Since all these rules and superstitions are outdated, what's wrong with me indulging in some me

The atmosphere in the conference room changed. Yan Xiangming stood in the corridor, holding a list, and began to arrange for them to enter the low-level dungeon one after another.

Lu Changsheng's lectures have come to an end.

The fluorescent lights in the corridor emitted a faint buzzing sound, like a swarm of bees building a nest in the wall.

Yan Xiangming stood in front of the bulletin board, the list in his hand already worn and frayed from being flipped through so many times.

His finger moved slowly across the list, from the first name to the last. With each name he swiped, a newcomer was sent to an unknown instance.

Over the past two weeks, forty people have entered twelve D-level dungeons in batches. The survival rate is not optimistic—thirty-six people came out alive, and four did not return.

Even with such a survival rate, it would be considered a very impressive figure in any country's player development system.

But when Yan Xiangming looked at the list, there was no expression of relief on his face. Because he knew that these four people were not just data, but real people.

Lu Changsheng stood at the other end of the corridor, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He didn't look at the list in Yan Xiangming's hand.

His gaze fell on the window. In the headquarters courtyard, there was a ginkgo tree whose leaves had begun to turn yellow. Sunlight filtered through the sparse branches and leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

"What are you thinking about?" Yan Xiangming asked.

"Time really flies," Lu Changsheng said. "Two weeks ago, they didn't even know what rule analysis was. Now, they can come out of a D-level dungeon alive."

Yan Xiangming was silent for a moment. "Coming out alive doesn't mean you're ready."

"I know," Lu Changsheng said, "but at least they're alive."

He took his phone out of his pocket; a new message from the system was displayed on the screen. He didn't open it, but part of the content was already showing in the notification bar:

[System notification: Player Lu Changsheng's monthly fixed dungeon has been refreshed...]

Yan Xiangming also saw the notification. His brow furrowed slightly.

"When?"

"Midnight tonight."

"What level of difficulty?"

Lu Changsheng opened the message and glanced at it. "Nothing was written. It only mentioned a solo dungeon."

Yan Xiangming's brows furrowed even more.

The most troublesome type is the single-player dungeon without a difficulty level indicator. Since the system doesn't tell you who's standing opposite you, you can't prepare in advance.

"What do you need?" Yan Xiangming asked.

Lu Changsheng shook his head. "I don't know."

An Zhiyu sent me a message: "I heard you're going into a dungeon tonight."

Lu Changsheng looked at the line of text and replied with a single word: "Mm."

"Single?"

"Um."

"be safe."

Lu Changsheng stared at those three words for a few seconds.

Lu Changsheng replied, "You too. I reckon I'll bring back another fragment this time."

The message was sent and quickly showed as read. But there was no reply.

By the time he finished cleaning up, it was already dark.

He lay in bed, closed his eyes, but didn't sleep. He went through everything he had learned in his mind, then opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and waited for midnight to arrive.

With ten minutes left in the countdown, Yan Xiangming sent him a message.

"Mr. Lu, I know you don't like to hear nonsense. So I'll just say one thing—come back alive."

Lu Changsheng did not reply to the message.

One minute countdown.

Player Name: Lu Changsheng

[Random instance drawing in progress... Drawing complete.]

[Instance Name: The Lamb of Sisyphus]

[Instance Type: Single Player/Role-Playing]

[Difficulty: A]

Main Quest: Successfully assume the role and survive for seven days.

[10 seconds left countdown.]

Lu Changsheng took a deep breath, and the familiar tearing sensation came over him. Lu Changsheng felt dizzy and everything went black.

[Countdown complete, global live stream begins, teleportation initiated]

After the familiar dizziness and tearing sensation subsided, before he could even open his eyes, the voice had already entered his mind.

It was a woman's suppressed sobs and murmurs, broken and intermittent, as if they were right next to his ear:

"God...please...look at me...look at my child...he's not moving...why isn't he crying anymore...why...why isn't he moving..."

Grief, despair, and a hint of unsettling resentment, like cold spider silk, coiled around Lu Changsheng's newly recovered nerves.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

The first thing that catches the eye is the extremely high ceiling, covered with intricate and somber religious murals. The colors are muted, depicting scenes of suffering, judgment, and crowds falling into the abyss. Several huge candlesticks, suspended by black iron chains, burn silently, their flames eerily steady, casting flickering shadows that cannot dispel the darkness.

