“Scenario writer, screw you!”
“If this isn’t a scripted death, I’ll eat my headset!”
“Go drown in your broken, melodramatic, tragic-ending obsession!”
Jiang Ming ripped off his VR goggles and bounced up from his bed, aggressively raising his middle finger toward them.
This was his ninety-eighth time completing this VR game called “The Last Elegy.” As an obsessed lover of Happy Ends, Jiang Ming had an almost paranoid pursuit of the perfect ending.
“The Last Elegy” was a recently explosive game on the market, created through the combination of AI and VR. The game’s writer had vowed that a hidden true ending existed—and for the sake of that promise, Jiang Ming had ground through this specific route for twenty-two playthroughs.
This time was the closest he had ever come to beating this line. This side quest, which was supposed to lead to victory, had been just one step away from success.
Inside the Royal City, as the supreme commander of both the capital and the rebel army camps, he only needed to open the city gates and welcome the forces outside to settle everything.
However, at the moment he personally pushed open the gates—Jiang Ming saw the most unbelievable sight of his life.
Two meteors from beyond the heavens, wreathed in blazing light, plummeted precisely into the center of his formations. The defensive barriers constructed from layers of mana and alchemy were easily pierced and shredded like thin paper under that world-ending impact.
“The other side even called out a Crowned One caster like Liu Xiu. How am I supposed to fight that?!”
He was eventually captured after his various unusual behaviors were discovered. Although he was indeed powerful, he couldn’t withstand the sheer number of enemies. Yet, because his influence was too vast, they didn’t dare kill him directly.
As they put it: “If we told the public that Lord Protector Jiang Ming had committed treason, the entire Rhine River would be filled with people disillusioned with the Empire.”
Even after many days, Jiang Ming couldn’t help but complain bitterly when thinking back to that scene. That battle had essentially made him roleplay as Wang Mang.
“You have successfully completed this game. Please rate your experience!”
The familiar screen lit up, and Jiang Ming, teeth clenched, wrote the four words that represented his final shred of dignity:
“Very Easy!”
Now, Jiang Ming felt nothing but regret—intense regret. Back then, when suppressing the rebellion, he should have moved the front lines twenty kilometers to the left and let the rebels straight into the city. Only then could he have given those noble lords a taste of what “the bones of high officials trodden into the streets” felt like.
To be fair, Jiang Ming was also curious how the writer would create equality for all in this supernatural world. It wasn’t like every supernatural world had philosopher-kings like those men named Gao or Jiang.
Moreover, building a world of equality was far more complex than a successful rebellion. The social relationships were intricate, the legal codes needed perfection, and most importantly, the deep-seated concepts in people’s hearts needed to change. As the saying goes: It is easy to defeat the thief in the mountains, but hard to defeat the thief in the heart.
“It’s just a game. Why am I worrying about nation-building?” He let out a long sigh, adjusting his mindset which had become unbalanced by the game, and tossed the equipment aside.
Yes, it was just a game.
Jiang Ming rubbed his aching temples as he got out of bed. Even though it was the weekend, as a private psychologist, he had a visitor scheduled for the afternoon. “Looks like I’ll have to start a new save and play again,” Jiang Ming muttered. He tidied his appearance, pushed open the door, and stepped into the light of reality. He needed to get something to eat.
***
Star Calendar 2098. It had been exactly one hundred years since the Lord Protector announced his resignation from all duties.
Nobles at banquets loudly praised the Lord Protector’s noble character. They spoke of his integrity and incorruptibility, as if praising him was equivalent to branding their own characters. The towering statue of the Lord Protector in the center of the Royal City seemed to have become the best symbol for their self-promotion.
Poets still sang of the Lord Protector’s legends—how he charged through enemy ranks alone and even his ambiguous relationship with Her Majesty the Empress. It was said that this was the reason the Empress’s side had remained vacant to this day.
Countless young people looked up to these legends, yearning to achieve great deeds, and the story of the Lord Protector had become an essential part of military recruitment propaganda.
Steam billowed like the breath of giant beasts through the steel jungles of Opas. In the sky, massive Zeppelins cruised slowly beneath lead-gray clouds like silent whales, casting cold shadows upon the earth and overlooking the never-sleeping city.
