Lord of Prayer

In that instant, everyone in the Netherworld felt a chill that originated from their very Soul. It was as if they were naked in the frigid north, the hot blood in their veins freezing into ice. Their limbs grew cold and stiff as a chilling wind blew across their necks, carrying the stench of death.

Death.

Death was rapidly approaching, rising, descending, mercilessly crushing all signs of life.

A scholar expressionlessly pressed a large red button. An invisible Matrix Barrier expanded, enveloping everyone. The cold that had swept through their souls and bodies receded like a tide. The temperature gradually rose, and the fear and chill brought by death were completely isolated outside the Barrier.

The pale pillar of light, which reached from the ground to the heavens, became suffused with a potent divinity. It was so blindingly brilliant that one dared not look at it directly, as if a true Deity had descended.

Under the effect of the Great Miracle, all tedious and lengthy steps were skipped. Any factor that could cause the ritual to fail was eliminated, and the ceremony proceeded directly to its inevitable conclusion.

A massive, pitch-black figure emerged within the pale pillar of light. The next second, a shattering sound rang out as the pillar exploded into a sky full of fragments. The dark figure gradually solidified from its illusory state.

In that moment, the world went dark. The howling, sinister wind ceased, and the Netherworld fell utterly silent. It was as if everything had died, buried in cold and tranquility.

The pitch-black figure was an incredibly classic image: cloaked in a black robe and holding a scythe, it was the most widely recognized depiction of the “Death God.” The illusory waters of the Nether River flowed from beneath its feet, the river’s end disappearing into profound Darkness.

“It worked. Went smoothly, no hitches at all.”

The moment Zhou Chen finished speaking, the scholars around him turned to stare at him in horror. He couldn’t help but freeze for a second.

“You can’t say that!” one of the scholars exclaimed, his face instantly crumpling.

“Usually, when someone says something like that, the experiment is bound to run into problems…” The director shot Zhou Chen a reproachful look before shouting, “Everyone, on your guard!”

Zhou Chen was dumbfounded. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Saying that is just like saying ‘It’s so quiet today, nothing’s happening’ in a police station, fire station, or hospital. It has an unspeakable, terrifying power,” a nearby scholar muttered conspiratorially. “I was an intern nurse for a year. Every time someone in the duty office said that, we’d immediately get slammed. The kind of busy that could kill you.”

“I have a friend who’s a cop, and he’s said the same thing.”

“A relative of mine is a firefighter, and he’s said so too.”

The others all chimed in with their agreement.

“You scholars actually believe in this kind of superstition?” Zhou Chen retorted.

“That’s just a stereotype. Why can’t scholars believe in superstitions? Bathing, burning incense, and putting on clean work clothes before an experiment are all unwritten rules of the trade. And when we’re waiting for results, who doesn’t beg and pray to anyone and everyone? We pray to everyone from the Goddess of Life to Guan Erye. You’re a Blacksmith, haven’t you ever prayed to some god for a successful Forging? …Shit, I forgot you have a cheat.”

To be fair, Zhou Chen had never prayed to any Bodhisattvas, God, or the Goddess of Life for blessings. When he made a wish, the success rate was 100%. Who would need to beg and pray then? An unlucky sod could instantly become an Emperor of luck. Even in anime-style gacha games for Drawing Cards, every pull was a winner. It was no fun.

Then again, it seemed that scholars, Blacksmiths, and Alchemists all over the world now prayed to *him*. After all, praying to him actually worked.

In the distance, the Death God stood motionless. It had no consciousness; it was merely a manifestation of Authority, essentially no different from a creation of Authority.

“There shouldn’t be any problems. All factors that could cause the ritual to fail have been eliminated,” Zhou Chen said.

“That only applied during the ritual. There’s no telling what might happen after it’s over,” the director said grimly.

The words had barely left his mouth when a piercing alarm blared.

Zhou Chen was stunned. ‘No way. Did something actually happen?’

“Level one alert! An unknown target has invaded the Netherworld!”

“The first layer of the Matrix has been breached! The fifteenth, the nineteenth, the twenty-fifth… All thirty-three layers of the Matrix have been breached… Eighteen layers of deep space have been breached… The target is about to descend!”

