Chapter 429 – The Gods (1) Fu Jue

A beast is a god that has tumbled from the altar;

a god is a beast draped in gold and color.

—Volume Six: Gods and Beasts

‘Lin Jue, save us! You promised you’d get us out alive—don’t go back on your word!’

‘You’re the top-ranked player—how could you fail? Or do you just not want to help?’

‘You’re all we’ve got, the only one who can clear this instance. You absolutely must keep winning for us…’

High on the snow mountain, outside the temple, Fu Jue stood in the darkness while pleas and accusations swirled through heaven and earth, at times sounding from a dimension farther than far, at times so close they seemed to brush his ears.

Those torn, frantic voices warped and distorted as time crawled, until they resembled the gibbering of Ghosts deep in a nightmare—thick, malice-laden, eager to drag the living into hell.

‘I will save every one of you,’ Fu Jue promised calmly.

In the past, as president of the Ark Guild, Lin Jue had uttered those words countless times, smiling as he calmed terrified crowds. Later, when he returned to the world as Fu Jue, the newly formed Jiuzhou Guild adopted the line as its rallying cry, so everyone took it for granted—Fu Jue would save them all.

‘Save me first! I don’t want to die, I’m scared…’

‘God Fu, I’ve always idolized you—please help me…’

‘Fu Jue, you said you’d rescue every single person—was that a lie?’

The voices grew ever more chaotic. People mired in despair, catching sight of a faint glimmer on the shore, instinctively clutched at the last straw, even if the stem snapped and they all sank together—better than drowning alone.

Survival instinct pushed to its extreme turns desire into something razor-sharp. The weak who long to help can only fling themselves forward in vain, one after another dragged down with the drowning.

This is the essence of every struggle and scheme within the Eerie Game.

Minimum death quotas, the Final Dungeon—too many lives are no longer their own, pinned instead on salvation through others: kill the weak, worship the strong, then die as lightly as a feather.

Fu Jue lowered his gaze. At the bottom of his mind every voice surfaced with its matching face and story, but the feelings of that time had been scraped away, leaving only cold, factual memory.

He surveyed it all in calm detachment, sorting useful information into neat categories, his heart empty and crystal-clear, unable to hold anything soft; no cry, however hoarse, could ripple that surface.

‘Oṃ āḥ hūṃ, may the Savior shelter all beings…’

‘Oṃ āḥ hūṃ, may the Blessed Deity grant bounty…’

‘Oṃ āḥ hūṃ, may the Cemetery Deity guard the dead…’

An ethereal hymn rose; glimmers kindled in the darkness like the first sunrise of the cosmos, showing primordial life what light looked like, pointing later travelers on their trek.

Fu Jue walked toward the light, yet the singing drifted farther away, as though traveling in the opposite direction. When he stepped fully into the radiance, every sound was swallowed by a silence deep enough to drown all life, as if he alone existed there.

A figure in pure white stood with its back to him within the brightness, asking without turning, ‘Are you the Savior?’

The voice was gentle and cool, familiar across time. Fu Jue’s expression did not change. ‘If you mean the narrow definition—holder of the Fallen Savior Identity Card—then I have always been. If you mean the broader concept of “one who bears the duty to save the world,” or the original religious sense, then no one can be.’

‘Is that so? A grave problem indeed…’ The figure turned; it wore Lin Jue’s face, brows mild, eyes empty as mist, reflecting nothing.

He stretched a hand toward Fu Jue in clear invitation: ‘Then, Fu Jue, the Savior is gone—will you take His seat? Just as… you have always wished…’

Countless motes of light rose from every direction, weaving between them a throne of thorns. Vines climbed its edges, blooming strange, gorgeous flowers. Each blossom turned toward Fu Jue, unfurling jet-black stamens like the eyes of unknown creatures, gazing at him without feeling.

Fu Jue did not move; he stared coldly at the figure, lens-flare hiding whatever lay in his eyes.

He knew this thing was not Lin Jue—only a scheme the instance had crafted, nothing to do with him.

The person known as ‘Lin Jue’ had died on this very snow mountain twenty-two years ago during that Final Dungeon. His bones might lie beneath Fu Jue’s boots, or a little farther off, but they had never left this place, nor crawled back from hell.

Knowing the outcome, the young man had activated the Dark Judge effect, staking his own life to buy his companions a sliver of hope, leaving behind remnants of a plan to open the second round of the game.

Afterward, his follower Fu Jue had triggered the Fallen Savior effect, sacrificing his own soul to let a part of him revive within that shell—nothing more.

The figure seemed to read Fu Jue’s thoughts and asked with a smile, ‘You have come this far; does it really matter who I am?’,’You schemed and calculated for thirty-six years to reach this step—isn’t this throne exactly what you want?’

