Chapter 24: Spatial compliance

[As one of the Natural Calamities of the Advent Continent, legend held that the origin of Pestilence lay deep beneath the Domain of the Dead.

The geography of the Southern Continent was peculiar. In truth, it was a landmass built above the Kesh Sea, with a vast void sloping downward toward the continent’s far edge.

The higher regions were occupied by the elves’ Forest of Nature. The lower regions, lying far below sea level and prone to gathering dark elements, had become the territory of the undead.

Beneath the Domain of the Dead was empty space. There was no sea below it. Perhaps if one delved deep enough toward the heart of the continent, one might even reach another plane entirely.

At this moment, Zong Mi lay upon an altar deep within the Domain of the Dead. Chains bound all four of his limbs, leaving him utterly unable to move.

The altar’s surface was covered in obscure and complex magical patterns. Fed by blood, the runes began to glow faintly, pulsing in a rhythm that seemed to match breathing itself, as though they had come alive.

This was an altar from the Age of the Ancient Gods, used to offer sacrifices to evil deities.

Whether an evil god chose to descend depended on the quality of the offering. More often than not, however, such beings were extraordinarily picky. If the sacrifice failed to satisfy them, the worshipper might well lose their life on the spot.

Yet it was obvious that Zong Mi could feel the magical pressure in the air growing thicker and heavier, the blood beneath him gradually being absorbed by the altar’s patterns, and the torches around him being extinguished one after another despite having just been lit.

At the very moment the firelight vanished, wisps of black mist began to appear in the darkness. Every strand carried an incomparably terrifying aura, announcing the imminent arrival of a dreadful existence.

Yet he also saw the final object he had been searching for.

The crown rested beside his hand.

Unfortunately, he had no time to reach for it.

There was no doubt that the ritual had succeeded.

The sacrifice had already begun.

A deathly silence spread through the surroundings. Every sound seemed to fade away.

Only the mounting magical pressure and the howling wind caused by turbulent air currents remained.

Zong Mi smelled that overwhelming aura.

It was Pestilence.

Of all the Natural Calamities of the Advent Continent, only Pestilence had never become a god. Yet ten thousand years later, that conclusion no longer seemed entirely accurate.

Something began sliding down his forehead.

A pale hand emerged from the black mist within the void. With lazy amusement, it lightly touched the center of Zong Mi’s brow before slowly tracing down the bridge of his nose.

Clearly, the evil god was extremely pleased with this sacrifice.

It had even chosen to descend in its true form.

Yet Zong Mi could see nothing.

Boundless darkness and black mist swallowed all his senses.

He was like a lamb awaiting slaughter, completely unable to resist. That elegant, well-defined hand stroked him casually, almost playfully, pinning the increasingly chilled Zong Mi firmly upon the altar.

The bard lay beneath endless darkness.

His golden hair spread behind him. His platinum-white robe had been dyed crimson by blood, while the stains nearer his chest had already dried into dark black-red.

His eyes were on the verge of turning completely scarlet. Redness seeped from the corners of his eyes. Combined with the restrained expression brought on by this sudden turn of events and the way he bit down on his lower lip, every detail was breathtakingly beautiful.

“How many years has it been…”

A faint, inscrutable chuckle echoed from the void.

Yet the hand never stopped moving.

It made Zong Mi arch instinctively, broken sounds escaping his throat like a fish dying from lack of water.

“Such a lovely sound.”

The voice was low and hoarse, carrying a long sigh.

Every touch seemed capable of lifting a person into the clouds.

“You are mine. Every part of you, inside and out.”

“From the moment you were born until this distant age.”

“Did you really think this was the future? Hmm?”

“And where exactly do you think you’re trying to run?”]**

The future shattered before Zong Mi’s eyes.

The blurred vision that had seemed covered by frosted glass abruptly cleared. Everything that had happened upon the blood-soaked altar suddenly felt like nothing more than a dream.

Yet none of it compared to the terror rising within his heart.

That unknown god had noticed the future.

Not only that—it seemed capable of trapping him there forever.

Among all the futures he had ever observed across countless timelines, he had never encountered such a situation.

That realization alone was enough to make his heart tighten painfully.

By all logic, after Ragnarok, every god should have perished.

No gods ought to exist on the Advent Continent anymore.

Much less Pestilence, a Calamity that had never successfully become a god in the first place.

Even stranger, the other party seemed to know him.

Yet Zong Mi had absolutely no memory of such a being.

He remembered many things.

He remembered his divine soul being torn apart.

He remembered his godhood being pierced and shattered by the lightning of the gods.

Even after countless years, he still remembered those gods’ faces, remembered the agony of his shattered soul, remembered every one of their names.

If he absolutely had to find some connection, perhaps it lay in his birth.

But even that was far from enough to explain any relationship between him and Pestilence.

Given that his divinity had not even fully reformed, there was no way he could have provoked an existence of that magnitude.

“What happened?”

To Zong Mi, it felt as though a very long time had passed.

In reality, only a few seconds had gone by.

A few seconds earlier, his expression had changed after hearing Xu Yue’s answer, causing Xu Yue to glance back at him in confusion.

