TBR CH192

When Roland regained consciousness, his whole body ached as if it had been run over, and he could hear stiff cracking sounds when he turned his neck.

He blinked slowly, only to realize he had fallen asleep at his computer desk. He was still clutching the piece of dark feather, its sharp edge pressing serrated marks into his palm. The webpage in front of him remained on the latest announcement for “Abyss Continent.”

New version expected to update at 12 PM on the ninth day.

—Publisher’s announcement: At that time, game content will undergo significant changes, and specific variations will be for players to explore.

He propped himself up with an elbow and took a sip of cold coffee.

The coffee was sickly sweet, a result of him accidentally adding three times the usual amount of sugar. He swallowed it without a change in expression, as if he had lost his sense of taste. Then, he politely responded to the Black Book’s concern, pulled out a half-written notebook from the bookshelf beside him, switched the webpage to a map densely covered with small characters, and picked up a pen.

During the days Kriesmeier was in a deep sleep, Roland hadn’t been idle. Licheng was an international tourist city with countless internet cafes, large and small. Excluding the power-outage-affected East City, many all-night establishments still remained.

Rain, accident, tardiness.

These clues couldn’t entirely pinpoint the “late-night visitor.”

But this was a verifiable target. From hearing the customer’s voice to the “Son of Fortune” finally going online, approximately half an hour had passed. Centering on the Zero Distance Internet Cafe, calculating an average half-hour drive could draw an arc on the map of Licheng, encircling an area. Internet cafes open until the early hours within this range could all be the person’s destination.

Roland promptly called most of these establishments.

“My brother ran away from home,” he said, his tone sounding helpless. “Black clothes, black pants, carrying a black backpack, ran out in a hurry late at night. If you have an impression of this person, could you please check your visitor records for this ID number?”

Next, he would randomly report a string of ID numbers.

This wasn’t important, as what he cared about was only the staff’s reaction.

The real world had its own order; most establishments were reluctant to provide customers’ private information. But if asked this way, shops that had few customers that night and could confirm they hadn’t welcomed this visitor would generally directly refuse Roland’s request.

Establishments that had some impression, or remained noncommittal, often cooperated with Roland’s search.

Of course, there were also those who remained tight-lipped and completely uncooperative.

Roland recorded the addresses needing further visits in his notebook. He also drew another circle on the map of Licheng, with the Zero Distance Internet Cafe as the center and the maximum distance one could walk in that short period as the radius. The two nearby universities were unfortunately included, and if accounting for error, it even encompassed the slightly further Licheng Normal University.

This was still based on the assumption that the person was a student. If it was an office worker with a special schedule…

The fountain pen scratched a glaring mark across the paper.

Roland frowned at the notes in front of him. As he’d drifted off, the ink-filled pen tip had skewed, smearing dark ink onto the page. He wiped it with his fingertip, and the ink on the paper spread. He reached for a tissue, but it too was stained with ink, until the entire page resembled a chaotic mess of dark feathers.

The words twisted, gradually blurring into a series of dark imprints.

This wasn’t normal. Roland tried to concentrate, but he still couldn’t understand any of the words he had personally written.

Suddenly, he was drenched in cold sweat. He pressed his hand to the page, but his fingertips continued to leave a trail of smudged marks on the clean paper. The wings seemed to struggle, trying to tear the white paper.

Roland closed his eyes. He quickly flipped back a page.

The paper cut his finger, and a sharp pain arrived as expected. A drop of blood splattered and spread into the gaps between the words. Perhaps it was the devil at work; the new page contained no other words, only a single eye centered on it. The devil’s murky, indifferent golden eyes—

The sudden commotion downstairs pulled the human back to the real world.

Roland slowly took a breath. His phone screen displayed an emoji of a black cat carefully peeking its head out. The Black Book often couldn’t think of what to say to the “villains” it usually encountered, and recently discovered that emojis were the best way to express itself.

“I’m fine,” Roland said, his voice calm.

“…Okay?”

The Black Book considered for a moment, deciding not to point out the fact that he had been staring blankly at the white paper for a full five minutes.

“I’m not the type to cry and wail over this,”

The Black Book said nothing, but Roland abruptly spoke again, “I don’t regret it. Now that he’s forgotten me, I can be at ease. I told you, this is just for myself.”

