The sixth of January, Year Two of the Wasteland Calendar—a day worthy of being recorded in history.
The humans who had survived by sheer luck would remember this day forever, along with the disaster that had lasted half a year.
The Thousand Illusions Mist was finally coming to an end.
They would no longer have to endure the torment of humidity that clung to them like a bone-deep parasite, lying awake in bed night after night.
They would no longer have to worry about enemies suddenly rushing out of the fog. With clear vision, their opponents would have nowhere to hide.
The sun's appearance brought the unique warmth of sunlight.
Even the cement that never fully dried would speed up its hardening, making infrastructure construction proceed more smoothly.
It was early morning, just after six.
The quiet village began to stir uncontrollably, as more and more residents stepped outside and looked up toward the east.
There, the sun that had vanished for half a year was bursting with "brilliant" light, illuminating half the sky and dyeing it a bluish green.
Several workers were walking beside the buildings, tearing down the slogan stickers that read, "Residents, do not wander outside during heavy fog. Pay attention to your personal safety," and replacing them with new propaganda slogans.
Because the period had been far too long, people felt the warmth descend upon their bodies.
Many raised their hands before their eyes, looking unaccustomed to the sensation.
Standing before the Underground City's gates, Su Mo instinctively raised his hand as well, blocking the light that was actually not at all harsh.
The world seemed to have become clear.
Before this, whenever they looked at anything, it had felt as if a thin veil covered it.
This feeling had been especially obvious when gazing into