Chapter 2: Exiled Love

It was now the year 2315.

Earth’s resources had all but been exhausted, yet the nearest habitable planet was still several million light-years away.

The human race stood on the brink of destruction.

Even though humanity in 2315 possessed technology capable of traveling at the speed of light, distances measured in millions of light-years still inspired despair.
To put it another way, the cost of such large-scale faster-than-light travel was simply too immense to achieve the migration of all humankind.

Because of the cosmic catastrophe that had occurred a century ago, there were no longer any planets remaining within one million light-years of Earth aside from the sun itself.

That fact completely extinguished the hopes of every scientist advocating interstellar migration.
Even with modern technology, humanity still could not accomplish mass migration across millions of light-years.

Humans could not even send a single spacecraft out into the cosmos.

Advent, however, gave people a new kind of hope.

By 2315, science had reached unimaginable heights.
Research into the relationship between soul and body had also begun to reveal its first clues.

At the beginning of the twenty-fourth century, one scientist proposed a shocking theory:

If there existed a vessel capable of containing the spiritual consciousness of every human on Earth, then in a sense, would that not achieve eternal life for all mankind?

The theory was far too outrageous.
And yet, under one particular circumstance, humanity truly might have been able to pioneer such a feat.

Advent was that pioneer.

As long as the game could successfully complete four expansion updates, Advent would become humanity’s eternal Eden.

It was created from the core substance extracted from a meteorite that had fallen to Earth during the cosmic anomaly.
The material itself formed a spiritual realm.
After its internal data was imported into a carrier and combined with humanity’s advanced holographic technology, the game known as Advent was born.

The body had its world.
Naturally, the spirit had its own world as well.

And perhaps the world of spirit was even more intricate and miraculous than physical reality itself, filled with limitless possibilities.

Fortunately, Advent’s second expansion update was an overwhelming success.

At the very moment global news networks jointly announced the completion of the update, countless people burst into tears of joy amid anxious anticipation, embracing one another in relief.

Everyone hurried to open their terminals and log into Advent.

As a game watched by the entire world, Advent’s most eye-catching feature was naturally its ranking system.

Perhaps because the game world had been imported from reality into a holographic system, Advent only possessed a single ranking list: the Ladder Rankings, based entirely on overall combat power.

The evaluation standard of the Ladder Rankings was straightforward.
Combat capability determined rank.

It calculated every player’s overall data, including personal attributes, equipment statistics, skill levels, and more, before generating rankings from those combined values.

Advent was not the first game to be highly anticipated.
But it was the first game ever to successfully complete a second expansion update.

Now that all humanity was preparing to log into Advent and entrust their spiritual forms to the Advent Continent, the Ladder Rankings had become the focus of worldwide attention.

Before the update, everyone had been familiar with the player occupying the number one spot.

But today, after the update finished, everyone who reopened the rankings was utterly stunned.

“Holy shit, who the hell is this guy named Zong Mi?”

[Ladder Rankings]

[Rank 1 / Zong Mi]

“Has anyone ever seen this ID Zong Mi in any interaction zone?” someone immediately asked.

“Never seen him before.
Wasn’t Baili Kong rank one before?
How did the rankings suddenly change after the update?”

“What the hell?
Did the system bug out?
I clearly remember God Baili being number one before maintenance!”

Everyone was shocked.
Discussions about the ID flooded the global human forums nonstop.

As an official government-backed game, Advent permitted only one account per person.
Accounts were tied directly to identity cards, meaning usernames had to use one’s real name.

But whether in reality or in-game, nobody had ever heard of the name Zong Mi.

“There’s literally no record of Zong Mi ever appearing on the Ladder Rankings before this.
The first time he appears, he’s instantly rank one.
That’s insane.”

“At everyone’s current level, maybe the new top player got some ridiculously overpowered weapon and jumped straight to first place?”

Advent’s gameplay model was exceptionally unique.
It was a game constructed upon a genuine spiritual world.

Even without players, the Advent Continent remained a complete world with its own destiny and history.

By contrast, humanity in the twenty-fourth century had entered an era of population decline despite its advanced technology.
Compared to the billions of people in the twenty-first century, the human population had shrunk dramatically.

Even if all humanity entered the Advent Continent together, they still would not outnumber the continent’s native population.

Under such circumstances, humans established interaction zones within the main cities of the five continents—areas frequented only by players.
Special passcodes were used for identification.
Only inside these interaction zones could players truly consider themselves on their own turf.

Everywhere else, if an NPC gave an order, players still had to obey.

Because Advent was a genuine world, its holographic interaction system included a complete private messaging system.
However, the requirements for broadcasting public announcements were incredibly strict.

So strict, in fact, that no one had successfully sent a world announcement to this day.

Therefore, honestly speaking, if Zong Mi did not reveal himself, the players would probably never find him.

As for Zong Mi himself, he remained completely unaware of the uproar he had caused.

Since he had been continuously online and had never logged out, he did not even know when the update had ended.

He also permanently kept his private messaging system disabled.
Besides, his friend list was completely empty anyway.
There was nobody who could message him even if they wanted to.

Ever since the NPC morning prayers began, Zong Mi had not moved from the Grand Cathedral.

The golden-haired man sat quietly upon one of the cathedral benches, indifferently watching the crowds of worshippers passing by.
He neither spoke nor stepped before the statue of the Goddess of Dawn to pray himself.

His appearance was extraordinarily handsome.
Whether it was those gray eyes like polished glass marbles, his sharp and elegant facial contours, or his rare long golden hair, everything about him perfectly matched the Advent Continent’s standards of beauty.

