A different world game? A different world game!

Chapter 777 The Ceremony in Progress

The city surrounding the tower, the northern part.

This steel marvel, rising right up against the Tower of Despair, now seems about to be burst apart by the surging crowd.

The wide streets became riverbeds flowing with people of all races, and the porticoes of the magnificent halls were crowded with onlookers peeking in.

The temporary square was so crowded that even finding a place to stand became a luxury.

Too many people came.

Not only were there a large number of Night's Watchmen, but there were also more spectators than they had imagined.

This has almost become a global event.

The outside world is far more curious about the Night's Watch than the Night's Watch itself realizes.

When they learned that the Night's Watch had sent invitations to everyone, anyone who wasn't stupid knew that something big was about to happen.

Among some nobles, those who were not qualified to come here became a laughing stock.

Those who were directly invited to participate, or who were able to come through different diplomatic delegations, became rising stars in the social scene.

Therefore, almost no one refused.

The sheer scale of the invitations resulted in a far larger number of participants than anticipated.

The black-armored figures of the Night Watchmen stood like reefs, struggling to maintain order amidst the raging waves.

Beneath their tense faces, however, lay a hint of pride in being united with their comrades.

no way.

This is a new city built by the Night's Watch.

"Listen! Elven harps and human arias again!" said a young man dressed in faded Night's Watch leather armor, clearly a lower-ranking nobleman.

He was clearly a new Night's Watchman, most likely someone who joined after the quota was fully opened up.

He picked at his ear in frustration and complained to a similarly plainly dressed companion next to him, “Those really important people treat this place like a mobile salon!”

"Look at that largest area in the East District. It's not even finished yet, but those delegations' tents are filled with revelry every night, with fine wine and delicacies being delivered in like a flowing stream, all just to listen to those outdated poems and exchange some shady secret agreements!"

He even seriously doubted that these people were talking about the Night's Watch.

It could even be detrimental to the Night's Watch.

After all, he was just a young man who had recently joined the Night's Watch.

His companion, a young werewolf warrior with fresh claw marks on his face, scoffed and exhaled a small puff of white breath: "Tch, let them enjoy themselves. Once the ritual begins, we'll see whether their tongues are more powerful or the Night's Watch displays more strength."

"Our orc elders don't have time to spend all day soaking in barrels of liquor; they're all busy studying city defenses and that giant torch!" He tilted his head back and took a swig of his special dwarven ale, his gaze sweeping over a brightly lit, ornate tent in the distance, from which the distinctive laughter of the fox-people could be heard, his eyes filled with disdain.

Even for orcs, the concept of nobility is just a different name and a different form of nobility.

The Night's Watch enjoys a reputation among commoners of all races that almost surpasses that of their own nations and ethnic groups.

Although racial differences accelerated the birth of nationalism in the world, the intermingling and fragmentation caused by wars meant that nationalism never had a place to flourish.

This gave the Night's Watch the opportunity to unite the lower classes of different races.

The air was indeed filled with a carnival-like clamor: the aroma of roasting meat, the intensity of exotic spices, the brief, dazzling bursts of magical fireworks against the gray-white sky, and background noise mixed with elven flutes, dwarven war drums, and the roars of unidentified beasts.

But beneath the surface of this excitement, a tense undercurrent was brewing, and everyone knew perfectly well that the grand ceremony concerning the "future" was the real highlight.

Will the Night's Watch, under the guise of saving the world, bare their fangs and seize power from these people?

This is something that almost all nobles worry about, whether they are humans, orcs, dwarves, or elves.

"Can you feel it? This city... feels like two different places during the day and at night."

A young human mage, dressed in an apprentice's grey robe and holding a thick spellbook, whispered nervously to his companion, an equally young elven mage.

They squeezed into a relatively quiet street corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the main square.

Judging from the insignia on their bodies, they seem to be from the Mage Council.

They were even better than the traditional aristocracy.

But the good ones are limited.

The elven mage closed his eyes, his long eyelashes trembling slightly, as if he were carefully sensing the invisible fluctuations around him.

