Sevens - Volume 17 - Chapter 15: Return

Buried alive. Forgotten by the world. Cursed to refine death itself.Rin Xie clawed his way out of his own grave with nothing but broken nails, shattered bones, and a core pulsing with rot. In a world where the heavens punish the wicked with celestial fire, where death cultivators are hunted like beasts, Rin awakens with a forbidden path—one that feeds on pain, suffering, and the ashes of the dead.He cannot heal. He cannot forget. But every wound, every betrayal, every death he witnesses becomes fuel for his ascension.Under a crimson eclipse, he walks through battlefields where spirits still scream. In deserts of bone, he consumes lotus flowers blooming from despair. He learns techniques the heavens sealed away in fear—Soul Wither Pulse, Requiem Bloom, Grief Reclamation.But the deeper he dives into death, the less human he becomes.He no longer cries for the fallen.He no longer prays for peace.He begins to wonder—what kind of death should he become?In a world where power devours morality, Rin Xie will either become the end of all things...Or something worse.

It all started when the protagonist downloaded a game called “The Fool (Beta Version),” marking a pivotal shift in the style of his life. This was no ordinary game; it lacked visuals and music, composed solely of lines of text and a multitude of choices. Yet, each decision within the game had the power to alter the player's destiny, for on the other side of the game lay a real, unknown world.Players were unable to physically enter this otherworld or see its landscapes, experiencing the alternate realm solely through text, vicariously living each step of their character's journey.As the game progressed, not only could rewards from the game materialize in the real world, but creatures from the game began to appear in reality as well.Then came the day the game was released for global public testing.An era quietly unfolded, where the masses embarked on explorations and treasure hunts in an alternate universe through 'textual adventure,' heralding a new chapter of engagement and discovery.

Due to investigating an arms case, he was forced to become a gigolo, from then on, the cute little loli, the sweet and pure young married woman, the cold and aloof CEO beauty, and all kinds of other beauties surrounded him.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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