Chapter 457 – January 1, 2038

January 1, 2038, Shangri-La Snow Mountain.

Ever since the mountaineering team discovered Lin Jue’s body on the slopes, the Bureau of Anomaly Affairs had more or less pieced together how the gamble Lin Jue had faced alone had played out.

By some unknown means, Lin Jue had earned the Primordial God’s trust and received the highest authority from Him; then, using the God-Slaying Sword, he killed himself—the new Primordial God—trading the ultimate godfall for the world’s rebirth.

The unknown turned known, and the Bureau finally breathed a cautious sigh of relief, yet it dared not halt its exploration of the mountain, fearing that one day a crevice might split the snowpack and the eerie beings pressed back underground would crawl into reality once more.

More and more teams marched into the mountain, clearing out campsite after campsite for rest. After a year and a half the blizzard had finally slackened, and the Bureau’s worries seemed no more than needless anxiety.

The expedition’s role shifted from suicide squad to funding gravy train for the higher-ups. Daredevil climbers and guides kept planning summit attempts; the Bureau offered token discouragement, then let them be.

“Brother Lin, any plans for the afternoon? Need a hand?” At the Bureau’s mid-mountain camp, a kid in an orange shell jacket slapped Lin Chen’s shoulder with a grin.

Lin Chen smiled back and shook his head. “No plans. Everyone stand down, relax, do as you like.”

Over the past six months Lin Chen had ventured repeatedly into the mountain’s most treacherous depths, returning with invaluable footage. When the Bureau expanded last month, he broke from his old unit and formed a new team, becoming its captain.

He knew the expansion was just another cash grab, and his low rank left him no choice but to ride the tide. Whatever others did, he would do his own job well. And—perhaps overthinking—he sensed the final instance had not truly ended… His squad of restless youngsters, learning he had once been Si Qi’s “accomplice” and the Unnamed Guild’s leader, pestered him daily. Because Lin Chen had no airs and answered every question, they treated him more as friend than boss.

“Don’t kid us, Boss. I saw you pull out the climbing gear.” The kid looked around and teased, “Planning another solo stunt so you can bag merit and a workplace injury?”

“Not at all—ha!” Lin Chen laughed. “I’m just going to check on the monument area, see how the memorial hall’s coming along.”

Losing interest, the kid ducked back into the tent. “Then come back early, stay safe!”

Lin Chen gave a slight nod, took up his trekking pole, and headed step by step toward the construction zone deep in the mountain.

As the epicenter of the godfall and the spot where Lin Jue’s body lay, the heart of the mountain had long been filled with vast, bizarre visions—shapeless shadows drifting across the grey-white curtain of snow, human and beast forms writhing half-seen.

The visions did no harm, but induced hallucinations and swayed emotions; everyone inside felt an inexplicable sorrow, as though trapped in a funeral procession. A memorial site here seemed fitting—every visitor arrived in earnest.

The living love hollow tributes to parade their virtue. Those who once trampled Lin Jue now styled themselves his staunchest supporters. Fearing his resurrection yet desperate to gild him, they wept for the Federation to spare no cost erecting monuments and museums to his sacrifice.

How much of the budget lined private pockets is unknown, but the towering “Humanity’s Victory over the Eerie Game Monument” now rises from the wind and snow. At its apex are carved the images of Lin Jue and Fu Jue; below them, the names of distinguished players crowd every slab.

Lin Jue’s corpse remains half-kneeling in the snow, the bronze sword through his chest glinting as it did six months ago. No one dares touch the eerie ice-statue, terrified of the consequences. Wild rumors grow ever wilder, and in the public mind the body is equated with malevolent spirits.

Such overblown commemoration backfires; citizens love opposing the Federation. Conspiracy theorists insist Lin Jue was a madman bent on destroying humanity, and the Bureau, once under his command, merely preserves his dignity after death.

In the end, only Lin Chen and a handful of others ever visit the monument.

Many questions still torment him—Si Qi’s role, Lin Jue’s death, the gods-and-rules gamble—but a corpse offers no answers. Months spent circling the area have yielded no clues.

He studies Lin Jue’s serene face, then the sky-piercing monument, and suddenly wonders: “Wait—has the godfall’s influence faded? Why do I feel no sorrow… only a strange… joy?”

No, the influence had not faded; a higher being had twisted it into its opposite, polluting every heart with elation instead of grief.

A wind long stilled now sprang up, flinging snow and ice skyward, shrieking through the valley like the accumulated wails of centuries.

Grey snow-fog grew so dense it formed tornado-like columns; serpents of whirling snow lashed distant glaciers and nearby ice sheets, slamming into monument and museum alike.

Cracks webbed across the structures; within seconds the monument shrieked and split, blocks crashing down and shattering into grey-black dust.

The ice itself fractured. Jagged fissures spidered up to the frozen statue; Lin Jue’s corpse began to dissolve, face eroding, body losing human shape, silver-white snowflakes whisked into the sky.

Flesh and ice fused into powder, every trace of existence vanishing before the eye, leaving only the bronze sword thrust into the ice, golden light seeping from its tip along every fissure.

A black tower stabbed through the ice, shooting skyward like bamboo after rain, standing upon the snow-capped mountain and touching the heavens. Where its spire met the sky, the firmament was dyed the gold of a dying sunset, spreading outward like pigment dropped into clear water.