“Contain the ‘Artificial Death God’ immediately! That thing is coming for the Authority of Death!” the director yelled, giving the order.

An Any Door opened at the Death God’s feet. The Alchemical Great Sage, Roland, stepped out of the door, holding a square metal box. As the box opened, the Death God’s towering body began to shrink, and in just a few seconds, it was sucked into the metal box.

Having done this, Roland retreated back into the Any Door and closed it.

At the same time, the concentrated stench of rotting corpses spread throughout the Netherworld. A giant, decaying ball of flesh appeared without warning in the sky above, covered in many long, slender, rotting tentacles that squirmed continuously. A large amount of dark gray pus dripped from this ball of flesh, instantly vaporizing a patch of the Netherworld’s desert where it landed.

“What the hell is this thing…” Zhou Chen frowned. The thing looked sinister. Even at his current level and behind the Matrix, he felt a wave of dizziness.

“Begin containment,” the director calmly ordered into his communicator.

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

Massive chains extended from the void, instantly wrapping around the decaying ball of flesh, tightening and locking it firmly in place. However, spots of rust quickly appeared on the chains. Before long, they silently broke apart and turned to dust.

“Bring out the heavy-duty stuff,” the director said.

And so, more chains, shimmering with a dark light, shot out and bound the rotting ball of flesh, tying it up securely. The chains hummed, their black luster dazzling and menacing, and showed no signs of rusting, remaining incorruptible.

Zhou Chen recognized it at a glance as Immortal Divine Gold, a material only an Alchemical Great Sage could create. He looked on with envy. This stuff was widely acknowledged as one of the necessary materials for forging a Divine Artifact, but its production was extremely limited. It had been driven up to an astronomical price and was sold by the gram.

In the sky, a massive stone gate opened, the scene behind it unclear. The chains rattled as they dragged the ball of flesh into the stone gate. Throughout the entire process, the ball of flesh offered no resistance, as quiet as a corpse.

Zhou Chen looked to the director, demanding an explanation. They clearly knew something.

“That is the first to have died,” the director explained, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. “This was just one of the potential situations we predicted. The probability was very low, but I can’t believe it still happened.”

“…Is superstition actually real?” Zhou Chen was stunned for a few seconds before continuing, “Tell me the details of that thing’s origin.”

“Just as the name implies, it is the first thing in the Cosmos to have died. Its death created the very concept of death. Although it is dead, it has not completely vanished. Its corpse retains some insignificant instincts, which is why it was attracted by the Authority of Death.” The director let out a sigh of relief as he spoke. “But fortunately, this thing is dead and dormant. It isn’t very dangerous… At least we didn’t attract anything more dangerous.”

For example, an Abyssal Demigod, or even certain unknown existences from the starry sky.

“You can leave the cleanup to us,” the director said, indicating that Zhou Chen could leave.

Zhou Chen thought for a moment, then summoned an Any Door and went to the Eighth District.

「Cafeteria.」

Ma Youcai and the other two were dressed in uniforms, getting food with their trays.

“The food in the New Era is a hundred times better than in the Old Era. I guess that’s the only consolation,” Mizuhara Eriko sighed. She missed her family.

“The entertainment is a hundred times more advanced than the Old Era’s, too. I quite like it here.” Qin Yan was carefree. Her family had passed away long ago, and she had clawed her way up on her own. Later, she spent a long time as an Extraordinary Mercenary, living a life of constant danger. In that chaotic, tumultuous, and perilous age, her philosophy had long since become ‘every day you survive is a win, so enjoy every day you’re alive.’ To have survived to this day meant she had already won big time.

Ma Youcai said nothing, but his lonely expression showed he clearly missed his friends and family.

The three had just sat down after getting their food when Zhou Chen walked over. He greeted them and sat down in the empty seat beside them.

“What’s up?” Ma Youcai asked.

“I want to ask you guys what kind of person I used to be,” Zhou Chen said, getting straight to the point.

Although they shared the same Soul and he had most of his past memories, his personality theoretically shouldn’t have changed much. Still, he wanted to know what the version of himself who first encountered Extraordinary Power in the Old Era was like.