“Leave immediately.”

Zong Mi could already see flames flickering within the cavern below.

Through the swaying firelight, he could make out shadows dancing across an altar.

It felt as though an invisible hand had seized his heart.

“Huh?”

The entire team looked at him in confusion.

They had only just entered the third phase of the dungeon.

According to the normal process, shouldn’t they proceed to the next area, clear the monsters, and complete the instance?

Still, after the overwhelming display of strength Zong Mi had shown earlier, his authority within the group had risen dramatically.

Everyone waited for an explanation.

Unfortunately, there was no longer enough time.

They plunged into the depths of the cavern.

“What dense dark-element energy.”

One of the party members happened to be a Necromancer. Holding his bone staff, he narrowed his eyes and sensed the surrounding mana.

“Could this be the legendary underground core of the Domain of the Dead?”

Many necromantic texts vaguely mentioned the underground regions beneath the Domain of the Dead.

Numerous Necromancers liked building their mage towers there, especially by digging downward and constructing subterranean towers.

The reason was simple.

The deeper one descended beneath the Domain of the Dead, the denser the undead and dark-element energies became.

It was an ideal environment for cultivation.

“Hehehehehehe—”

The instant everyone landed, every torch around the cavern burst into flame.

Together they formed the shape of an inverted cross.

A figure stood at the edge of the altar within the shadows, emitting a rasping sound like a broken bellows.

The scene had already been triggered.

Aside from abandoning the quest, there was no choice but to continue.

The problem was that this was a fragmented main storyline quest.

One of the most important rules of such quests was that players could not interfere with anything taking place within them.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Once players officially entered the main storyline, they would eventually be able to influence events.

Unfortunately, this was humanity’s first time uncovering the Advent world’s main plot.

At their current stage, they could only act as spectators.

Every player found themselves rooted in place.

“Don’t panic. We can’t interfere with the main storyline right now. Let’s observe first.”

Baili Kong frowned.

He was still bothered by what Zong Mi had said earlier, so his tone was unusually serious.

The moment he spoke, the players’ agitation vanished.

The group fell completely silent.

“Wait… that NPC seems to be the owner of the castle.”

Using the weak firelight, Xu Yue finally got a clear look at the NPC standing beside the shadows from the very beginning.

The NPC’s clothing was extremely old-fashioned, belonging to a style popular on the Advent Continent thousands of years ago.

His appearance was even stranger.

His eyes were deeply sunken.

The skin on his face was shriveled and dry.

His fingers were little more than exposed bone.

He looked as though his entire life force had been drained away.

Xu Yue recognized him only because he had seen a portrait of the castle’s owner from a thousand years ago, along with the family crest displayed on the NPC’s clothing.

Living for a thousand years was hardly impossible on the Advent Continent.

Many long-lived races existed here, and most measured their lifespans in millennia.

Even humans could pursue immortality through necromancy or dark magic.

Powerful Necromancers often extracted their souls and stored them within phylacteries, transforming themselves into liches or other undead creatures to extend their lives.

The earlier quest had already established that the castle’s owner was obsessed with necromantic magic.

Seeing him here wasn’t particularly surprising.

But—

The same question appeared in everyone’s minds.

This should have been a trivial matter.

Nothing more than a human seeking immortality.

How had it become connected to the main storyline of the entire Advent Continent?

“Praise be to my god!”

The NPC suddenly let out another shrill scream.

The sound was so grating it resembled fingernails scraping across a chalkboard.

“I waited a thousand years! And at last—the perfect sacrifice has arrived!”

A terrible premonition surged through Zong Mi.

He instinctively tried to step back and invoke a Word of Power.

Then he remembered his current state.

Because the main-story cutscene was in progress, all players were mere observers.

They couldn’t even speak.

Even private messages had been disabled.

Sure enough, the NPC’s sunken eyes swept across the crowd like those of a hunting hawk.

Then they locked onto Zong Mi with perfect precision.

The players were familiar with mechanics like this.

Many dungeon bosses had targeting phases that randomly selected a player for a special role.

That player’s actions would usually become restricted.

Ironically, however, the chosen player was often the safest person present.

They didn’t need to worry about collateral damage and could even slack off openly.

The next instant, the world spun.

Zong Mi found himself lying flat upon the altar once again.

Chains extended from all sides, binding his limbs so tightly that he could not move at all.

Beside him, the NPC had already begun dancing wildly while chanting incomprehensible words.

Without hesitation, he slashed open his own wrist with a gleaming dagger.

Apparently dissatisfied with the slow flow of blood, he immediately cut open his own throat as well.

A fountain of blood erupted from the wound, splashing across the altar beneath Zong Mi.

The magical patterns lit up.

Almost instantly, black mist began to form throughout the cavern.

Everything unfolded exactly as Zong Mi had foreseen.

At that moment, the other players finally regained the ability to move.

Completely unaware of what was about to happen, Xu Yue even shot Zong Mi a reassuring look, silently telling him not to worry.

Zong Mi: “…”

The instant he regained the ability to speak, he acted without hesitation.

“Space, obey my command.”