Mortals

"In this world, the weak are like pebbles."

"Robbers may take your life, the powerful may ruin your life, and the gods may take everything from you! In this world, the system is no different from a god."

An Yang surveyed the room, which resembled a space capsule, and waved a hand, clearing away all the dust that had accumulated over the years.

He put away all his belongings, then made the bed. The electronic equipment still worked. Though many places still bore the scars of nearly two centuries of neglect, the little capsule was at least starting to look livable. It was a little cold, but it would do for a day or two.

"Cold..."

An Yang sighed and sat down on the bed.

Thud!

A thick, ancient book landed in front of him. Its hefty hard cover was covered in crooked symbols he couldn't understand, yet shimmered faintly like metal. In the lower-right corner was a picture of an old, decaying windmill. Beside it, a few lines were written in the common script of the Mesoyarland Federation. When he focused on them, they seemed to exert an eerie pull.

"Please read the following passage aloud: The dawn of Yuerlan lights up the black valley, gleaming crimson. The demon smiles at mankind from the abyss, while the gods angrily brandish their giant hammers!"

"Then, please send a breeze across the mountain stream."

"Cough, cough. A breeze your sister!"

An Yang obediently read the passage aloud, then blew on the windmill. It spun rapidly.

Whirr, whirr, whirr!

The decaying windmill creaked as it turned, as if its crossed blades might fall off at any moment. It sounded ready to fall apart. But it held firm, and even after he stopped blowing, it spun faster and faster. The creaking became a