Chapter 248

Chapter 248

After a brief respite, the Perfects found themselves plunged back into the depths of despair.

This constant seesaw of emotions might prove more deadly than knowing from the start that there was no hope.

The players had gone to confront the Evil God. Though they hadn't explicitly revealed what had appeared, the oppressive aura, the feeling of hopelessness, and the abnormality of the crimson moon in the sky were enough for the more astute Perfects to deduce the truth. Almost immediately, these intelligent individuals' rationality crumbled, and they succumbed to despair first.

They didn't believe anyone could stand up against a god. They couldn't even fathom why a god would descend; wouldn't that mean all hope was lost?

"Why are we so unlucky?" Jimmy heard Kittridge mutter in confusion. His eyes were blank, his gaze fixed on some indistinct point as if all the strength had been drained from his body.

"Why do we encounter so many setbacks? Why does hope always turn into despair just when we think we see it?"

No one answered his questions, and Kittridge didn't seem to care. It was as if he was subconsciously spilling the words hidden in his heart.

These self-reproachful words weren't unique to Kittridge alone. There were certainly other Perfects who shared similar thoughts, and more than a few who regretted their choices.

Subtle sobs echoed all around, a bitter taste of hope dashed by despair. The pain of near-death experiences and the hopelessness of dead ends – all of it seemed to ignite in this moment.

"Why...?"

"There aren't always answers to 'why'," Jimmy replied, his voice strained but resolute.

The Perfects, trudging wearily nearby, sparing them fleeting glances, but Jimmy paid no heed. The image of the Senator's death flashed before his eyes. Before he had fled, he had wondered why such misfortune befell only him, why the journey to this promised land was fraught with trials, and why the Senator hadn't firmly stopped them.

But after being saved by the Senator, witnessing his death, Jimmy began to grasp something.

"Because it's a test we must endure," Jimmy said. "We didn't fully comprehend it before because we were still under the Old Gods' protection, still shielded by the Senate. But from now on, we can only rely on ourselves."

"This is the New World, the trials that humanity in the New World has always faced."

Kittridge fell into a daze at these words.

Yes, hadn't they been listening to the Investigators' tales of the New World, the players' stories, the tragedies even depicted in their performances? In the New Mythology, there was a saying: The people of the New World had to rely on themselves to weather all manner of natural and man-made disasters.

It was precisely because they could only depend on themselves that the flower of human wisdom bloomed amidst adversity.

Yet the Perfects had not truly grasped its significance until now.

The path to independence and freedom was strewn with thorns; no one could forever shield them from harm.

Jimmy raised his head, tears welling in his eyes. "To be honest, we've made it this far thanks to many people helping us, and we're still under their watchful care."

The surrounding Perfects, who could hear Jimmy's voice, fell silent. Along the journey, they had all been rescued by players at some point, and they were still being saved by them.

Gunfire and explosions periodically echoed from the back of the Perfects' formation. In the Dream World, both Perfects and players could no longer easily wield magic. However, according to the players, their weapons weren't magical; they were the creations of humans in the new world who could no longer use magic, designed to combat disasters.

With these weapons, they were fighting against unimaginable, indescribable entities, constantly teetering on the edge of death.

At that moment, Kittridge's whispering grew quieter. He refused to succumb to negative emotions again. He could accept his cowardice but not the idea of those brave souls protecting him because of it, allowing fear to defeat him without a fight.

At least the road beneath their feet continued, and they still had life. They were still on the journey toward independence and freedom.

They had not lost yet.

The sobbing around them subsided. The Perfects who had heard Jimmy tried to comfort their loved ones. The council members in charge were doing their best to maintain order within the ranks, promptly knocking out any Perfects showing signs of madness to preserve the fragile stability of the group.

With utmost caution, they moved like a tiny boat in a tempest, vulnerable to capsizing at any moment.

A greater storm was on its way.

Now that an Evil God had intervened, having pierced through one veil, They became even more brazen. Soon, spherical objects silently materialized above the Perfects, and as green smoke spread, the Perfects below grew blank-eyed and gradually froze in place.

Hogscythe, a Plaguebringer and one of the Old Ones, though not widely known, found dealing with humans without divine essence an effortless task.

Not only was this column of Perfects in dire straits, but other larger groups were also under attack from Evil Gods.

Lane rose to his feet with a grim expression, only to be forcefully pulled back down by Best. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? They can't possibly match up against the Evil Gods. If a deity has entered the fray and we don't have a countermeasure, our Perfects will be wiped out."

Best replied, "But have you considered the consequences of your appearance? Only five Old Ones have shown themselves so far, but if you make an appearance, all the Evil Gods in the Dream World will mobilize."