“It’s very obvious,” she opened her eyes, a hint of confusion and inquiry in her clear pupils, “During the day, the magic field is active yet stable, brimming with the restless energy of construction and life. But once the sun sinks into the tower’s shadow…”

She shivered and subconsciously tightened her thin robe. "The 'thing' in the air changed. It wasn't the temperature, but... a deeper 'coldness.' A silent energy, with... echoes, was gathering."

The city's alternating day and night patterns made many of the city's mages sense something was amiss, but their mentors, the legendary mages, seemed completely unconcerned, staying peacefully in the city. It was the lesser mages, who were confused about the situation, who were constantly worried about certain issues.

Even though their mentor had reassured them, they still couldn't put their minds at ease and secretly investigated day and night.

But I can't figure out what it is because of.

“The echo of the soul!” the human apprentice added excitedly, his voice lowering and trembling with a hint of awe. “My mentor said it’s the city’s own ‘breath,’ a deliberately guided, vast field of soul power! It awakens like mist at night, and then…”

He pointed to the city center, to the "Torch of Light" that radiated a soft glow even in the daytime, "...everything flows towards it! Look at the light at its top, doesn't it feel even more... 'full' after nightfall? Like a heart beating in the darkness!"

The black and white dragons perched on the torches also deeply aroused the curiosity of these mages.

Unfortunately, they dared not act recklessly here; they could only think about it in their hearts.

The elven mage nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on the hazy light atop the torch: "That's right. It's like the core of a giant vortex, absorbing these... 'gifts of the night.' What exactly are the Night's Watch preparing? This ritual is far more than just a simple commemoration."

Her beautiful face was filled with solemnity and an irrepressible curiosity.

She even felt that it might not be such an ordinary struggle for the right to speak and power.

Something bigger must be brewing.
But they couldn't see it clearly at all.

"Whatever, the advisor isn't worried anyway, so what can we do?"

This statement abruptly cut short their conversation. This strange atmosphere wasn't something only a perceptive mage could sense.

Beside the open-air campfire, the minotaur Stonehoof took a big gulp of strong liquor, wiped his mouth with his rough hand, and said in a gruff voice to the snake-man priest who was coiled on a specially made chair, "Old snake, this place always gives me chills at night, not because I'm afraid, but because... it's strange."

"It feels like countless eyes are watching from the shadows, but there's no malice in them. Do you think it's... um... our fallen brothers stretching their muscles?"

The curse of the evil rat, a remnant of the power of the evil god.

This has led to the natural emergence of evil spirits and various undead all over the world, as well as the appearance of some even more evil creatures.

These are all problems that need to be solved after the war.

The serpent priest hissed, his vertical pupils gleaming eerily in the firelight: "It's the whisper of souls, Stonehoof, hiss... The whole city is a giant shrine, and the Torch of Light... is its wick. The boundary between life and death is exceptionally blurred here. The Night's Watch's actions, hiss... are far from over."

His soft voice carried a profound insight that seemed to know everything.

Their deeper connection with the Night's Watch meant they naturally knew more, especially about the beacons of life and death that were inexplicably appearing among the Night's Watch.

And then there's the black and white dragon.

He's not blind; it's clearly a manifestation of the convergence of some kind of contradictory and opposing energies.

It could very well refer to life and death.

The elf prince Orion Morningstar stood on the edge of a towering viewing platform, his magnificent robes fluttering slightly in the night breeze.

He no longer closed his eyes to rest, but instead slightly furrowed his delicate brows, his slender fingers unconsciously stroking an ancient magical ornament at his waist.

He felt the silent gathering of soul power, surging towards the torch like a tide. For the first time, his pride, which originated from his bloodline, was shaken by an uncontrollable unknown. In his golden eyes, he saw the increasingly bright light source at the top of the torch, which looked more and more like a beating heart.

A tense anticipation, mixed with the bone-chilling cold of the night, enveloped this bustling and strange city of hope like an invisible net.

The curtain could be drawn at any moment.

Finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived.