But more importantly, it was his temperament.

His aura was uniquely captivating.
Though he wore only the simplest adventurer’s attire beneath a white cloak, merely standing there naturally drew the eyes of others toward him.

The nuns within the cathedral could not help lingering their gazes upon him.
One accidentally spilled holy water across the floor while carrying a silver tray and hurriedly scrambled to clean it up in embarrassment.

Admiring beautiful things was entirely natural upon this continent.
Even if something fundamental in this world had gone wrong, the natives of the Advent Continent still possessed the most basic sense of aesthetics and physical desires.

Only… there was one thing this world had forever exiled.

Not merely exiled.
The people of this world despised it, loathed it, and avoided it like a plague.

Zong Mi calmly withdrew his gaze and looked once more toward the area beneath the statue of the Goddess of Dawn.

The crimson bishop held his ruby authority staff in hand.
After completing the Dawn’s Blessing divine art, he smiled gently as he sent off the final worshipper visiting the cathedral.

Now dusk was approaching.
The dark hues of sunset filtered through the cathedral’s stained-glass windows, stretching shadows long across the Kross carpet covering the sanctuary floor.

A shadow moved closer.

When Zong Mi looked up, the shadows happened to split the bishop’s backlit face into stark divisions of light and darkness.
Only those azure-blue eyes remained visible, along with the obscure emotions rolling deep within them.

With just one glance, Zong Mi saw many things hidden there.

Ambition carefully concealed.
Cruelty.
Desire.

“Young traveler, have you come today to offer prayers?”

Objectively speaking, Cyril was indeed a handsome man.

The cathedrals of the Goddess of Dawn spread across both the Inner and Outer Domains of the Advent Continent.
Among all gods of the Divine Age, she possessed the largest number of believers.

After reentering Advent, Zong Mi had visited many Dawn cathedrals while completing various quests.

Most high-ranking bishops possessed full heads of white hair and long beards.
The Pope himself was already old and frail.
A young and handsome high-ranking church official like Cyril was truly the first Zong Mi had ever encountered.

“Yes.
The honor is mine.”

Zong Mi revealed a false smile, adjusted the cloak behind him, and obediently rose to his feet, following Cyril’s guidance toward the center of the cathedral.

At some point, only the two of them remained within the vast sanctuary.
The last nun responsible for cleaning had already taken away all the holy water and even closed the cathedral’s heavy wooden doors.

Combined with the dim backdrop of dusk, the atmosphere became strangely unsettling.

This scene… was somewhat similar to the future fragment he had observed not long ago.

“Come to think of it, I still have not asked what profession you possess, sir.”

Cyril ascended the second step of the holy platform, looking down from above at the golden-haired adventurer standing one step lower than himself.
The tip of his ruby authority staff glimmered faintly.

Every individual on the Advent Continent possessed a class, whether player or NPC.

Zong Mi disliked being looked down upon from above, so he quietly stepped back without drawing attention to it.

There was no doubt that the crimson bishop disguised himself flawlessly.

Looking at the refined and elegant smile on Cyril’s face, then recalling the future fragment he had witnessed earlier, Zong Mi found the two versions of the man almost completely different.

Still, personality did not really matter.
If the future could be observed, then this person was undoubtedly one of the individuals Zong Mi sought.

Zong Mi smiled brightly.

“I am merely a wandering bard with no fixed home, drifting wherever the road may lead.”

As he spoke, a golden glow naturally spread across his palm.
Once the particles of light faded away, its true form was revealed.

A small golden lyre.

“A bard?
That is hardly a common profession.”

Appropriate surprise appeared upon Cyril’s face as he raised an interested eyebrow.

This adventurer truly had brought him quite a few surprises.

Bards had not appeared on the Advent Continent for many years.
Back during the Divine Age, they had once flourished greatly.
Appointed personally by the gods, they wandered the mortal world spreading divine glory and possessed a complete professional system of their own.

Later, as the era of the gods came to an end, bards seemed to vanish alongside the coming of Ragnarok.
They gradually declined into obscurity.

Now, ten thousand years later, the Advent Continent had not seen traces of bards for a very, very long time.

“Indeed.
I only inherited this ancient legacy by chance after discovering some ruins and receiving the inheritance of those who came before me.”

The bard’s fingers casually brushed across the strings of the lyre.
The instrument immediately released a clear and melodious hum.

“I was fortunate enough to encounter certain sacred hymns praising devotion from ancient times as well.
Would the bishop care to listen?”

“I would be delighted.”

Zong Mi smiled softly.
At the same time, he swiftly switched skills within his personal interface, quietly disabling every visible aspect of his player panel before lightly hooking a glowing pinky finger against the strings to begin.

Within the dimly lit cathedral, his face appeared strangely ambiguous.
Upon closer inspection, he resembled a night lantern enticing travelers toward the abyss.

There existed a taboo upon the Advent Continent that had endured for ten thousand years.
It was also the greatest difference between this world and Earth.

During the darkest period of history, anyone who dared mention this taboo would inevitably suffer divine punishment from the gods themselves.

Even now, after Ragnarok and the disappearance of the gods, the taboo remained a taboo.

To this day, it was still the most forbidden word upon the Advent Continent.

Its name could not be spoken.
It was forbidden, and destined to be forgotten.

The people of this world did not understand love.

Ten thousand years ago, they had personally exiled love with their own hands.

And now—

The love they had banished had returned.