…But you seemed to have cried secretly for a long time yesterday.

The Black Book thought, then realized it was a dangerous thought. To communicate with Roland now, it had to pretend not to notice his fingertips, which, accustomed to precise spellcasting, now couldn’t control the sugar amount, his unusually pale cheeks from blood loss, and the feather he clutched so tightly that it bit serrated wounds into his palm.

The noise downstairs grew louder; now, fragments of arguments could be heard.

Roland tidied up the mess in front of him. The chair screeched heavily as it was pushed back. He stood up, his dark hair falling along his cheeks, his expression listless. His amber eyes avoided the feather on the desk but then tucked it into his sleeve.

“I’m not feeling that bad now,”

Roland concluded, “So, don’t look at me like that.”

The World Consciousness… it wanted to remind the Grand Master that it didn’t have eyes, but ultimately gave up. It merely friendly asked Roland if he planned to go downstairs and resolve the dispute happening there.

This might be an opportunity to relieve his “not-so-bad” mood.

Footsteps first echoed on the stairs, then arrived in the lobby.

Shan Sheng stood a little awkwardly at one end of the hall. When he saw Roland approaching, the flustered middle-aged man cast a pleading look at him. He tried to force a placating smile. Facing him were several young men with colorful hair, their expressions very unfriendly.

“Xiao Luo, sigh,”

Shan Sheng said, “You just came down. How do I put this? This customer might have accidentally damaged our equipment. We’re negotiating, negotiating…”

“Old man,” the leader with yellow hair said rudely, “Are you kidding me? This machine was already broken. It’s good enough that we’re not suing you. I’m telling you, even as scrap metal, no one would want this garbage. On the contrary, you should compensate us, since my important data just now wasn’t saved.”

The people standing beside him giggled in agreement.

This place was very close to a vocational school, and while it attracted business, they occasionally encountered unruly hooligans. Roland’s sharp eyes noticed a puddle of water on the table, and an empty mineral water bottle rolling on the floor, water continuously flowing along the table edge towards the computer case.

“I say, are you going to pay or not? Look, a thousand yuan would settle it.”

Seeing Shan Sheng hesitate, the yellow-haired youth kicked the computer case heavily as if making an announcement. Some customers who saw the impending trouble were already preparing to leave, probably fearing inadvertently provoking this group of delinquents. The backpacks of the people behind him were bulging, clearly not holding school supplies. Witnessing this, most people would want to keep their distance.

However, at this moment, Roland happened to be in a psychological state where he had to convince himself that “I’m perfectly fine.”

The black-haired youth adjusted the “Internet Cafe Manager” badge on his chest. His amber eyes, which could even be described as gentle, watched everything unfolding before him. He commanded in a steady tone, “Get out.”

“Who do you think you are—”

The other party was stunned by the sudden intervention, then couldn’t believe he was actually flinching a little before this person with the air of a good student.

He slowly approached Roland, “Get your identity straight. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Xiao Luo,” Shan Sheng couldn’t help but advise, “How about we just let it go? I’ll pay.”

Roland lowered his eyes, looking at the shadow on the ground in front of him. In front of him, across many computer stations, was still a poster of “Abyss Continent.” He unintentionally avoided Kriesmeier’s gaze.

The yellow-haired youth, arrogant, pressed closer, almost nose-to-nose, trying to intimidate this clueless internet cafe manager. But then he realized the other person wasn’t even looking at him; his amber eyes didn’t reflect his image.

Anger flared in the yellow-haired youth’s heart, and he reached out to grab the person’s arm.

However, the moment he touched the other party, he seemed to see a flash of silver-white light on his fingertips, immediately followed by an inexplicable sharp pain that swept up from his fingertips.

A shiver from deep within him made him instantly release his fingers. He stared tremblingly at the person in front of him, not knowing what had just happened.

“Water conducts electricity,”

Roland patiently lied through his teeth, “Since you spilled water on the computer case, I think you must have gotten an electric shock.”

“Impossible,” he retorted instinctively, “Just this little bit of water…”

As he spoke, the lackeys behind the yellow-haired youth also recovered and began to surround Roland.

