TBR CH169 [Arc 5]

“The pointer of fate reverses beneath the crescent moon, and the cursed Demon King will tear apart the Mirar Continent with his scythe—”

“Until the silver stars descend upon the world, and all beings, after destruction, return to new life—”

Living in ordinary modern society, probably only someone with an overflowing “chuunibyou” index could utter such words with a straight face, but the young man standing in front of the game poster didn’t give that impression.

His pupils stared unblinkingly at the game poster plastered on the internet café wall, as if he had fallen into deep thought again, or as if he was solving an unsolvable riddle.

The internet café was empty. Sunlight streamed in through the recently opened glass door, illuminating countless dust motes dancing in the air.

It was almost evening, so there was no reason for the place not to be open for business. The internet café owner had just finished scolding his idle son for neglecting the business and was now busy tidying things up at the front desk.

And his good-for-nothing son finally found an opportunity to cleverly slip out through a gap in the curtain, scrutinizing the unfamiliar young man standing in front of the poster.

The young man also looked at him.

He looked at him with the same peculiar gaze he had used to look at the poster. It was a gaze filled with an investigative curiosity, as if there was something puzzling within his eyes, and the owner of those eyes intended to analyze and dissect everything he encountered thoroughly.

However, when the young man completely turned his gaze away, this feeling of being scrutinized disappeared—or at least, it was concealed.

“Uh,” the internet café owner’s son inexplicably felt a little creeped out, but his good nature quickly made him forget this setback, and he blurted out:

“I’ve never met someone with amnesia before, sounds pretty cool. So, will you be like in the movies, where familiar things trigger your memory? But those characters usually look at photos of relatives or something, and you don’t have anything on you. Do you recognize this poster? Bro, you must’ve loved ‘Abyss Continent’ before.”

“‘Abyss Continent’?”

The young man subtly scrutinized the person in front of him from head to toe, then repeated the name in an inquiring tone.

“It’s the game on this promotional poster,”

The other person said matter-of-factly, “It shows the game’s final boss. If you ask me, game promotions should feature pretty girls, or maybe legendary weapons, what’s the point of showing a boss that no one has managed to defeat since the game launched? Still, this game is indeed popular. It’s rare for someone your age not to have played ‘Abyss’.”

The young man slowly blinked.

It was like finding a piece with a clue on it from a large pile of puzzle fragments.

Although such a clue was incredibly bizarre, too much like a clumsy joke. He silently cursed the goddess of fate in his heart, wondering how he had fallen into such a predicament, then spoke in a gentle tone:

“Could I try… this game? Perhaps I really can recall something.”

Strictly speaking, it started three days ago.

Shan Sheng was a typical internet café owner. Middle-aged, though not overweight, he had countless small ailments and thinning hair. The misfortunes of life constantly showed a hint of fatigue on his face.

He meticulously managed a shop called “Zero Distance Internet Café.” Although the internet café was not large, its location was excellent.

Because it was quite popular with students from the nearby A University, Shan Sheng couldn’t handle it, and these past two days he had even posted an advertisement: “Hiring Internet Café Manager, 3k monthly salary with accommodation.” Before he could even wait for applicants, this advertisement, posted in the most conspicuous spot, was covered by another piece of paper:

“Family matter, temporarily closed.”

Rumor had it that the internet café owner had hit someone with his car and sent them to the hospital, almost getting into a lawsuit.

Although the lawsuit was a baseless rumor, strictly speaking, it wasn’t entirely untrue. After all, the subject of the rumor did exist and had even come back with Shan Sheng. He was currently examining the building in front of him with academic rigor, making Shan Sheng’s scalp tingle:

“Um, this is my internet café. The conditions might be a bit poor, please don’t mind it. Actually, you don’t need to work here. After all, it was my fault, haha. It was just a coincidence, I didn’t expect anyone to be on the road during such a heavy downpour. I always said I should get new glasses. By the way, Luo… Xiao Luo, can I call you that?”