“Babel…” Lin Chen whispered the name, every vague foreboding finally snapping into place.

The Eerie Game had never truly ended… At the guild congress, Yu Jinsheng had argued the final instance would be a tower climb; later, players had boarded buses bound for the snow mountains without ever entering a tower, and everyone assumed the Wind-listeners’ forecast had missed its mark. Now it was clear the matter was far from simple.

If the final instance really was a tower-climbing game—if Shangri-La’s snow mountain and every subsequent anomaly were merely one floor—how many more remained? A single floor had already dragged humanity to the brink of extinction. With Lin Jue dead, what were they supposed to do next?

A feeling called despair welled up inside Lin Chen. He clenched his fists, then loosened them; his teeth chattered with a soft rattle. Yet, under some power’s influence, he was smiling, lips frozen, unable to move.

The sky had turned completely golden. Great roots wriggled through cracks in the ice, distant phantoms of shattered stone walls and European architecture flickered in and out, and the snow-clad mountain was dressed in the trappings of a sunset city—foreign yet familiar.

Beneath the black tower stood a figure in a blood-red robe, hair nearly sweeping the ground. Crimson eyes fixed on Lin Chen from afar, a cold smile ghosting across his features, beneath which lurked something far more malicious.

“Q…Qi-ge?” Lin Chen stared at that unforgettable face, eyes wide.

Hadn’t Qi Si died? Why was he here? Was… was he even Qi Si?

After everything, Lin Chen’s feelings toward Qi Si were tangled. Qi Si was a thorough villain, madman, pervert; Lin Chen was, at heart, a rule-abiding, slightly kind ordinary man. Without the Eerie Game, their paths would never have crossed.

Yet Qi Si had, without question, helped him many times and never truly harmed him. Lin Chen had repaid three lives, but favors can’t be settled like cold numbers. Emotionally, he couldn’t help leaning toward Qi Si; rationally, he knew they walked different roads—Qi Si should be his enemy.

‘Lin Chen, if you trust me, share a room… I’m a veteran; I’ve cleared an instance and still have life-saving tricks, unlike a rookie like you.’

‘No need to feel guilty—I’m no good person; I’ve killed plenty of innocents. I’m just tired of the game and want somewhere to rest. Don’t sell yourself short; compared to a scumbag like me, you’re obviously more worth keeping alive.’

‘In the Colosseum instance, you saved me once. We’re even.’

Those memories resurfaced, and Lin Chen felt like the indecisive rookie again, wondering how to face Qi Si and whether to stay with the Bureau of Anomaly Affairs.

Then he watched the red-clad youth stride toward him: a face pale as a ghost, features carved like marble. Every part resembled Qi Si, yet the whole felt unfamiliar—more like a strange god.

The red-eyed deity stopped before him, smile unchanging, voice soft and slow: “So you’re still alive…”

Lin Chen hadn’t expected that opening. He opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came. Agony exploded in his chest as the god’s hand punched through, withdrawing a still-beating crimson heart.

He stared blankly at that flawless face, searching for a trace of the Qi Si he’d known—until consciousness sank into darkness, he found nothing. The being before him was only a god, no longer the Qi Si he knew… Si Qi casually killed the nuisance and strolled back to Babel, stepping into its dark doorway.

Golden vines wavered within the cramped darkness, rows of silver-white text floating in the void, accompanied by solemn whispers of the rules:

【Instance Name: World No. 47 – Snow Mountain】

【Instance Type: Final Instance—Gods Gamble】

【Screening Passed by: Si Qi】

【You may proceed to the next floor】

Si Qi never underestimated mortal wit, nor could he guarantee Qi Si could outplay everyone, but in a one-player game, whatever the rules, he would be the sole victor.

Now that White Crow and Lin Jue were both dead, Li shackled inside a human shell somewhere digging hedges, only Si Qi remained to keep playing the game of rules.

Had Si Qi never returned, the Eerie Game would indeed have ended, just as humanity believed.

Snow Mountain was meant to be the last instance. If the Primordial God’s plan had succeeded, the world would restart; since it failed, Lin Jue’s death drove out all mystery and strangeness, crafting a world without gods for mankind.

Just as the Primordial God never expected Si Qi to return, Lin Jue knew it yet found no countermeasure, only doing everything within his power.

From here on, no one could stop what was coming.

Si Qi stepped onto the spiral stair, ascending to Babel’s second floor as a new world unfolded. Verdant vines blanketed ground and walls, layers of leaves hanging down to hide humanoid figures whose bodies sprouted plant stems.

“Another short-lived outsider…” a deep voice muttered, accompanied by the rustle of growing plants—cut off halfway.

The scene seemed paused, colors slowly draining as silver-white text reappeared:

【Instance Name: World No. 47 – The Immortal Kingdom】

【Instance Type: Final Instance—Gods Gamble】

【Screening Passed by: Si Qi】

【You may proceed to the next floor】

In a game with only one participant, that player is the destined winner.

Si Qi quickened his pace, climbing step after step, passing the third, fourth, fifth floors—oceans, volcanoes, sky-cities shifting around him.

At the tower’s summit he gazed down at the nascent World Tree inside a golden orb and smiled: “By the rules, I shall become the new Primordial God—but I would rather become the rule itself.”