Fu Jue glanced at the gold-crowned seat and asked, ‘What is the price?’

The smiling silhouette said, “You can absolutely afford the price, and even if you’re unwilling, it seems there’s no turning back…”

Indeed, there was no way back. He had already walked to the very end of the path a human could glimpse. The proposal had turned to its final page; even if he refused to advance, with no forks in sight, he would simply rot on the spot.

Besides, seizing the divine throne had always been a calculated future—the necessary condition to confront the supreme rule, the Eerie Game, and the Ancestral God. Even knowing it was a trap, he could only stake everything on one desperate throw.

His goal had never changed: become an Ancestral God while still human, then drag that God’s authority, will, and spirit straight into ruin—before He could destroy this world.

“I understand.” Fu Jue stepped forward, stopped an inch from the throne, and slowly sat.

Vines crept over his body as if alive; cold branches clung to his limbs, burrowed into blood vessels and meridians. He was locked inside a pillar of light, as though he had become part of the throne—imprisoned, bound, devoured.

An electronic voice sounded beside his ear, speaking calmly:

【As an Ancestral God, you will sacrifice everything you possess—past and future; you will relinquish everything you desire—even your existence; then all living things shall receive them…】

The outline of a golden Balance appeared before him. Both pans were empty, yet they somehow felt heavy, as though bearing vast nothingness.

The voice continued:

【Your “humanity”… may serve as a weight upon the World Balance. Place enough weight, and you shall obtain the authority of an Ancestral God…】

Fu Jue gazed at the empty pans, his tone flat. “The first time I entered the Final Dungeon, I placed my ‘humanity’ on the Balance—and lost the first round.

From what I know, I’m not the only contender for the Ancestral God’s authority. The one whose total weights are greatest will win that right, correct?”

He glanced at the figure wearing Lin Jue’s face and received a silent affirmation; silver glinted behind the lenses. “I want to know: did the first round also gamble away something while I was unconscious, and what weight did the other side place?”

“Divinity,” the figure answered briefly, the word cut off by the next electronic tone.

【Your “believers”… may serve as weights upon the World Balance. Place enough weight, and you shall obtain the authority of an Ancestral God…】

This time countless silhouettes filled the pans. Faces flashed in rapid succession—Li Yunyang, Lu Li, thousands of Investigators from the Bureau of Anomaly Affairs, players from Jiuzhou Guild, Tingfeng Guild, Fengyu Guild… Sensing Fu Jue’s gaze, they called out one after another: “Senior!” “Director Fu!” “God Fu!”

For twenty-two years he had built prestige, sculpting himself through propaganda into a shining Idol of a savior—all for this moment.

As representative of Jiuzhou Guild, he traded idealistic promises for ordinary players’ support; through successive congresses he brought Tingfeng Guild, Fengyu Guild and like-minded factions under control; as Puppeteer he hoisted Sera Guild to the top ranks, drawing in those mad Slaughter-path players… At the bottom of memory a scene suddenly sharpened: blurred yet familiar faces flickered in the light, long-dead people wearing the smiles of the living, serene and brilliant.

It was a time even earlier than twenty-two years ago, when everyone he knew was still alive. Players’ understanding of the Eerie Game was still incomplete; they stumbled forward hand in hand.

Friendship forged fast in life-and-death crises. A band of highly adaptable youths fought side by side; once the first terror peeled away, they joked through the hardship, bantering after every narrow escape.

Back then Chu Yining, hampered by limited mobility, would amuse herself by scrolling Entry on her phone whenever she had a spare moment.

One day she came upon the “trolley problem” and asked with interest, “Lin Jue, if the Eerie Game told us that killing one player would shut the game down forever, would you do it?”

Lin Jue answered without hesitation, “If one life is enough, then I’ll take my own.”

“You won’t get the chance—I’ll definitely beat you to it.” Chu Yining laughed lightly. “For one thing, you’re better at post-war logistics alive; for another, I’ve always dreamed my tombstone could read: ‘This person saved the world.’”

The recollection snapped. The death and rebirth of twenty-two years ago had left scars; after the Twilight of the Gods, Fu Jue lost many earlier memories, including what happened in that Final Dungeon.

Still, he believed Lin Jue at that time could never have placed other people’s lives on the Balance.

Idealism, call it naïveté—both were past tenses proven failures by fact.

Without necessary sacrifice, only greater disaster would follow… White Crow was also in the Final Dungeon; as leader of the Balance Church, she would hardly lack believers… One wrong thought and everything could collapse.

In seconds the pros and cons were weighed with cold precision. Fu Jue closed his eyes and spoke calmly: “In this round, I choose to place my ‘believers’ upon the World Balance.”