Doomsday Calendar, Year Two, December 31.
Only eighteen days remained before the first Gods Gambling Duel officially began.
On the eve of bidding farewell to the Wasteland's second year and ushering in a new one, every corner of human society was filled with a special and complicated emotion.
Everyone probably understood that this was not merely a change of years. It was also the moment when the flower of hope, watered with blood, sweat, and tears as they climbed step by step out of the abyss of despair, was about to bloom.
Thus, even though the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, quietly awaiting the arrival of the pivotal moment that would determine their ultimate fate.
It marked the end of Earth's human race's second year in the Wasteland, as well as the transition from the old year to the new.
When this day arrived, nearly every territory, regardless of size, went all out to hold a series of extraordinary New Year's celebrations in its own way.
This was not merely a celebration of the new year. It was also a collective tribute to the people who had rebuilt their homes amid the ruins and searched for light in despair over the past year.
Tesla Territory.
A grand bonfire party was held in the farmland after the wheat harvest.
People sat around the blazing bonfire. The firelight illuminated the complicated expressions on their faces—painful memories of the past mixed with boundless hopes for the future.
The survivors who had been lucky enough to live took turns recounting those heart-stopping days, telling how they had found food amid the ruins and helped one another in desperate situations.
Some of the bolder ones even shared their experiences fighting foreign races head-on, frightening the surrounding listeners into shrieking from time to