He sat on a cold, hard seat. Looking down, he saw that he was wearing an extremely ornate yet unusually heavy white-gold robe. The sleeves were wide and embroidered with intricate patterns outlined in gold and dark red silk threads—eyes surrounded by thorns, inverted crosses, and patterns of sheep with their heads bowed in submission. The robe was neither silk nor linen; it was cool and delicate to the touch, like the skin of some kind of creature.

Is that outfit... worn by someone from the church?

Lu Changsheng thought of the theme of this instance, "Sisyphus Lamb". Both "Sisyphus" and "lamb" have strong religious elements and a sense of destiny.

Is that outfit... worn by someone from the church?

Lu Changsheng thought of the theme of this instance, "Sisyphus Lamb". Both "Sisyphus" and "lamb" have strong religious elements and a sense of destiny.

Beneath him was a stone chair resembling a throne, carved entirely from some kind of dark stone, with armrests in the shape of twisted vines, the ends curled into a pained human face.

What Lu Changsheng didn't know was that less than half a minute after his instance started, his personal live stream had already been flooded with hundreds of millions of people.

Lu Changsheng quickly surveyed his surroundings. It was an extremely spacious, dimly lit hall, its style a blend of Gothic pointed arches and some kind of older, rougher megalithic structure. The air was filled with a rich aroma of incense, old wood, and paraffin wax, and... a very faint, indescribable sweet and fishy smell.

He stood on a slightly elevated stone platform at the far end of the hall. The platform's edges were carved with countless tiny, indistinct runes. Directly in front of him hung a heavy, floor-length, dark red gauze curtain, completely separating the platform from the main space of the hall. The woman's weeping prayers came from beyond this curtain.

"The church...and I seem to be...the 'god' here?" Lu Changsheng's mind raced.

Just then, very close by, a hoarse, low voice, like sandpaper rubbing against rock, rang out, devoid of any emotional fluctuation:

"My God, your people are weeping."

Lu Changsheng's heart skipped a beat, and he almost couldn't help but turn his head to look. He forced himself to calm down, not forgetting that he was playing a role, and only glanced at it out of the corner of his eye.

A tall, thin figure in a deep purple-black bishop's robe stood silently behind the stone platform, like a sculpture already shrouded in shadow. He wore a crown resembling a woven tapestry of thorns and slender finger bones, his face obscured by the flickering candlelight, only his gaunt features and two deep-set eyes reflecting the faint candlelight visible. His presence was cold and heavy, as if he himself were part of the dim space.

The bishop's voice was flat, yet carried an undeniable pressure.

You must not refuse to pray.

Lu Changsheng was taken aback, his mind racing. He had just arrived in the instance; he couldn't have been completely without clues. If no one had announced the rules, then the rules must be nearby. Using the act of adjusting his heavy cuffs, he quickly and discreetly felt around. Sure enough, near his chest, he touched a piece of rough paper with a distinctive texture.

Without making a sound, he used his fingertip to draw out a small portion of it, then lowered his gaze and quickly scanned it.

It was a rough parchment, on which were written distorted characters in some dark red ink that appeared not yet fully set:

The Rules of God

Rule 1. Please remember that you are the only god in Blackwater Town. Gods are all-knowing and all-powerful.

[Rule 2. Prayer must not be refused: You must respond to the prayers of at least three believers each day.]

Rule 3. You must answer any questions from believers.

[Rule 4. No food or drink may be accepted without Elijah's inspection, and Holy Communion must be taken on time each day.]

[Rule 5. You must return to the Underground Temple to rest by 11 PM and may not leave the Underground Temple until 8 AM the following morning.]

Rule 6. Never look in a mirror.

[Rule 7. Every day before dusk, one must personally break off a strand of one's own hair and place it in the altar fire.]

[Rule 8. If you hear any unusual sounds, please inform the Archbishop immediately.]

The handwriting seemed to possess weight, pressing heavily on Lu Changsheng's vision, each line exuding a cold and eerie aura.

