An Actor's Self-Cultivation

Though it was nighttime, the wind was still scorching hot.

Ever since the Old Gods had revived and descended upon the land of the New Continent United States, the environment here seemed to have begun warming up.

It was far hotter than in previous years.

This had caused the corpses of countless dead people to rot in streets, houses, and ruins everywhere, breeding all kinds of mosquitoes and insects. The stench of decay permeated the air, while plagues also sprang up, harassing the people hiding in their shelters.

At that moment, inside a dilapidated church in the outskirts of Newtown City, several candles had been lit, casting a dim glow over the dust-covered interior.

On the rows of pews in the church lay several corpses that had begun to rot and stink. They were believers who had died here.

Most of those corpses bore huge wounds, clearly having been brutally slaughtered by mythical creatures.

Some had been gnawed down to nothing but skeletons.

After the Old Gods revived and the apocalypse descended, many devout believers had come to churches to pray to the deities they had always believed in.

But what they had not expected was that their devout prayers would bring not the salvation of the Old God deities, but cruel hunting.

Their power of faith was like a beacon in the darkness, guiding cruel angels and all kinds of mythical creatures to them, where they slaughtered them, plundered their spiritual power, and tore them to pieces.

After all, the more devout a believer was, the more nourishing their spiritual power was to Old Gods and mythical creatures of the same system.

Fortunately, the deaths of the first batch had alerted most people to the situation, and the provisional government of the New Continent United States and the remnants