Super Righteous Player
Chapter 390 - 387: Memory Fragments of the First Cycle_1

Chapter 390: Chapter 387: Memory Fragments of the First Cycle_1

The True God is... the Pillar of the World?

The moment Annan heard this statement, a cold stream surged up from the base of his neck, and a low humming sound suddenly echoed in the depths of his brain—

At that instant, Annan experienced numerous hallucinations.

It was as if someone was whispering indecipherable words behind him, and he heard rustling sounds close to his ear;

It was as if he saw strangers silently watching him in a dust-filled space, triggering a sudden chill in his heart;

It was as if many people around him were continuously smoking, filling the air with almost tangible, eye-stinging thick smoke, making Annan’s throat too dry to breathe, causing him to cough incessantly:

"Cough, cough—"

...What is this?

In Annan’s eyes, the figures of the Paper Princess and Alexander began to blur.

As Annan coughed, numerous wisps of smoke, clouds of dust, and veils of haze continuously appeared around him. Their quantity was enough to obscure all the air around Annan, turning everything into shades of grey.

By then, Annan had realized that he must have triggered some condition, and consequently fallen into some sort of illusion—

The moment the surrounding dust dispersed, Annan strained to peer through the fog.

Fragments of memory flickered before his eyes:

A white-haired woman, who looked somewhat like the Paper Princess but was taller and more statuesque, with an imposing face and a stern and harsh temperament, appeared before Annan:

"—Annan. Anna."

From her mouth came the Draconic language, her voice deep and complex, "So this is the name you have chosen for yourself?

"I have agreed. I have spoken on your behalf to your father."

Then came the second fragment of memory:

"—Your luck isn’t bad, hmm."

A little girl around twelve or thirteen with golden hair and blue eyes played with dice, her eyes curving like crescent moons with laughter: "At least you’re okay for this year..."

"...Next year? Hmm... You have no next year to speak of."

"—I am already the Eighth Daylight, and you shall be the Seventh Daylight."

The sixteen-year-old boy with white robes, white hair, and white skin had colorful rainbow light twinkling in his eyes; his smile was gentle, his voice clear: "Chariot, do not make us wait too long."

"—Frostborn."

The black-haired blacksmith with rippling muscles and bare upper body was covered in scars that shone with a lava-like light; at first glance, he was a man of few words.

He examined the blueprint in his hand with a furrowed brow: "How strange. The Frostborn actually seeks new things. Can your heart still form frost?

"No matter. It’s called an internal combustion engine, right? It’s not the Steaming Heat Power, but an explosive raging fire. I remember now. Clever idea. I’ll give it a try."

"—Quite a good story. You call it Hamlet, right?"

The old man with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes had an arrogant look. He set down the manuscript and rhythmically tapped the armrest with one hand, looking over with a half-smile, half-laugh: "But it shouldn’t be one of your creations. I can taste it; these stories aren’t yours.

"Don’t reproduce other people’s stories, child. Rather, tell me about your life in another world... That’s the story that truly belongs to you."

"—I can feel it."

The beautiful woman with blood-red hair trailing to the floor and dressed in the heavy yet simple blood-red robe of the Pope had a compassionate, demonic, motherly gentle smile. She held a gold cup overflowing with blood before her lower abdomen.

And at this moment, she was kneeling behind Annan, allowing Annan to rest his head between her breasts, gazing straight at the bloody surface inside the holy cup before her. She looked down tenderly, touching the top of Annan’s head with her warm chin and neck, and murmured dreamily in a low voice: "What you crave is the unblemished light. You thirst for the Flame of Justice.

"You will have light for blood and fire for heart... Pillar of the Chariot."

Beneath the woman, the long hair and the robe that touched the ground all turned into dark red bloodstains. Behind her trailed a carpet-like, direct bloodstain that stretched from the far end to this place.

"—Is this your choice then, Annan?"

The silver-haired, purple-eyed girl, with her lovely appearance and looking to be about seventeen or eighteen years old, looked over with some anxiety, "The path of Justice? You don’t have to listen to the Goddess of Cup to find it."

"The ’Heart of Justice’ is the most selective of all sacred relics. Pardon my frankness, but it definitely won’t approve of your character... Why not try ’Perseverance’ or ’Patience’ instead?"

The girl was sitting in the lap of a black-haired woman who appeared to be four or five years older than her. The black-haired woman’s eyes were wrapped in black cloth, and her arms enveloped the silver-haired girl tightly, making her sit on her lap with lips sealed, saying nothing.

But inexplicably, Annan always felt she was saying something silently.

And just as Annan strained to listen, he suddenly realized—this was only a dream.

Following that, Annan vaguely heard some voices.

"...Annan? Annan?"

He heard the anxious calls of Paper Princess.

He was suddenly jolted awake from his dream.

It was then that Annan noticed he was leaning over the table, and Paper Princess was holding Annan’s shoulders from behind, worried and tense, with one hand cushioning his forehead.

She immediately felt Annan awaken and breathed a sigh of relief.

"...What happened to you?"

Helping Annan to sit up, Paper Princess asked, "Some sort of ritual was triggered on you... I saw the marks of the Silence Lady, so I dared not interrupt."

"Not interrupting was... the... right... thing to do..."

Annan felt his throat was a bit hoarse.

The more he talked, the more he felt unable to speak. His mouth was open, but no words came out.

And at this moment, Paper Princess suddenly realized something.

"Wait, I understand... Don’t rush to speak, Annan."

She gently comforted Annan, patting his back and turned to Alexander to ask, "Do you have a glass container? Pure glass, a water glass or even an ashtray would do. The bigger, the better."

"Ah... just a moment."

Alexander nodded and headed into the inner room.

This man, with a fierce look yet giving a sense of security, soon brought out a fishbowl that still had a few droplets of water in it.

It was unclear where the fish had gone.

"Do you need it to be wiped clean? Is this big enough?"

He inquired of Paper Princess.

Paper Princess shook her head, eyeing the fishbowl and hesitated slightly, "It’s a bit too big... but it’ll do."

She placed the fishbowl on the table, had Annan stand up, and positioned his hand over the fishbowl, his wrist under the sunlight.

"Remember, don’t speak later. If I tell you not to speak, don’t say a word."

After warning Annan, Paper Princess lightly sliced across Annan’s delicate and fair wrist with her fingernail, simultaneously whispering, "Silent substance, come forth into this jar... Oblivion’s Blood, come forth into this jar."

Blood instantly surged from Annan’s wrist.

But it was not red in color, nor was it dark red.

It was a grey-black, ink-like thick paste. The moment it appeared, as if fleeing from the sunlight, it quickly flowed over the skin and dripped from the fingertips.

It left no trace on Annan’s skin, nor did it stain his skin.

Looking at this substance, Annan briefly thought of the filling of black sesame glutinous rice balls and the ready-mixed black sesame paste...

"This is ’Silent Droplet Ointment’."

Paper Princess explained to the curious Annan, "It’s also known as ’Oblivion’s Blood,’ a high-level curse material."