Chapter 398: Prelude to the Storm

Eastern District of Xiangcheng, Headquarters of the Balance Church.

Asakura Yuko opened her eyes in the office and glanced at the time displayed on the vintage alarm clock in the upper left corner of her desk.

It was exactly nine o’clock in the evening, the latter half of the twenty-four hours in a day. It was the time when some people went to sleep, and the start of the nightlife for others. Of course, some people would ignore this time slot and continue their arduous work into the night.

Asakura Yuko knew she would die precisely at nine-thirty. The alarm clock would ring exactly then and continue to make noise because no one would turn it off, until someone found her body.

Before entering a dungeon instance every time, Asakura Yuko would prepare for death and set an alarm half an hour in advance. Thus, she wasn’t surprised now, nor did she feel the slightest bit of sadness or attachment.

In the Holy City instance, she unexpectedly discovered that White Raven was using the effect of an Identity Card to control her. After regaining consciousness and analyzing the past events, she realized that the Balance Church was unsuitable as a faction to open the new world, and she herself lacked the ability to bear the responsibility of holding the Forbidden Scholar Identity Card.

Therefore, she temporarily decided to seal the Forbidden Scholar Identity Card within the instance, allowing the distribution of Identity Cards among the various factions to reach a balance again.

Once upon a time, she lived for the White Raven she imagined, who represented idealism. But now, her ideals were shattered, the truth was filthy, and she only had death left.

—It was all that simple.

“Yuko, what happened?” White Raven pushed the door open, concern on her face. “Did you see something in the instance? The Forbidden Scholar Identity Card does create a lot of illusions…”

“The Forbidden Scholar Card will remain in the Holy City instance forever.” Asakura Yuko said calmly.

She pulled open a drawer, took out stacks of manuscripts, piled them up, and then picked up a pen to write and draw on the last page. Her movements were quick, as if she were rushing, yet she remained organized and composed throughout, never appearing flustered.

White Raven’s voice was slightly cold: “Yuko, what exactly happened? Who killed you?”

“Myself.” Asakura Yuko didn’t look up. “I killed myself. I thought about dying many years ago, but stayed in the world because I mistakenly thought I had found a reason to live. Now that I have once again lost the value of continuing to live, I might as well consciously exit the game early.”

Emotionally, she disagreed with White Raven’s methods, but rationally, she knew that White Raven’s actions were necessary and reasonable for the current situation. As a result, she, having temporarily broken free from control, became an obstacle that needed to be cleared.

With the situation having progressed this far, there was no room for turning back or changing course. As a variable, she only had death awaiting her.

White Raven watched Asakura Yuko calmly and said seriously, “I respect your choice. If you are truly tired, you can rest and wait to wake up again in the new world.”

Asakura Yuko remained silent. The room fell into momentary stillness, where only their shallow breathing could be heard. The space, less than ten square meters, somehow felt vast and desolate.

She was an ordinary person, performing all good, kind, and correct deeds as if following a script. Even when writing her final testament, she didn’t know what expression to wear and couldn’t forget to add flowery language.

But it didn’t matter; it was about to end. Asakura Yuko bent over the paper, writing steadily and calmly. At one point, she abruptly asked, “Why? Leader, you clearly knew that I agreed with your philosophy and would support your correct decisions, so why did you still do that?”

White Raven lowered her eyes to the papers on the desk, her voice calm as still water: “I apologize, Yuko. I cannot trust anyone, nor can I accept any possibility of failure. The ritual for the Dream Orator is about to take shape, and I will not carelessly tolerate the existence of variables.”

Yes, this was what a mature leader should be like. In the end, she had presumptuously held inappropriate expectations and was inexplicably sad about it.

Asakura Yuko closed her eyes and said, “I understand.”

The jarring sound of the alarm broke the silence. The pen in Asakura Yuko’s hand dropped with a “snap,” leaving a savage scratch mark on the white paper.

The funereal ringing spiraled through the room, like a prelude to a church mass. Outside the window, a tree full of crows and magpies was startled, flapping their wings and flying away with a rush.

White Raven quietly watched Asakura Yuko slump in her chair, her pupils dilated and her cheeks drained of color. White Raven silently stepped forward, turned off the alarm, reached out to close the dead woman’s eyes, and picked up the papers on the desk to look through them.

The pages were covered in flowing text—records of major past events of the Balance Church, accounts of White Raven’s deeds, and newly added opinions on recent decisions and orders—but there was nothing about Asakura Yuko herself.

White Raven read for a moment, then casually placed all the papers into the shredder in the corner of the office and pressed the switch.

The low hum of steel chewing paper sounded. She watched the fine shreds fall like ashes and sighed softly: “Those who cannot accept sin wait in the domain of death for the competition to end. Conspirators and ambitious individuals jointly push the endless game toward its conclusion. It has always been this way, from ancient times till now.”