The invited attendees appear to have reached their due date.

The city's bustle reached its peak.

The city center square—or rather, the vast circular open space surrounding the base of the Torch of Light—was now packed with people.

People of different races and backgrounds thronged together, yet miraculously maintained a solemn silence.

The unique spiritual power of the night seemed even stronger in the air, silently permeating every life present.

The ceremony was not initiated directly by the legendary savior, Kana.

The first to step onto the high platform in front of the Torch of Light was General Black, the military commander of the Night's Watch.

His figure was like an iron tower, his face etched with the marks of time and majesty, and his bright silver armor reflected a cold, hard luster in the torchlight.

Years of war have transformed him from a naive knight into a true general.

The bright silver armor was engraved with patterns of holy light, highlighting his status as someone blessed by the holy light.

His voice, like rolling thunder, carried clearly throughout the entire square without any magical amplification, striking the eardrums and hearts of everyone present.

"Fellow countrymen! Friends! All those who refuse to kneel before darkness!"

Blake's gaze swept over the countless faces below, some familiar, some unfamiliar, some sad, some expectant. "We stand here, with our new home beneath our feet and the torch of hope above us."

"But this peace did not come from nowhere! It was forged in blood and fire, and upheld by countless heroic souls!"

That war was less than a year old.

His voice suddenly rose, filled with sorrowful fervor: "Not long ago, on the battlefield before the shadow of the evil god was dispelled by the torch! Our brothers, our sisters, those Night's Watchmen in black armor who fought evil to the last moment!"
And then there are those warriors from all walks of life who took up arms to protect their homes and loved ones, only to fall before dawn!

"They pierced through the darkness with their lives, paving the way for us today! Their sacrifice is the strongest foundation of this city, the purest fuel for this light! They are the true heroes!"
Their names shall be remembered by the Night's Watch! They shall be remembered by the world! They shall be remembered by both the living and the dead!

Blake's speech was devoid of flowery language, containing only hard-won facts and a profound sense of respect.

A suppressed sob and a low, respectful chorus of responses rose from the square.

No matter how many spectators there were, they could not compare to the Night's Watch members who had come here, or the Combine soldiers who had once charged into battle.

And of course, their families.

Many of the Night's Watchmen straightened their backs, their armor clanging against each other, their eyes burning with a mixture of pride and pain.

Just as the solemn and stirring atmosphere reached its peak, the sound of orderly, heavy, and slow footsteps came from behind the crowd.

The crowd seemed to be parted by an invisible hand, spontaneously making way for a wide passage.

A Night's Watch unit that has never appeared in public before has emerged—the Soul Guides.

They wore specially made, jet-black robes inlaid with silver soul-guiding runes, their faces hidden in the shadow of the hoods, revealing only their eyes that emitted a faint blue light.

On their clothing was a very distinctive pattern: a streamlined black and white dragon.

The banner held by the leader also bore a distinctive symbol, seemingly derived from the Night's Watch symbol.

Their steps were synchronized, their movements solemn and dignified, as if they were walking on the border between life and death.

What they carried on their shoulders or in their hands were coffins of the same unique style.

These coffins were not made of traditional wood or stone, but of a dark crystal as deep as night, yet faintly revealing the energy veins within. The coffin lids were engraved with intricate Night's Watch emblems and the most glorious deeds and names of the victims.

Each coffin was incredibly heavy, exuding a calm yet powerful aura.

They were carried one by one by the Soul Guides with the utmost reverence to the base of the Torch of Light, where they were arranged neatly around it.

"It's the 'Obsidian Coffin'! A legendary sacred object that can bring peace to the souls of heroes and connect the two worlds!" A knowledgeable scholar in the crowd exclaimed in a low voice.

It can't really be called a legend, after all, such legends have only just begun.

“Look at the inscription on the coffin lid… it’s ‘Broken Swordsman’ Roland! And ‘Barrier’ Martha! My God, they are all legends who fell in that bloody battle!” Someone recognized the owner of the coffin, their voice choked with emotion.

(End of this chapter)