Where Have You Been Fooling Around All These Years?

"Clan Leader, something terrible has happened—"

"Our clan's sacred artifact... the sacred artifact just flew away!"

A man with two curved horns on his head came running at breakneck speed, almost tripping over his own feet.

He rushed to the low stone platform in the center of the tribe, bent over and panting heavily, his face filled with panic as if the sky had fallen.

The man he addressed as "Clan Leader" was sitting cross-legged on the stone platform, resting with his eyes closed.

He looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. His long, dark hair flowed like Flowing Clouds, with some of it tied up and two thin braids hanging down in front of his chest. His eyes were a clear, gradient Gemstone with upturned corners and long, thick eyelashes.

If it weren't for the desolation that occasionally showed when those eyes opened, anyone would mistake him for a teenager.

His name is Mo.

I've lost count of how many years I've lived.

Mo opened his eyes and, upon hearing the words "the sacred object flew away," a faint emotion appeared on his youthful face.

He remembers it very clearly.

The jet -Pitch-Black Spear was planted in the center of this land the day he awoke, surrounded by Sapphire Blue Divine Power, cold and unapproachable.

Back then, this place was still a desolate wasteland.

He was all alone, staring blankly at the gun.

Later, he witnessed the birth of his first member of the tribe.

It was early morning when Sapphire Blue Divine Power overflowed from the gun, condensing into a blurry ball of light. The ball of light landed and transformed into a bewildered boy with horns on his head.

Mo then understood.

It turns out that their clan was born because of that Spear.

That gun was the source of their lives.

But since it's a weapon, it should have an owner.

Mo always believed this.

He waited in the same spot for many years, waiting for his master to come and take out the gun, waiting for his master to come and claim them.

But spring goes and autumn comes, cold comes and heat goes.

The spear remained planted there, its Sapphire Blue Divine Power flowing day and night.

Later, as the number of Mo people increased, this place gradually developed from a wasteland into a tribe.

But that gun remained unclaimed.

It wasn't that no one in the tribe wanted to pull out that gun.

A group of hot-blooded young men, who boasted of their immense strength, joined forces and attacked together, defying all odds.

Without exception, before their fingertips could even touch the gun, they were thrown back by a force, landing flat on their backs and covered in mud.

The artifact possessed a spirit, forbidding them from approaching, not even to touch it.

However, Mo seems to be an exception.

Perhaps it was because he was the first to be born, or perhaps it was because he had always guarded that Spear.

When Mo approached the Spear, it didn't react at all, but that was all; it still couldn't pull it out.

However, it was precisely because of this that he became the Clan Leader.

They could be called the Clan Leader, yet their clan didn't even have a proper name. A bunch of horned creatures would huddle together every day, racking their brains, going from "Gun Clan" to "Black Gun Clan" to "Azure Clan"...

On the very day they nearly came to blows over their clan's name.

The Spear, which had been dormant for countless years, suddenly flew out on its own. The spear shaft soared into the air, and Sapphire Blue Divine Power poured out like a flood. The fierce spear energy, carrying immense force, cleaved towards the majestic mountain in the distance.

One shot, two shots, three shots... seventeen shots, the mountain rocks shattered, and dust billowed into the sky. When the dust settled, two large, bold characters were clearly carved on the mountain wall.

--Asura.

From then on, they called themselves the "Asura Clan".

After slashing those two words, the Spear leisurely flew back and re-inserted into its original position, the Sapphire Blue light on its shaft fading as before. Afterwards, no matter how the Asura Clan kowtowed, prayed, or cried out in despair, it remained unmoved and showed no further reaction.

But today, it actually moved.

It flew away without looking back, as fast as a bird eager to return to its nest.

Could it be its owner calling it?

Thinking about this, Mo's feelings were somewhat complicated.

A rare, unreadable emotion flickered across his face.

Long, long ago, he stayed by that gun every day, imagining countless times what its owner would look like.

He was young then, and his heart was full of longing and admiration. He felt that to become the master of such a divine weapon, one must be the most remarkable being in the world.

But now he's so old, he's experienced so much, he's witnessed the birth, aging, sickness and death of his people, and tasted the loneliness of being ignored for so long.

He had long since come to terms with many things.

They no longer seemed to harbor the same burning expectations they had for their so-called master as they had in their youth.

But...

Mo looked in the direction where the Spear had disappeared, and a faint light finally shone in his calm eyes.

For the sake of his people, as their Clan Leader, he should seek the truth for them.

Where did that gun come from, and who is its owner?

But what exactly is the purpose of the Asura Tribe?

"Tell me the truth, where have you been gallivanting all these years?"

Wuma Xiu looked at the Spear in his hand with disdain, tapping the shaft twice with his fingertips. His tone was as if he were scolding a troublesome subordinate Li Clan for many years and returned covered in wildflowers and weeds.

The Spear hummed and vibrated slightly, the sound long and drawn out, like something grumbling in its throat.

Others couldn't understand it, but Wuma Xiu did.

Spear: God, have you forgotten? Years ago, you casually tossed me aside and never came back for me. I waited there for you for so long, until today, when I finally heard your call.

To be honest, Wuma Xiu seems to have some recollection of this incident.

He beat up the Evil God so easily back then, and it seems he really did just toss it away casually afterward.

Where did you lose it?

I can't remember.

One day, Wuma Xiu logged off the game and then started grinding for other characters.

"Never This Venerable, I can't be bothered with that. But you're a bit dirty, you need to be wiped clean."

The other party made no further moves.

He stood there on the hilt of the sword, his white hair fluttering in the wind, his posture relaxed and casual, showing no sign of the tension that precedes battle.

But Feng Linglang felt increasingly pressured.

[System, if I add that thing, what are my chances of winning against him?]

The Godhood System finally snapped out of its shock after being reminded by its host.

Yes, they still have a trump card, a trump card they can't easily use. It quickly retrieved the data and recalculated all the variables.

A moment later, a number appeared.

[Host, this is great! Three-Seven Split, he gets 30%, you get 70%!]

Hearing that there was a chance of winning, Feng Linglang finally felt relieved.

Three-Seven Split is enough for him to take a gamble.

Although using that thing would come at a great cost to him, and he would probably have to lie in bed for an unknown amount of time afterward, it would all be worth it as long as he could win and leave this Desolate Planet alive.

[System, Usage.]

The Godhood System didn't hesitate for a moment.

Given the current situation, if we don't use it now, it will truly be too late.

If the host dies, the system itself will perish with it. Without saying a word, it activated the long-sealed highest level of access.