Gazing at the sky spreading with pitch-black cracks, Little Mage saw the fear that had hung over his heart for more than a century become reality.
His mind went blank.
In just an instant, he forcibly cut short his daze.
He decisively summoned the Player Forum and published the pinned post he had written seventy-eight years ago but had kept in his drafts ever since.
In his eyes, this was his trump card, and the Spirit Breath Race's only light of salvation in a desperate situation.
[I am Little Mage. The Spirit Breath Race is now in mortal danger. I sincerely beg all my fellow villagers to lend a hand-any fellow villagers dissatisfied with me may deal with me however they wish when I return to the village after the battle.]
With a thought, the post went live.
Within moments, its popularity soared. The comments erupted, messages racing across the screen.
But Little Mage had no time to read them.
The Great Evil Moon's influence over the Phantom Spirit Wasteland was relatively weak, but ordinary spatial technology still could not cross it.
Only Space Leap above level 200 could reach it.
Very few players met that requirement. After all, they would not cultivate Space Leap as their Primary Life Soul; generally, they only leveled it enough to use it.
Those players might not all be free at the moment.
Until the main force of players arrived, he alone could protect the Spirit Breath Race.
Little Mage raised his palm. A blood-colored streak shot from it, passing through layers of buildings and streets toward a towering structure in the south of the city.
Hum!
The Defense Barrier hidden within the fabric of the city abruptly activated. A pale golden dome of spiritual light slowly rose, firmly enclosing the Spirit Breath Territory