Beneath the surface, another pulse of the city throbbed. Countless “Earth Serpents” driven by steam and mana—underground vehicles shaped like miniature trains—were the pride of the School of Myriad Constructs, now thundering along intersecting tracks. People only needed to pay a few meager “Millers” to board the “Midgard Serpent,” hailed as an “Imperial Engineering Miracle,” to travel to any corner of the city.
In a hundred years, everything had changed.
The Zeppelin, The Astral, hung silently in the twilight sky over Opas like a quiet whale. Inside the breakroom, two officers, one old and one young, sat on opposite sides of a chessboard.
Deputy Inspector Old Charlie was sunk deep into the soft back of his chair, his uniform casually open to reveal a slightly wrinkled shirt. His cap was crooked, and he hummed a tuneless melody, his crossed leg causing the tip of his shoe to sway leisurely, catching a glimmer of warm light.
Sitting across from him was the young officer, Parker. His brand-new uniform tightly hugged his upright posture, his brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line, and his body leaned forward as if his entire soul had been consumed by the sixty-four squares before him.
“Relax, Parker. It’s just a game of chess. I’m not some man-eating monster.” Seeing him look like he was facing a great enemy, the wrinkles at the corners of Old Charlie’s eyes softened, and his voice carried a grandfatherly warmth.
Parker’s body relaxed by an imperceptible inch, though he remained stiff. “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” Today was the first day of his career, and being pulled into a chess match by the department’s second-in-command was a “distinction” that made him feel both honored and pressured. Fortunately, this superior seemed kinder and easier to get along with than he had imagined.
Old Charlie waved his hand dismissively and picked up a pipe from the table, gently rubbing it.
“From your accent, you don’t sound like an Opas local?”
“That’s right, Sir. I’m from the Holy Moon Empire.”
“Oh? What made you think of crossing the ocean to come here? Wouldn’t it be better to stay and develop in the Empire?” Old Charlie asked with some confusion.
At the mention of this, a fervent light instantly burst from Parker’s eyes, and his speech even sped up. “For this city, of course! Opas—it’s the holy city that symbolizes peace! I’ve grown up hearing its legends since I was a child.” He looked out the porthole at the sparkling lights below, his tone full of longing. “A hundred years ago, after the Plague Fire Incident, Lord Protector Jiang Ming went into seclusion, and the defeated Northern Rebel Army established the Rhine Alliance. History says that Empress Lillian stationed troops at the border, and war was on the verge of breaking out… but in the end, for some unknown reason, the Empress withdrew her orders at the last moment. Then the two sides signed a peace treaty and co-constructed this city of miracles as a permanent assembly to resolve disputes. People say this is the final cornerstone maintaining world peace…”
“I see. A city of peace… indeed,” Old Charlie whispered, his gaze following the young man’s toward the window. His eyes looked deep within the hazy clouds.
However, his tone shifted as he returned to the present. “Speaking of which, since you passed the police exam, you should be a supernatural user now, right? What rank are you?”
“Glimmer rank, sir,” Parker replied, his gaze returning to the board. After a brief thought, he cautiously moved a white pawn forward one square.
According to the “Introduction to Supernatural Knowledge Theory,” the path of the supernatural has six major ranks, and Glimmer is the starting point of this long journey.
“Do you know why I love this chess game?” Old Charlie saw him make a move and smiled. His fingers picked up the beautifully carved Queen piece and steadily moved it to the back rank, his offensive instantly becoming fierce.
“Please enlighten me, sir.” Parker sighed inwardly; his white army was already full of holes. He sat up straight and listened intently. He had already learned this basic knowledge in school, but in the face of the deputy director’s question, he showed absolute humility and respect.
Old Charlie picked up a white pawn from the captured pieces and toyed with it between his fingers. “Just like our ranks, every stage can find its corresponding shadow in these pieces. Look at this most basic pawn. It represents the first rank—Glimmer. Ordinary, yet the foundation that builds everything.”
Parker held his breath.
“The second rank, ‘Holy Spear,’ corresponds to this leaping Knight.” Old Charlie picked up a knight.
“The third rank, ‘White Tower,’ symbolizes the peak of knowledge and power, like the Bishop on the board controlling the game diagonally.” He took the bishop directly from his own side of the board, showed it, and then gently put it down.