The title of the rules on this parchment startled Lu Changsheng even more.

"The rules of God?"

The rules of God—in this strange tale of rules, he's actually playing... God?

The weeping outside the curtain grew even more piercing, even interspersed with the muffled thuds of heads pounding the ground: "Answer me! God! Why won't you answer me! You accepted my offerings, I am your most faithful believer..."

The archbishop's deep gaze seemed to focus even more intently on Lu Changsheng's profile, silently exerting pressure. The sweet, fishy smell in the air also seemed to intensify slightly.

I cannot refuse. I must answer.

Lu Changsheng took a deep breath, the cold, strangely smelled air filling his lungs. He forced himself to straighten his back, imitating the detached and compassionate majesty of a deity in his imagination, and cast his gaze at the dark red curtain that isolated everything, as if he could see through it to the miserable woman behind it.

His voice echoed across the empty stone platform, deliberately controlled, carrying a hollow resonance that drowned out the piercing sobs:

"Calm your sorrow, lost sheep."

"Come closer, let my light shine upon him."

After saying this, Lu Changsheng inexplicably felt that he really had the potential to become a charlatan.

The crying abruptly stopped, as if an invisible hand had choked it. Outside the curtain, only heavy, choked breathing and the harsh scratching of fingernails unconsciously digging into the ground could be heard.

If he got closer, Lu Changsheng could also see the child's face through the layers of gauze curtains.

From a distance, the child in the woman's arms had turned purple, his chest was not rising or falling, and there seemed to be some black liquid at the corner of his mouth.

Lu Changsheng was shocked. He had thought the child was already dead, but now it seemed that the suffocation was caused by severe airway obstruction.

"I... I sensed it, it's the Devil Fruit."

Lu Changsheng is lying through his teeth.

"A...demon?" The woman's voice turned terrified.

"God, please use your power to take it out! Save my child!" the woman pleaded again, the dull thud of her head hitting the ground echoing around her.

Directly saying "Heimlich maneuver" or "use your fingers to reach in" would obviously not be in line with the identity of a "god," so Lu Changsheng had to find another way to say it.

"Calm your mind, and I will grant you the power to exorcise demons." Lu Changsheng's voice was low, with an inexplicable allure.

"Turn the child over so that he is face down, lying prone on your forearm. Use the heel of your hand to quickly strike his back five times."

He instructed the woman in the most straightforward yet sophisticated way possible.

"Then, with a firm resolve, focus solely on the word 'retreat!'"

From behind the curtain came a flurry of rustling sounds, the rustling of clothes, and a woman's suppressed, forceful groans, interspersed with a few muffled slapping sounds.

Lu Changsheng held his breath and waited.

He knew he was gambling, gambling that the child's condition was indeed a foreign object in the airway, and gambling that the mother could operate correctly under the guidance of the "oracle".

"Cough! Whoa—!"

A faint but clear cough was followed by a baby's sudden, loud, and vibrant cry, piercing the oppressive silence!

"It's out! It's out! It's the Devil Fruit! Oh my god! God! He's crying! He's come back to life!"

The woman's ecstatic cries almost lifted the curtain, filled with indescribable gratitude and awe.

A small pebble was coughed out of the child's mouth; this was the "devil's fruit."

"Thank God! Thank God!"

The woman wept with joy, looking at the "Devil Fruit" her son had coughed up, and hesitated before saying, "My God... this Devil Fruit..."

A huge weight lifted from Lu Changsheng's heart, but he dared not relax in the slightest. He glanced at the old man standing ramrod straight beside him and suddenly said:

"Leave it to my shepherd."

The term "shepherd" is used to compare people to "lambs," with God being the "master" or "shepherd" of the flock, and church staff being the "shepherds" who tend the sheep.

The old man standing to the side was stunned, not expecting Lu Changsheng to say such a thing.

But after only a second of hesitation, he readily put his right hand to his chest, bowed slightly, and said:

"Yes."

He then walked down from the platform, went to the woman's side, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and picked up the pebbles on the ground.

Lu Changsheng frowned slightly; the old man's attitude towards him was strange.

When he first arrived, the urging he received was not the way a church member would treat God.