even from the same guild.”
Yang Fan nodded in agreement: “Yeah, yeah!”
“Especially you guys,” Ji Guan’s gaze fell on Hugo and Bai Xue. “I don’t remember ever doing an instance together with you, but it’s just so strange—”
He paused and suddenly stopped speaking.
For a moment, the atmosphere fell dead silent.
All the smiling faces, laughter, and chatter vanished.
Without any reason and without any warning, everyone fell silent in unison, as if by prior agreement.
Right, why?
They obviously weren’t in the same guild, nor had they gone through a single instance together. Why had they become friends and chatted so happily?
That thorn.
That damn thorn was pricking them again.
Hidden beneath the cushion, faintly discernible. You couldn’t feel it when you didn’t touch it, but once you pressed down on it, you would suddenly become aware of its existence. It pricked people until they couldn’t sit or stand still, an incredibly sharp pain.
A gap, a blank space, had been forcefully gouged out of their memories.
But, no matter how hard they tried to fill this gap, the result was always in vain.
“Alright, I have to ask.” Chen Mo raised his hand and wiped his face, finally throwing out the question he had always wanted to ask but never knew how to bring up, all at once. “Do you guys feel—do you feel—”
He choked up, not knowing how to continue.
And right at this moment, Yang Fan timidly spoke up from the side, continuing his question: “—Do you feel like something is wrong?”
Some very important—very crucial—should-not-have-been-forgotten—existence…
Had just disappeared from their minds like this.
It was as if it had been gently erased by something, leaving not the slightest trace in the entire world. No matter how they searched, it was like trying to scoop up the reflection of the sky from the water—all that was left between their fingers was sorrowful murmurs and shattered bewilderment.
“…You guys too?”
Su Cheng looked at them and said.
Hearing this, everyone was stunned and looked up in unison.
“Yes,” Chen Cheng pursued the question impatiently. “Why, do you know something?”
That’s right, as a Prophet, Su Cheng must definitely know something, right?
He could surely use those mysterious, strange methods of his to analyze the current situation and offer some good advice, right?
Thus, everyone’s gazes fell on Su Cheng. Their eyes were fervent, hoping that the other party could give them a reasonable explanation.
“No…” Su Cheng lowered his eyes, a look of trance similar to theirs flashing across his face. He shook his head and said word by word, “I don’t know.”
Just like everyone else among them, he had also been trying hard to find it, searching and searching…
But no matter what he did, he couldn’t remember what he had forgotten.
“It might be a kind of collective hallucination,” Wen Ya twitched the corners of her mouth, forcing a smile to explain. “After all, staying in a place like the Nightmare for so long, it’d be weird if we didn’t develop some psychological issues…”
But, as soon as these words were spoken, they sounded incredibly weak.
It was as if even the speaker didn’t believe what she was saying.
“Damn it…” Chen Cheng grabbed his hair in frustration, only feeling the veins in his temples throbbing. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it—!!!”
“I’m going to be driven crazy now. I zone out when I’m sleeping, I zone out when I’m walking, I zone out when I’m eating… If this situation isn’t resolved soon, the next time you see me, you’ll have to visit me in a mental hospital!”
His agony right now was almost a little ridiculous.
Yet, not a single person present laughed out loud.
Because, just like him, all of them were being tormented by this vast and bewildering pain. But they didn’t know its origin, nor did they know how to drive this feeling out of their bodies. They could only be constantly tortured by it, unable to escape, and unable to explain.
“If only there was something that could prove—prove that this feeling doesn’t just exist in our imaginations—no matter what it is—”
Su Cheng lowered his head, absentmindedly playing with the Tarot cards in his hands, his fingers sweeping over the cards one by one.
Suddenly, his fingers trembled slightly.
A Tarot card fell out from among them and landed on the floor.
He froze, leaned down, and picked up the card.
This was exactly the very last card he had drawn during the final decisive battle in the Nightmare—the eighth card of the Major Arcana: The Chariot.
But the moment his gaze fell on the card, his entire body suddenly jolted as if struck by lightning.
Blazing flames, majestic chariot.
Everything was no different from his memory.
However, upon that chariot, it was completely empty.
That King, who originally sat high upon the chariot, holding a scepter, and was supposed to govern and dominate everything, had disappeared at some unknown time.
Just like a bubble under the sunlight…
Vanishing without a trace.