“And the fourth rank is called Royal City, its symbol is…”
Old Charlie’s gaze swept across the board, finding that his Rooks had already been traded away in previous exchanges.
Parker immediately understood and quickly picked up his only remaining piece. “It represents the Rook.”
“Exactly, the Rook.” Old Charlie nodded in approval and solemnly placed the piece representing the “Queen” on the table. “And the Queen stage is the most special. Do you know why?” His gaze swept pointedly toward the white pawn that was about to reach the back rank.
“I know, sir. Because of Promotion.” Parker answered immediately.
According to chess rules, when a pawn overcomes all difficulties to reach the opponent’s back rank, it can be transformed and promoted into any piece except for the King. In most cases, the player chooses to turn it into the most powerful piece, the Queen.
“From Royal City to Queen, this chasm is what we call Promotion.” Old Charlie’s voice lowered, carrying a hint of awe.
“A supernatural user who successfully undergoes the Promotion ritual is one who has shed their mortal shell and bathed in the light of the gods. And those who complete Promotion, we call them ‘God-Enlightened’.”
His gaze finally fell back to the center of the board, to the piece that must be defended even at the cost of everything—the King.
“As for the King…”
“End.” Parker followed softly, his tone also filled with awe. “That is the codename for King. We generally honor them as the Crowned Ones.”
“Precisely. Throughout history, few have been able to walk to the End and put on the crown,” Old Charlie said emotionally, his gaze distant.
“When I first touched the path of the supernatural and learned about this system that uses chess as a metaphor for ranks, I fell uncontrollably in love with this game. It’s a pity…” He sighed with a hint of loneliness.
“In the entire department, there are few who are willing to sit down and finish a game with me. Thank you, Parker, for being willing to listen to an old man ramble about these old stories.”
“It’s my honor, Director,” Parker said, waving his hands. Being able to get closer to the deputy director through chess was a rare opportunity.
“How about a drink after work?” Old Charlie raised his thick eyebrows and issued an invitation. He clearly appreciated this young man whose chess style was steady yet sharp. This game was already lost for Parker, but he was still trying to find an opportunity, planning a desperate struggle with a pawn “Promotion.” Charlie liked that fighting spirit. “I know a good tavern on Beckland Road. We can taste some rye beer while playing another round.”
“It would be an honor!” Parker agreed immediately, looking out the window with excitement.
The twilight light gilded the clouds, and the sight of the sun and moon together predicted the coming night. Parker looked down at his watch; the hour hand pointed to 6:00 PM. In two more hours, his first day of duty would be over.
“The start of work is quite relaxed,” he thought to himself. From the moment he boarded the vessel until now, aside from routine guard duty, there was only this game with the deputy director; it was almost like having nothing to do.
Just as that thought emerged—a sharp, rapid ringing suddenly tore through the silence of the breakroom, originating from the portable communicator at Old Charlie’s waist.
“Hello, this is The Astral. Yes… Understood. Location confirmed, we’re heading out immediately.” Old Charlie quickly picked up the communicator, responded briefly, and his face instantly became solemn. He put down the device and looked at Parker helplessly, his previous leisure completely gone.
“Looks like our drink will have to be rescheduled, kid.” He stood up, briskly straightening his crooked cap and clothes, his voice steady and fast.
“An abnormally high concentration of mana has been detected in the Beckland Street area. Initial judgment… suspected living sacrifice ritual by Ash Angel cultists. We must leave immediately!”
With that, he rushed out of the breakroom, walking straight toward the command center. He no longer had the relaxed air he had while playing chess. Like a true warrior, he was rushing toward his battlefield.
Parker followed Old Charlie out of the breakroom. As they hurried through the hallway, he couldn’t help but ask, “Deputy Director, Ash Angel… does this have anything to do with the cult group that Lord Protector Jiang Ming suppressed a hundred years ago?”
Old Charlie didn’t look back, his voice sounding somewhat ethereal amidst the humming of the Zeppelin’s corridor.
“Who knows. Groups that worship those types of things are like cockroaches in the gutter; they frequently rise from the ashes. There isn’t just one Ash Angel. So remember, kid, in Opas, beneath the surface of peace, there are more undercurrents than you can imagine. Today will be your initiation.”