He stared eagerly at the young man in front of him.

Who was, just a short while ago, the unfortunate victim of that car accident.

It was a strange incident; on a rain-soaked road, one second it seemed deserted, the next a figure suddenly appeared, golden hair strikingly vivid in the pouring rain, or rather, alarmingly so. Shan Sheng slammed on the brakes, but it was too late.

The person just stood there motionless, not attempting to dodge, even reaching out towards the speeding car, as if trying to stop a steel monster’s collision with their fragile human body.

Fortunately, the person on the hospital bed was physically intact, with only minor scrapes.

Unfortunately,

“The patient suffered temporary cognitive impairment due to a head injury, commonly known as amnesia,”

The doctor pointed to the young man who had already sat up on the hospital bed. Through a layer of glass, Shan Sheng felt the other’s dark pupils scrutinizing him, and under that gaze, he felt like an open book waiting to be read:

“He’s forgotten everything except his name and doesn’t have any identification on him. It’s quite troublesome.”

Indeed, it was extremely troublesome. The Licheng police station worked for half a day but couldn’t find any specific background for this young man who claimed to remember nothing.

Licheng was a city with a large flow of people, and now it was tourist season. Tourists from all over the world would flock to this small place, bustling through various scenic spots. It was very difficult to confirm someone’s identity.

Moreover, his golden hair was particularly striking, shimmering in the sunlight, and he might even be biracial.

This undoubtedly made his identity even more enigmatic.

Fortunately, the other person’s logic and communication skills were very clear. Although he lacked a bit of common sense due to amnesia and had forgotten how to use many daily items, he could re-learn them quickly with a little teaching, and he wasn’t yet at the point of being taken in by the police station.

He was clearly an adult, so he couldn’t be sent to a children’s welfare institution. And they couldn’t possibly send him to a mental hospital.

The internet café owner, Shan Sheng, had no choice but to take full responsibility for him as the perpetrator.

If this situation had involved compensation, it would have cost at least two or three hundred thousand yuan. So when the other party only asked for a temporary place to stay and offered to repay it with work, he was practically overjoyed.

Thus, after being discharged from the hospital, the young man followed him directly to the internet café. When he was discharged, he stared at the car that had hit him for a long time, and only sat in it thoughtfully when Shan Sheng opened the car door.

Perhaps because of his amnesia, he had been staring at things with this kind of gaze ever since he opened his eyes, as if these everyday objects held something worth careful consideration.

Now they were both waiting at the internet café entrance for the keys, and the young man tacitly accepted the elder’s nickname for him.

“Just call me Uncle Shan,”

Shan Sheng chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught sight of a figure.

It was a young man who looked a bit disheveled, with ripped jeans and arrogantly dyed red hair, wearing heavy metal skull earrings. He looked seventy percent similar to Shan Sheng and appeared to still be in college. He was constantly tapping on his phone as he walked.

“Shan Bin,”

Shan Sheng snarled his name through gritted teeth. To save face, he just heavily patted the newcomer’s shoulder in front of the young man,

“What did I tell you these past two days about looking after the internet café? Now it looks like it’s going out of business—”

His son deftly dodged, jingling a bunch of keys in his hand, about to exchange a few witty remarks with his dad, when he suddenly let out an “ouch” and stared intently at the young man standing behind his dad.

The young man also lifted his dark eyes, his figure slender, his gaze containing a sharp inquisitiveness.

“Are you the unlucky guy my dad hit?”

Shan Bin asked, “Your hair’s pretty trendy, too. My dad described you, and I thought you’d be some bookworm. Where’d you get it done? Oh, I forgot, you don’t remember anything now. My name’s Shan Bin, the one who caused the accident is my dad. You’re surnamed Luo, right? What was your name again? I’ll look out for you here.”

Shan Sheng quickly interrupted:

“Xiao Luo, please don’t take offense, my son’s just like this.”

“—Roland.”

The young man replied indifferently, “My name is Roland.”