“Things have come to this; the Balance can no longer turn back.”

White Raven swept away all the paper shreds, turned around to draw back the office curtains, and opened the window.

In the deep, dark night, golden halos flickered, trailing streaks of light that danced and flew through the air. Someone was setting off fireworks.

It wasn’t New Year’s, nor a holiday; she didn’t know what they were celebrating… “Sorry, I’m late.” In a confused dreamscape, Dong Xiwen pushed open the room door and sat down on a chair near the entrance.

After seeing the two people already sitting in the room, he blinked twice: “Um… Leader, little brother, would you mind telling me, this unlucky bastard, what’s going on?”

During this time, Dong Xiwen had grown accustomed to communicating with “Yuan” through dreams. Although he officially still belonged to White Raven’s faction, secretly, he had become an accomplice of “Yuan.”

He originally didn’t want to participate in political struggles, only hoping that the Balance Church could overthrow the Federal Government and change this terrible world, just as they advertised.

But as the internal purge of the Church progressed, countless former heroes, veterans, and core members were executed on trumped-up charges. Watching the blood spread over the pale stone bricks, he couldn’t help but doubt the Balance’s ideology and feel a sense of distress for his own kind.

Even though “Yuan” had never promised him anything or done much to gain his trust, he subconsciously gravitated toward this unfamiliar politician—simply because he disagreed with White Raven’s conduct.

This meeting seemed no different from any previous one, but Dong Xiwen hadn’t expected to see the image of his long-dead younger brother, Dong Ziwen, in this space that resembled his mental palace.

He had originally thought that his brother, after death, had possessed the jade pendant and was merely clinging to life out of necessity. Now it seemed much more complicated; “Yuan” was likely plotting behind the scenes and had calculated him into the scheme long ago.

“Brother, you guessed correctly. My death was part of the plan.” Dong Ziwen, wearing a black leather jacket, had his face obscured in shadow, making it hard to see clearly. “I was about to be exposed, so I could only escape through death.”

“Your joining the Balance was part of my scheme. We needed a pure newcomer, one who would absolutely not betray us, to rise quickly to fame, attract White Raven’s attention, and then act as her confidant to monitor her.”

Dong Ziwen’s tone was very ordinary, a simple and natural way of informing him, as if he didn’t think there was anything wrong with such actions.

Dong Xiwen had expected to feel rage, considering that when he thought Dong Ziwen had been murdered, he had gone completely insane for a whole year.

He had killed people, been investigated by the Federation, been hunted, traveled across oceans to reach the Balance Headquarters, and had even almost been shot dead by a burst of gunfire… But at this moment, he was surprisingly calm, asking, completely unfazed, “Why?”

“Because White Raven wants to create a god,” “Yuan” said coldly.

He clearly thought Dong Xiwen was asking why they were opposing White Raven.

After all, to outsiders, although the Balance Church had two leaders, they each performed their duties without interfering with the other, and their ultimate goal was to overthrow the Federation, so there was no need for them to become utterly incompatible.

Now, he explained concisely, “White Raven hopes to use the immense power of a god to overthrow the Federation and place the world under divine rule.”

“I can’t rashly conclude that she seeks dictatorship. Having a perfectly just deity establish strict rules is indeed one path to achieving absolute equality.”

“But I have always believed that humanity should choose for itself and should not be interfered with by deities.”

“Ha, okay, I get it.” Dong Xiwen nodded slightly and asked, “So, what should we do next?”

A fatigue, whose source he couldn’t trace, permeated his bones. Suddenly, he didn’t want to dwell on anything; he just wanted to end the conversation quickly and get on with whatever he needed to do.

Dong Ziwen seemed surprised by his quick agreement. He raised an eyebrow and stared straight at him: “Brother, it’s great that you understand us. I remember you got a Minor Card, but I can’t see its face. What kind of card is it exactly?”

Dong Xiwen materialized a red and black card between his fingers. On the card face, a magician in red clothing bowed deeply, surrounded by cheering spectators simplified into black silhouettes. One person’s chest was marked with a crimson patch, looking at first glance like a bleeding heart.

“Spectator,” he answered honestly. “It belongs to the Foolish Deceiver set.”

…Jiangcheng Branch of the Abnormality Investigation Bureau, in an observation room on the fifth basement level, six chairs were lined up, and each chair was occupied by one person—the representatives who had entered the Holy City instance.

Fu Jue sat in the chair closest to the corner, calmly recounting the instance’s process, starting from the early stage where Qi Si participated in the game as a God-level NPC, causing the live stream to shut down; and later in the instance, when the Ancestral God unexpectedly revived, killing almost all players, with only Identity Card holders surviving.

