Chapter 321 - 86: The Raging War

Bian leaned back in his chair, watching the Clockmaker with a blank expression. "So that’s how it is. Was this your plan all along, luring Gale into the open? To trade what happened to Gale for the Creator’s location—is that what you’ve been plotting this whole time?"

The Creator, the one who made the leaders of the Pseudo-men.

The four Pseudo-man leaders were all constructs of the Creator. That entity’s Power was even greater than that of the Administrators, having single-handedly added the new species of Pseudo-men to the Abyss.

Fortunately, this terrifying being had simply vanished without a trace after creating the four Pseudo-man leaders. However, that didn’t mean the Administrators couldn’t find them.

Within the Administrators’ Divine Hall was a special room called the [Confession Room of the Omniscient].

Anyone who entered this room had to confess to one or more wrongdoings they had committed. This transgression would then be made known to all of their colleagues, and there had to be no fewer than thirty of them.

Each misdeed would be judged based on the degree of remorse, the extent of the damage, and the number of people who knew about it. Only after meeting a certain standard could the person leave the Confession Room and write something they wanted to know on the small blackboard by the door with a piece of chalk.

The same person could enter the room multiple times, but each misdeed could only be confessed once. For the next visit, they would have to prepare a different one.

As a result, the room was also known as the Room of Social Suicide. Every Administrator who went in experienced social death.

The only Administrator who entered and didn’t suffer social death was Bian. This iron-faced hard-ass said only a single sentence after going inside, and the door opened.

"I have never done a single wrong thing in my life."

And the Confession Room didn’t answer his question. It just wrote a single word on the blackboard: "Badass."

Therefore, the Clockmaker’s target was obviously this Confession Room.

Although it was unclear how the Clockmaker had learned of the [Confession Room of the Omniscient]’s existence, they could not let him learn the Creator’s whereabouts.

The dangers within the Abyss were too numerous. The Administrators had only explored 8% of its territory to date; the remaining 92% was still shrouded in Mist.

But even that 8% was enough for the Administrators to know what a terrifying place the Abyss was.

Human civilization was like a city built on a soap bubble. A single breath from some passing entity could cause the bubble to pop, and humanity would be annihilated without ever knowing why.

Take the Creator, for example. They might have created the four Pseudo-man leaders on a whim, but this casual act led to the appearance of the Pseudo-man species in the Abyss, which evolved into a full-blown catastrophe.

If that entity were to return and, on another whim, turn everyone into Pseudo-men, what could anyone do?

The entity’s silent departure was the best-case scenario. Its return would be the true disaster.

Bian quickly weighed the pros and cons in his mind, then looked at Nemo on the screen and said, "Clockmaker, you know this is impossible. You should also know we would never agree. So, what is your real objective?"

"I have no special objective. This is merely a scheme in plain sight. I just want you Administrators to know that when you become corrupted, your superiors will not choose to save you."

"We are always prepared to make that sacrifice," Bian said coolly.

"That’s you, not *all* of you. I have complete faith that you, Bian, would sacrifice yourself without hesitation. But what about the others? After you’re corrupted, won’t you want to live, even if there’s only the slightest chance? So, if any of you suffer corruption and it manifests, feel free to come find me, the Clockmaker. I guarantee you a way to survive. For a small price, of course. Heh heh heh."

The Clockmaker’s message had been delivered. All that was left was to quietly wait for time to run out, and then send Gale on their way.

’The thought of this old rival’s imminent demise filled the Clockmaker with such... regret.’

But even more so, with glee.

’Countless Pseudo-men had died at Gale’s hands, and some of them had been like children to the Clockmaker.’

’The loss of each Pseudo-man tore at his heart, but against the extraordinarily powerful Gale, he had been helpless.’

’Now, that former rival was about to perish right here. Everyone was walking right into the trap he had set. What expressions would those players wear when they discovered that the Demon King wasn’t the true culprit, that the source of the world’s corruption was someone else entirely?’

’And what about the Administrators?’

"Exquisite!"

The mere thought of it made the Clockmaker’s expression turn rapturous.

Amidst the ice and snow, the Clockmaker spread his hands. The puppets he controlled nearby mirrored the exact same motion.

By using Possession on Nemo, the Clockmaker could add Nemo’s Profession, "Puppet Master," as his own sub-Profession.

Then, using his clock’s power of regression, he could completely reset his own Professional Skills, ultimately becoming the most suitable Profession for this instance.

Through the wind and snow, he controlled the puppets around him, charging toward the passageway.

’Come, players.’

’Come and have some fun with my puppets.’

The Clockmaker’s intervention caused the pressure on the players to spike dramatically.

Players who had been cheerfully clearing out the surrounding strongholds were suddenly surrounded by a group from the Celestial Wing Knight Order and sent to their respawn points.

Compared to before, these enemies seemed to have been reborn.

They became fearless in the face of death and possessed immense strength. A single knight’s Power was roughly equal to a player’s, but when a group of them fought together, the lethality born from their unity and coordination was terrifying.

They felt no pain, and their movements were perfectly synchronized. Each one had become part of a hive mind, able to communicate and coordinate without making a sound.

Even more frightening, they also seemed to have the ability to regenerate.

When one knight fell in battle, a new one would be rapidly born from a culture dish, then dragged out by some Mysterious Power and sent to the battlefield.

With each revival, these knights would gain more animalistic features and become even stronger.

Eventually, the knights who had died and revived repeatedly had become a mass of strange, twisted creatures.

They possessed the features of multiple creatures. Their chaotic facial features and bizarre limbs made them look like bizarre deep-sea abominations—the kind of things that would give you nightmares from a single glance.

The players had no choice but to split their forces to fight these knights. A large number of them endured the immense spiritual pressure to hold their ground here, locked in a life-or-death struggle with the increasingly chaotic Celestial Wing Knight Order.

Staring at the dense ranks of soldiers before him, Duan Fei couldn’t help but yell, "You damn developers, have you even played your own instance? Stop trying to pull this creepy, underworld crap! Why don’t you go to hell yourselves?"

"If you have time to complain, you’d be better off helping us interrogate the prisoner," Eight Desolates said quickly. "Someone named Charlie just came over to defect. He claims to have important intel."