In the eyes of the Evil Gods, the value of Perfects was limited, at best serving to distract the Old Ones. But Lane was a different story.

His 'Door' could directly breach the barrier between the Dream World and reality. With that, the Evil Gods would have no qualms about invading the real world.

Of course, Lane was aware of this, which was why he was so cautious in the Dream World. But now, to witness the completion of humanity's destruction…

"Alright, calm down," Beast sensed something and a smile appeared on his face. "Those fellows have finally decided to make a move."

Lane's heart stirred as he also looked in that direction.

...

A fleeting white light dispersed the fog of the Plague Spreaders.

The dazed Completes, under the warm glow, gradually regained their consciousness. Some who had survived from ancient times even felt an overwhelming urge to weep.

They didn't even need to look up to know that He had arrived.

Jimmy seemed somewhat dazed. As a newly-born Complete, he had never witnessed any traces of gods in his memory. Everyone around him had always been silent about the old god who protected Okris, except for his grandmother, who, before she passed away, whispered to Jimmy:

"That is an incredibly gentle and beautiful god. In crucial moments, He will protect us."

Jimmy had never taken those words seriously. After growing up and witnessing countless slaughters and disasters caused by the rules within the city, the so-called god had never shown up. Moreover, under the efforts of the councilors, no records of this deity could be found within the city.

It was only today that he finally experienced the warmth of the light his grandmother had described for the first time.

Many of the Perfects instinctively tried to lift their heads, hoping to glimpse the radiance of the old gods who protected them. But at that moment, an elderly man with white hair, among the Perfects, cried through his tears:

"All Perfects, do not look up! Keep moving forward!"

Before the exodus of the Perfects from Ocris began, a meeting had been held within the city. They knew the truth behind the old gods' absence a millennium ago and had, without prior agreement, helped to eradicate any records related to Them. Over the years, they refrained from sharing the old gods' visage with newly born Perfects, even striving to erase those blissful memories over time.

No one could guarantee that the mythic rituals still held power.

If They reappeared, if They still wished to protect the Perfects...

Then the only thing they, as Perfects, could do was to proceed forward.

Whether it was the glory of walking alongside the gods or the oppressive existence under the rules, all of it belonged to the past and need not be revisited.

Thus, the halted procession of Perfects moved forward once more.

Above them, the old gods and the evil gods clashed, but the old gods did not forget to shield the Perfects with a barrier, ensuring they remained unharmed.

One by one, the Old Gods emerged, intercepting the malevolent deities that attempted to intervene. They silently watched the slow-moving group below, offering no assistance beyond halting the evil gods.

Throughout this journey, they had observed the Mortals' struggles and independence with their own eyes.

Though battered and several times on the brink of life and death, they never ceased their march.

This realization dawned upon them sincerely.

Parting was imminent.

The radiant Apollo effortlessly crushed the Plaguebearer. He lifted his head, gazing in the direction of the Pastoral Forest, as if his gaze could pierce through spatial barriers, focusing on Bastet and Lane.

Bastet, feeling guilty, averted her face and coughed. Technically, they had indeed tricked the Old Gods by persuading the Mortals to leave the Dream World for the new realm, indirectly forcing the Old Gods to confront the evil deities.

For the evil deities would inevitably invade the real world. By taking the Mortals now, weren't they pushing the Old Gods into a war with the malevolent forces?

Lane, on the other hand, looked back unapologetically. He had never had a choice anyway. The Old Gods could retreat into the Dream World, but wherever he was, he attracted the greed of the evil deities. How could his beloved siblings stand idly by?

Apollo chuckled softly. "Cunning little brother."

If Lahn had merely lured the Mortals to the New World with promises of protection, the Old Gods would never have let them go so easily, for they knew that Lahn struggled to protect himself.

But Lahn's followers had made it abundantly clear, leaving no room for misunderstanding. The Mortals had made their own choice.

It was like parents who couldn't hold back their grown child from venturing out into the world.

The Mortals had willingly left the domain of the Old Gods, choosing to dive into the vortex of fate and gamble on a future. Along the way, they had demonstrated their resolve.

What could the Old Gods do but give them one last push?

Apollo gazed at the sky, where a blood-red moon hung, replacing the silver moon that had vanished since his sister's fall. The goddess Nyx drew a veil of darkness, while Zeus indolently used clouds to shield against the lunacy of the lunar taint.

For the first time, the crimson moon that had occupied nearly a third of the dream world's night sky vanished, plunging the land into an inky blackness. The only light that illuminated the darkness was the torches carried by the Mortals in their procession.