Shan Bin at least got one thing right: the young man named Roland did indeed appear to be very fond of reading. During the few days he was recovering in the hospital, Shan Sheng, based on his shallow judgment of people with amnesia, bought him a whole set of encyclopedias, and Roland actually read them with great relish. He practically never put down the borrowed books from morning till night. He read all fourteen volumes at such an efficiency that it seemed as if his eyes saw nothing but rapidly scrolling printed characters.

Given that his own son was especially bad at studying, the owner looked at Roland’s golden hair, illuminated by the sunlight as he leaned on the hospital bed, and felt as if every strand of his hair was bathed in the light of knowledge.

“Why does it sound like a girl’s name?”

The other person clicked his tongue, then saw his dad’s expression was off, and quickly tried to compensate,

“Roland, good, it sounds like a foreign name, classy! I think there’s a character with that name in a game I play, too, but sadly, they’ve been dead for a long time in the story. Uh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Shan Sheng could no longer tolerate it: “Do you have to open your mouth?”

However, Roland seemed to have heard something noteworthy, and a slight crack suddenly appeared in his calm expression. Whenever he showed such an expression, the person being stared at suddenly felt a strange sense of crisis, as if their worth was being judged.

Roland paused for a moment, his foot turning slightly. The movement was fluid and graceful, turning to a specific angle that caused a thin ray of sunlight to illuminate his pupils. He seemed to want to ask something.

Dark—no, amber in color.

Even Shan Bin, who prided himself on being well-informed, couldn’t help but hold his breath.

Unfortunately, the unusual atmosphere was quickly broken. His dad used the keys he had brought to click open the door lock, then unceremoniously dragged him inside, giving him a thorough scolding in the back room.

By the time he snuck out, he saw Roland softly reciting the two lines from the poster.

The young man’s pupils, turning towards him, were illuminated by light for a split second, then concealed in shadow, leaving only a fleeting impression. Shan Bin couldn’t understand what kind of emotion it was, only that it was indescribable.

But soon, Roland’s gaze towards him returned to that of a normal person, and he even smiled politely.

They talked about the game.

It was like searching for a grain of salt in the ocean; being in an internet café was the fastest way to play a game. Roland was still a little unfamiliar with the terminology, but he could easily tell that the person in front of him was passionate about this game.

As expected, Shan Bin quickly found a computer, pressed the power button, and began to enthusiastically explain everything about the game to him.

“Brother, I don’t blame you. If you’ve played ‘Abyss’, you definitely wouldn’t forget this boss: the World-Destroying Demon King Kriesmeier. The Demon King’s Castle dungeon content was open when the game launched, but no player has successfully cleared it until now. Which brave warrior hasn’t been tormented to death by Kriesmeier? His normal attacks in berserk mode can take down a max-level purple-geared veteran, let alone the World Destroyer’s different forms being randomized by the system, meaning it’s completely up to its mood…”

He couldn’t stop talking about the game, from the latest event pool rewards to which class’s skill changes had recently dissatisfied players:

“I don’t know what the game’s developers are thinking, they never listen to player opinions. Of course, the game uses the most advanced virtual engine, it’s especially realistic. Perhaps realism is its biggest selling point.”

The screen went from black to being filled with various colors in just a few seconds. The indicator light came on, and the subtle hum of machinery came from the computer in front of them.

Roland’s eyes reflected the screen’s light, and for a rare moment, a hint of bewilderment showed.

Shan Bin skillfully manipulated the mouse, double-clicking the game icon on the desktop.

The game’s loading screen instantly popped up in front of the two. The “Dark Abyss” icon was a blood-red moon, symbolizing the ruler of the abyss on the Mirar Continent.

After a brief loading, the game entered the initial interface, with “Login Account” and “Register Account” options. The background image of this interface was identical to the promotional poster on the internet café wall.