Roland smiled down at him.

His smile was subconsciously influenced by the demon king in that portrait, making it particularly cold and disdainful. The yellow-haired youth stared at him in disbelief, seemingly unable to imagine a pale, ordinary person displaying such an expression when about to be ambushed.

“You’re very much like my cousin,”

He said lightly, “In some sense, you might even be less intelligent than him.”

The youth’s amber eyes still appeared pale, even a little eerie, under the light.

Several delinquents gathered from behind, some seemingly holding sharp silver flashes in their hands. Shan Sheng had already retreated to the side to call the police, and Roland had no intention of escalating the situation in such a crowded place.

He looked into the yellow-haired youth’s eyes and said:

“Get out. I’ll go with you.”

When the police arrived, Shan Sheng looked into the alley with a worried heart, only to find the delinquents standing beside Roland, their eyes glazed over, filled with shock and fear.

None of them appeared to be injured, except for their internet cafe manager, whose face was so pale he looked like a ghost floating in the alley.

Roland rationally explained: these delinquents probably ate something unclean, which caused them all to have stomach aches, rendering them unable to attack. And he, by appealing to their emotions and reasoning with them, made them all realize their mistakes.

Although this story was absurd, its true horror lay in the fact that no one present denied it.

These young hooligans truly followed the police like docile lambs, without screaming, without running, impossibly quiet.

And so, the matter was resolved as if in a dream.

Roland politely cooperated with the police’s routine questioning, and subtly reminded the internet cafe owner that no one would cause trouble without reason. Moreover, the colorful hair of these people involuntarily reminded him of someone—Shan Bin spun around like a top every day, and his extracurricular life might have been rich enough to offend someone.

Shan Sheng was enlightened and filled with gratitude.

“It’s nothing,”

Roland, half his body submerged in the dim shadows, slowly blinked. “Uncle Dan, could I ask you for a favor?”

Middle-aged men’s phones always held a few worldly connections.

The dispute that happened at Shan Sheng’s internet cafe quickly spread within the professional internal group in Licheng. Shan Sheng, reaching middle age, had only just built up a small business and settled in Licheng, naturally relying on a few old acquaintances from his hometown. Old friends naturally offered their concern.

He replied to messages from a few old friends also in Licheng.

He thought for a moment, then added:

“If there’s a young man who calls himself Roland, please give him more care.”

As Roland got into the bumpy ride-sharing car, the unique scent of the enclosed space wafted over him. The destination was an internet cafe in West City. Outside, people flowed continuously. He glanced at the time on his phone; it was already past 12 PM.

The new version of “Abyss Continent” had just been released, and the connection between the two continents had been re-established.

Countless brave warriors from other worlds awakened on altars, once again breaking the brief silence of the Mirar Continent; prophecies that had once fallen silent now flared up anew, but the legendary Demon King was more enigmatic and powerful than before.

At this moment, the game forum was filled with lament.

“Did the developers get their brains kicked by a donkey?”

A player questioned incredulously, “Does Kriesmeier, a final BOSS, even need to be strengthened? Before, I could barely get to phase two, but today I went straight to the Demon King’s City and found that the Demon King’s health bar has doubled—”

“Even the scythe has been updated to its final form. It’s only logical that such a cool weapon should be given to players!”

Roland couldn’t help but smile.

He huddled in the shadow of the back seat, imagining Kriesmeier wielding “Demon’s Eye.” Players weren’t used to it, but only now could the Demon King be called the Demon King in his prime. He had shed the shadow brought by his missing horn, and no curse born of love flowed in his blood.

His scythe was perfect like a new moon. New, stark white ribs were arranged upon it.

He was proud, powerful, and sharp.

Both fearless and invincible.

Roland’s raised lips momentarily froze as his eyes reflected a new keyword in a hot forum post—”time.” He didn’t click into the hotly debated threads but exited the forum.

“No problem?” the Black Book asked him, “Not being able to log back into the game immediately.”

The car stopped at a traffic light. Roland had gradually adapted to the rules of this world and was now harmoniously coexisting with the machines that had initially injured him. The engine rumbled, and the human paused for a moment, as if thinking about something, then he said lightly, as if joking: “No one’s waiting for me anymore.”

