"What a wonderful place—no, what a wonderful world..."
Lu PingAn rarely voiced such straightforward praise.
He had passed through so many worlds, yet it felt as though he had gone from one hell to another purgatory.
Though still young, he had seen too much despair wandering beneath apocalypses, remembered the twilight of civilizations' ends, and pitied the fall of world after world while being powerless to stop it.
"In the end, they were still too weak. Not only were the worlds too weak, but so were the intelligent races living upon them."
Perhaps on another timeline, a world would not care whether its inhabitants continued to exist. But in this world, where supernatural phenomena and corruption were everywhere, the quality and number of civilizations—and the powerful beings within them—could truly determine how long the world endured.
A world might not possess intelligence, but it did indeed have "consciousness."
It was the origin of everything in this world, and naturally had some unknown connection to its inhabitants.
Residents and visitors within it were inevitably affected as well. In some worlds, most creatures and races seemed impatient and wrathful. Perhaps that was not purely their own problem, but the world's "anxiety."
Lu PingAn rode a great wolf through the Wasteland at full speed. Yet the night wind still carried a trace of warmth, while faint echoes continued to ripple across the land he passed over.
Though he traveled alone through the Wasteland, Lu Mouren did not feel lonely. It was as if the wind were recounting the dreams of living things, while the moonlight overhead guided the way ahead.
"The world is far too friendly..."
It was a subtle yet genuine sensation. For Lu Mouren, who could perceive the entire land as a living being, he could constantly sense this world's "cheerfulness."