“If you can’t remember,”

Shan Bin muttered, “You can create a new account. Although there’s a main storyline, the items and routes players get in this game are different. I recommend you create a berserker, the feeling of being a hardcore damage dealer is really satisfying, and it’s very popular. Oh, and never choose a race just because the small animals look cute, otherwise, you’ll easily get stuck in an endless loop of levels—”

“Shan Bin! Get over here.”

The young man, who had only snuck out to goof off, heard the internet café owner’s angry roar. He immediately wondered which of his good deeds had been discovered, and the more he thought about it, the more alarmed he became. He quickly lowered his voice and said to Roland:

“Anyway, that’s how it is. I’m leaving now, you have fun, and don’t be polite to my dad.”

With that, he quickly ran off.

Shan Sheng stomped down from upstairs and found his son had vanished without a trace, leaving only Roland alone in the empty hall, the computer screen still glowing in front of him.

He smiled awkwardly at Roland, inwardly disapproving of his son immediately getting someone to play games with him, but he couldn’t say anything at the moment, only rubbed his hands.

Soon, Roland was once again the only one left in the hall.

He scrutinized the equipment in front of him, as if this mechanical creation would suddenly coil like a snake and bite him. This was not without precedent, for example, the car, also made of machinery.

Then, he carefully reached out and picked up the headphones from the desk, tentatively putting them on.

The game’s grand background music immediately filled his ears. The symphony hummed, as if playing beside him.

Alright, what’s next…

Roland reached out, mimicking Shan Bin, and grasped the mouse on the desk, a strangely shaped, black box. He quickly realized how this object should be used.

Under the computer system’s prompts, he quickly figured out the function of the keyboard: a board with many keys; whatever you type, the screen in front of you displays accordingly.

Roland had always been considered terrifyingly quick to learn.

Within minutes, he had initially explored the basic functions of the machine in front of him, mostly through simple deduction, and partly thanks to the books he had read day and night in the hospital.

Then, the login screen of the game “Abyss Continent” reappeared at the forefront of those pages, glowing in front of him.

Account, password, register, login.

Roland calmly let these words enter his eyes. He had a habit of thinking, but he had never expected the world he was in to suddenly become a giant puzzle he was placed within. These words were completely alien to him; his memory held no trace of anything related to them. People called this amnesia.

But Roland knew he wasn’t like that.

If it were just that, the situation would be better.

He looked again at the login interface—at its background image, which was also the drawing on the poster on the wall.

The main subject of the poster was a person.

Or rather, a humanoid Demon King.

He had silver hair and golden eyes, standing atop a mountain range, with a broken, blood-red moon behind him. The Demon King had a broken but sharp horn, a pair of abyss-like pure black wings, and held a giant scythe, on which countless terrified souls seemed solidified.

The designer ingeniously drew the reflection of the viewer’s—the player’s—eyes on the frosty silver scythe, as if in the next second, the scythe of death would mercilessly reap the player’s life.

The hero played by the player had a resolute gaze, while the Demon King’s expression was one of utterly contemptuous arrogance.

Roland stared at the image for a long time, then carefully reached out, seemingly wanting to touch the poster.

However, just as his fingertips were almost about to touch the dark golden eyes of the domineering Demon King in the picture, the computer screen suddenly went dark, and the light disappeared from his fingertips.

It took him a moment to understand that this was a screen saver that activated after a certain period of inactivity.

Roland waited for the computer to light up again. But when the image reappeared in Roland’s eyes, the motionless Demon King presented itself in front of him exactly as before, he finally let out a low sigh, gave up on his previous action, and clicked on the “New User Registration” icon.

The police station had registered a government-recognized temporary identity for Roland and entered it into the system, which saved him a lot of trouble.

Soon, the “Registration Successful” pop-up appeared.