“What about your students?”

“I’ve decided to be merciful and postpone the next magic test a bit longer,”

The Grand Master said, “Believe me, that’s definitely good news for them.”

“Then… hmm, is there anyone else you want to see?”

In terms of social relations, although the Grand Master of the Star Tower had always prided himself on his reclusiveness, his annual social welfare activities had unknowingly accumulated many connections, and his image had gradually transformed from a sharp-tongued genius mage to a benevolent champion of light. He was indeed beloved by many.

“It’s been so many years,”

Roland said, “And so much time has passed. People should be used to sending flowers to my portrait now. I heard the royal family even incorporated this activity into their annual祭典 (Jidian – sacrificial ceremony/festival). At least they know what to do when they miss me.”

With a slight bump, the car slowly started moving again. The human looked out the window. Far away, he could still see the Ferris wheel he and Kriesmeier had visited that day. The amusement park used it as its biggest selling point, and now it was faintly visible in the distance.

Roland closed his eyes.

He reached into his sleeve and touched the feather. The feather that had fallen from Kriesmeier was as sharp as metal. But his fingertips had once touched soft wings, fluffy like a dark cloud, closing around him just to trap him.

The Demon King’s wings would no longer soften specifically for a human.

Mirar Continent, the wizard tower piercing the clouds like an arrow in the jungle.

Chief Witch Hilda elegantly swallowed her black tea at the table, her pet python nuzzling her hand like a puppy. The young witch opposite her stared distractedly at the silver-white altar shimmering in the jungle, then said with a strained voice:

“Miss Hilda, is he coming back?”

“Who?” Hilda put down her teacup, still commenting acidly, “Are you talking about that useless brave warrior who couldn’t even withstand a single move in front of the Demon King, clinging to the elven princess’s leg and only knowing how to cry?”

“…”

The witch opposite her stared at her, then sighed and took a cranberry biscuit. “I think I know you’re right. But I can’t convince myself, love is an irresistible feeling. He was so gentle and reliable to me back then, like a knight in shining armor, and he really didn’t mind my plainness—”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, maybe he minded a little.”

Anna, once a naive town girl and now a newly appointed witch, said helplessly. She had blindly chased after the brave warrior, but ever since her heart was deeply wounded that night in the Elf Forest, she was shrewdly picked up by Hilda and brought back to the wizard tower as an apprentice. Hilda believed she had some talent.

Although she wasn’t very confident, she had recently dangerously scraped through her magic exam.

“He only liked your face.”

“But—”

“I have an idea,” the purple-haired witch smiled lazily. “Don’t you still think your brave warrior has some redeeming qualities? It’s really something that he still had the nerve to start courting you after failing to win over the elven princess. How about this: since the altar is glowing again, maybe he really can come back. This is all it will take to test his true feelings for you.”

Although composed and elegant in front of outsiders, Hilda’s plan, like her python, had cruel fangs.

“I’m not saying I disagree.”

Anna, after hearing it, immediately felt half-convinced. “However, what I just said wasn’t that person at all. The altar is glowing again, Miss Hilda, I mean your teacher, is it possible that he wasn’t killed by the Demon King, but will return once more?”

“…I think that’s unlikely.”

“Why?”

The respected Chief Witch, when speaking of the Grand Master, still fell silent with reverence. However, her tense jaw clearly indicated she wasn’t particularly calm. After gazing into the void for about five seconds, she suddenly said, as if giving up:

“Because—because some humans, even if they aren’t dead now, will always die eventually. And they might even be very happy when they die. Experience tells me not to interfere too much.”

“Isn’t the Grand Master a very great human?”

Anna was a little confused.

“Sometimes,”

Hilda recalled those chaotic memories. She sighed, “We often don’t understand what great people are thinking.”

Just as the routine tea party in the wizard tower was underway,

The Demon King’s City suddenly received many more visitors today. In Kriesmeier’s memory, there was a period when these ant-like brave warriors would also tirelessly come before him. But the memory of that period was now blurred.

Once again, he swept “Demon’s Eye” across, and the humans in front of him vanished into thin air.

For some reason, the Demon King’s heart remained unsettled for a long time.