The five representatives were eerily silent. Not only did they not refute Fu Jue’s statements, but they occasionally nodded in agreement, indicating that everything Fu Jue said was true.

The other representatives who hadn’t entered the instance felt that things weren’t so simple, yet they had no other means of knowing the full picture, so they could only pace anxiously outside the door, frustrated by their inability to help.

An investigator from Crystal County rushed into the observation room, grabbed Fran Parker’s shoulders, and shook him wildly: “Fran, tell me this isn’t true! It’s not your first time facing a god. How could someone with your ranking die so easily?”

He was clearly implying that Fran should accuse Fu Jue of harming them, practically stopping just short of grabbing Fran’s hand and pointing it at Fu Jue.

Fran merely shook his head slightly and said hoarsely, “The Ancestral God is different from other deities. He just looked at me then, and I couldn’t move… I’m sorry, I really don’t want to recall that experience…”

Fatigue and lingering fear were etched on the face of every representative. These people, who were about to die, were listless and dejected, making it difficult for others to press them further.

Another investigator from an outer county looked at Fu Jue and sneered: “Fu Jue, they all died in the instance, and only you survived. Don’t you plan to explain? Whether you refused to save them or were simply incapable, you are no longer fit to lead the entire Abnormality Investigation Bureau, are you?”

Fu Jue raised his eyelids and said flatly, “There are twenty-seven hours left until the Final Instance begins. Any player who wishes to replace me can continue to match into the same instance as me, and the winner will be determined as the most suitable person to participate in the Final Instance.”

The fate of the five representatives was still fresh in their minds. Matching into the same instance as Fu Jue at this time was essentially telling him, “I don’t want to live anymore, please send me on my way.”

The investigator stared intensely at him: “Hearing you say that, Fu Jue, are you admitting that you deliberately refused to save them, or even intentionally used the instance against them?”

“I did not say that,” Fu Jue said, turning his head to look at him, enunciating clearly. “But I have always believed that internal friction so close to the Final Instance is an irrational, low-value folly.”

The investigator was about to say something more, but Fu Jue stood up on his own accord and walked toward the door.

Li Yunyang happened to walk in from outside the door. Seeing Fu Jue, he looked solemn: “Senior, Councilor Hayes called and hopes to speak with you face-to-face tomorrow.”

Fu Jue said, “Brooke Hayes, an Abnormality Game player, ranked 97th on the overall highest rankings, one of the founders of the Abnormality Investigation Bureau. He retired to the second line in 2026 and no longer participates in matching new instances. I met his son, Wade, in the Holy City instance. Is he coming because of this?”

Li Yunyang gently shook his head: “He didn’t say anything, only that he had boarded a plane headed for Beidu.”

“Good, I understand.” Fu Jue nodded slightly, his glasses reflecting white light spots. “Please inform him that I will meet him at the Beidu Headquarters tomorrow at two in the afternoon.”

He was about to turn and leave when Li Yunyang suddenly called out to him: “Senior, forty percent of the Jiangcheng area is already affected by abnormality contamination, and Director Shao’s situation is not good. I want to…”

“Li Yunyang, you need to conserve your strength as much as possible before the Final Instance,” Fu Jue interrupted. “The Final Instance is the crux of all abnormalities. If it is not resolved, any effort spent elsewhere will be futile.”

“After May 5th, I will begin dealing with the source of the contamination.”

…Qijia Village, Jincheng. Qi Si opened his eyes in bed. Layers of fatigue enveloped his entire body, making his limbs difficult to move for a moment, and even his thoughts became sluggish.

Contending with the Ancestral God for control of his body did not cause physical damage, but rather a kind of wear and tear on the soul level. He felt fear and confusion for the first time in a long time, as if an irresistible natural disaster had descended upon him, making him realize his own insignificance and mediocrity… “Qi Si, what’s wrong? Your face is paler than my paper dolls.” Xu Yao hung upside down from the ceiling, staring at Qi Si.

With her interruption, Qi Si felt like someone startled awake from a nightmare by a Buddhist chant. The discomfort clinging to him slowly dissipated, vanishing into nothingness instantly.

He sat up and said weakly, “Nothing much. Just some dangerous creature that died ages ago crawled out of hell, and it’s highly likely going to seek revenge on me for a while.”

“Who is it?” Xu Yao asked curiously. “Who else can seek revenge on you?”

“The Ancestral God. You don’t know him.” Qi Si said dismissively, picking up his phone to look at it.

A new text message was prominently displayed in the message bar: 【Secret cooperation for the Final Instance. Fu Jue】

It was the usual unknown number, impossible to call back or trace, but the tone confirmed that the message was indeed from that person.

A strange smile finally appeared on Qi Si’s face: “It seems your plan is going smoothly, and your ambition is sufficiently audacious. Interesting, interesting.”