The game automatically returned to the initial interface, and this time, a deep, aged voice suddenly sounded in Roland’s ears. As white subtitles slowly drifted, the words “Abyss Continent” were displayed in exaggerated calligraphy in the center of the screen, then gradually faded, as if an old man was slowly explaining the game’s background to Roland:

“A continent destined for destruction, an arrogant and unconquerable tyrant, a vast and real world view. The gates of hell have been opened, the demons crave blood and slaughter, and the wise ones of old have fallen. And you, the hero of Mirar Continent, the inheritor of will, the star prophesied to save all, we have imagined your appearance countless times, praying for your arrival…”

The voice faded, eventually disappearing, and the animation finished playing, stopping at a new interface.

The interface showed a person with black hair and black eyes.

Roland tried clicking, and found that the hero on the screen changed eye colors as he moved his mouse. Then skin tone. If dissatisfied, he could also choose race, body type, starting profession…

This was a character customization interface. The game clearly intended for players to create their own character, thus allowing them to create a unique character and immerse themselves in the game’s setting.

Roland took a deep breath, and first clicked on the profession selection.

What came into view was the Berserker mentioned by Shan Bin earlier. As the highest damage-dealing class in the game, it was naturally very popular. Next were classes like Assassins, Knights, Rogues, followed by healing classes like Priests and Bishops—their magic came from faith. Roland briefly considered that players couldn’t possibly truly believe in the gods in the game, then decided not to dwell on such bizarre questions.

The page scrolled across his pupils.

Until he saw the words “Mage” and clicked confirm without hesitation.

Then, he began to try out the character creation system, a major selling point of modern online games. The “Dark Abyss” system was very detailed, with many facial details and body features that could be chosen, enough to recreate a character in the game that bore some resemblance to himself in reality.

Roland pursed his lips and tried it out; the effect was indeed good.

The “Roland” in the game interface silently watched him, suspended in the options page, with the same amber eyes as his. Due to some personal preference, Roland changed the golden hair to black, which made the person in front of him look more familiar.

It was like looking into a mirror, or like the raw materials needed for a puppet-controlling spell.

He single-clicked the mouse, and the game character resembling him automatically struck various combat poses as demonstrations.

This scene, for some reason, made Roland feel—terrible. He thought of ancient myths, of substitutes created in imitation of others, which usually implied lies and deception. The electronic character he created never truly resembled him, but the problem wasn’t in the parts that weren’t so similar, but rather in the parts that were too similar.

Alright.

Roland directly reset the character on the screen to its initial appearance with a single click, then began to browse the strange and varied races.

His amber eyes suddenly gleamed slightly.

About ten minutes later, another white light streaked across the newbie village in “Abyss Continent.” Then, countless fragments of light converged, signifying the login of a new player.

An old player happened to return to the newbie village to do quests, their character laden with various high-level equipment and rare items, dressed in the game’s latest luxurious fashion, frowning in front of the screen and complaining to someone else:

“Do new players not check guides when choosing a race…?”

On the screen in front of him, tentatively spinning in various directions, was a sleek, black cat curling a mage staff with its tail.

The old player, whose nickname was “Gold,” couldn’t help but open the nearby private chat and, exasperated, typed:

“Are you a new player?”

The black cat flicked its tail. The other person typed slowly, and a smiley face emoji appeared in the chat box.

“At least choose a beastman,”

Gold couldn’t help but type furiously, “It’s a joke that the developers haven’t deleted the pure animal options. Don’t let its cuteness fool you, it’s designed exactly like a real animal, with extremely fragile health and various equipment restrictions, it’s completely unplayable. If you can still change it, hurry up and restart.”

Black cat: “It’s fine.”

The chat interface kept showing “The other party is typing,” Gold waited for a long time, and then the other party slowly sent a message:

“Thank you.”

Although he was a polite newcomer, he simply wouldn’t listen to advice. As an old player, Gold shook his head, feeling that it was unnecessary for him to bother with others when he had nothing to do. Not to mention the possibility that this slow-typing player might be a primary school student secretly playing, he would know where he made a mistake when he got stuck in a certain dungeon.

But when he was about to close the chat interface, another message popped up:

“Wait a moment, may I ask if all new players have a black instruction manual in their inventory?”