He wore a dark cloak, his silver-grey hair flowing down his neck, extending to his waist. Kriesmeier’s pupils were like dulled gold. He walked through the demon palace, which was no longer as gloomy and empty as before, but reflected the splendor of treasures.

He was searching for something.

But those things still could not be reflected in his eyes.

The Demon King felt an inexplicable yearning, an alien emotion that made him feel at a loss, and especially so today. Kriesmeier therefore stepped down from the white throne. The obsidian floor reflected his broken horn; no one dared to look directly at that imperfection, which had become a symbol of power, from any other angle.

Kriesmeier left the Demon King’s City.

He acted on a whim, descending somewhere, and all living creatures who lingered there were pressed down, trembling in terror, fearing the wrath of this tyrant from the abyss. Although their very existence was not even reflected in the tyrant’s eyes.

It was as if a long silence.

Then, like a curtain falling, the Demon King’s deep, hoarse voice echoed.

“Who is he?”

The dark Demon King walked past the prostrate crowd. He was capricious and acted on a whim. He possessed power like a blade; no one on the continent could directly face his sharpness. Kriesmeier’s footsteps beat in the hearts of everyone present like drums.

Thump, thump, thump.

He stopped in front of a statue. The statue was built of white marble, and no one knew why the Demon King, who had long lurked in the abyss, had suddenly appeared like a hurricane in this quiet square today. In the kingdom’s fountain square, themed to commemorate heroes, the setting sun gilded the silver fountain water with gold.

It was a supremely solemn statue.

The deceased Grand Master held a scroll in one hand and a staff in the other, with a massive gem inlaid at the head of the staff.

His demeanor was gentle yet inviolable. The marble carved his soft, straight hair, which appeared as hazy pale gold under the setting sun. His carved, inorganic eyes seemed intentional; people said that Saint Roland treated others politely but distantly.

He wore a long robe and the crown of a saint.

At the feet of the statue, slender, slanted golden words praised:

“This statue is dedicated to the most outstanding mage in history, the noble guardian of humanity. May light forever be with him.”

Kriesmeier stood at the base of the statue. The Demon King tilted his head slightly to look at the statue of Saint Roland, his eyes a chaotic void.

He extended a monster’s pale finger. The abyssal demon attendants thought their king was about to shatter this rebellious statue, but as his slender knuckles rested on the Grand Master’s marble robe, the Demon King looked up and met the statue’s gaze.

“My Lord,”

The attendant’s voice was strained. “This is the statue of Grand Master Roland Xavier.”

“—Roland?”

Kriesmeier slowly chewed on the name in his mind, but his memory had never contained such a human, or rather, no human had ever entered his memory.

“Is he dead?”

The Demon King asked awkwardly.

Their Demon King was simply denying everything, the lords present couldn’t help but inwardly grumble. After all, the entire Mirar Continent had witnessed the period when this abyssal monarch frantically pursued the Grand Master, sweeping dark hurricanes to every corner of the continent that might be connected to him. Even now, the Demon King had not lifted the ban on this name appearing before him.

“Yes,”

But they still said respectfully, “He is dead.”

Kriesmeier tried to connect the word “dead” with the statue in front of him.

The statue, bathed in the lingering glow of the setting sun, seemed to smile at him, its pupils empty, its lips pale, as if speaking of something.

“How did he die?”

“Your Majesty,” his attendant bowed his head even lower. The square was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Saint Roland’s statue stood shoulder to shoulder with other saints; their glory and greatness remained in their lifetime, and ultimately they came to this garden, allowed entry only after death:

“Besides you, who else would be worthy of killing the Grand Master?”

It was like continuously climbing steps, then that fleeting moment of misstepping, a sudden flash of illusion within, then settling back into reality, as if everything was merely an unfounded fantasy.

Kriesmeier remembered all his past. He was by no means the type to flinch. His past was piled into a chilling heap of bones, and he was proud of it, disdainful of it…

Kriesmeier’s finger slowly dropped from the statue.

He had even felt a strange urge just now, to use his scythe to slit the statue’s throat.

“I no longer remember,”

The Demon King asserted in a low voice, “He was once brilliant, but ultimately, he was just an insignificant human.”