"So, was all of this arranged by you?"
Zhao Cheng questioned the host in front of everyone.
The host merely smiled faintly. "What arrangement could there be? If you insist on calling it an arrangement, then it can only be fate's arrangement. Perhaps fate has favored you, granting you that sliver of hope for victory."
"This world has always been cruel. Hope is a precious thing. Compared to you, far more people can only drown in despair, never possessing even a thread of hope."
"And not everyone can seize fate's favor. Opportunities vanish in an instant."
"Ah! The program is about to run overtime. Go back and prepare yourselves. The final round begins in five days!"
"Dismissed!"
The host clapped his hands, and everything immediately dispersed.
"Sir, you doing this..."
"Enough. What do you understand?"
"What could you possibly understand?"
"You aren't even life, yet you somehow developed the compassion that only pitiable beings are born with. You are a failed creation."
"Do you know? This is the price—the price of enjoying the alms of a 'god.' Fate's gifts are never free. Everything has long since had its price marked behind it!"
The host faced the distant sky, arms spread wide as if he wanted to embrace the world.
"His only value now is as a prop—to please me, to please everyone, to dedicate everything to god. That is his greatest honor!"
"Actually, if the live broadcast rules didn't allow it, I'd much rather see him survive after failing. After personally slaughtering the person most important to him, after discovering that the power to change fate had not arrived as promised, he would still live on, sinking into the deepest abyss for all his remaining years."
"That is probably the greatest pleasure in the game of toying with ants.