Chapter 330: with translation of chapter title

A scarlet light column pierced the rust‑spotted iron roof from above Jiang Yuan and Su Ming's heads.

The three stood directly beneath the light column, enclosed in a dense mass of red.

Liang Wen was the first to react.

He stepped back three paces, tilted his head to gauge the column's thickness, then pinched his chin and made a gesture, his expression subtle.

"If we add one more, this column would be… above average?"

Jiang Yuan seemed thoughtful.

Su Ming stood three steps behind the two, his homemade spear tip pointing downward, the tail wedged on broken bricks at his feet.

His gaze ignored the column, scanning the factory's surrounding holes—two on the east wall, one on the north wall, the newly blown one on the roof, plus the main gate—at least five directions could be breached.

"It can't be hidden any longer," Su Ming said.

The tone was as flat as a weather forecast.

"This column is a bullseye; anyone with eyes can see it."

Liang Wen raised the collar of his windcoat.

"What then? Run? Where to run? A Global Red Name—this is a challenge to everyone in Eternal Hell."

"Don't run."

Jiang Yuan spoke.

"The game has changed its Rules," he lifted the Spinal Sword, its tip aimed at the factory gate, "Everyone is now out in the open; what remains is a hard‑on‑hard."

Liang Wen patted his Waist Knife, the corner of his mouth lifting, that familiar over‑the‑top spirit resurfacing.

"Hard‑on‑hard? Those three words are a stage tailor‑made for the Dark-Blooded King; we shall surely return victorious—"

"Please, don't set a flag," Su Ming said.

"Even requests must queue."

"......"

Commercial Street Ruins.

Lin Fan stood on the half‑collapsed skybridge wreckage, the light column above his head the thickest among all.

The combined energy of four Divine Gifts gave the column an almost tangible texture, with visible energy vortices churning inside, scorching the surrounding air into distortion.

He showed no intention of concealment.

The blue flame sprout in his right eye became even more glaring under the scarlet column, the two colors overlapping, dyeing half his face an extremely weird purple.

In the Shadow, Xin Yu's black hair surged from his collar, cuffs, and pant legs; thousands of strands moved without wind around the column, stretching, coiling, then spreading, each tip standing perfectly straight, radiating in all directions like a radar antenna array.

She was listening for him.

Listening to how many pairs of feet in the whole city were moving toward this side.

Lin Fan pulled a crushed piece of chocolate from his pocket, tore off the foil wrapper, shoved it into his mouth and chewed twice.

It was sweet.

The sweetness, mixed with the lingering metallic taste, turned bitter.

The strands of Ling Xinyu wrote a few characters on the back of his hand:

"Three groups are coming."

Lin Fan crumpled the chocolate foil into a ball and tossed it; a silver sphere streaked through the red light in an arc, landing in a crack of the ruins.

"Let them come."

"One comes, one is taken; two come, a pair is taken."

City Center.

Chen Shao stopped in his tracks.

His gaze crossed the ruins' skyline, locking onto the thickest column in the southeast.

The windcoat's hem fluttered in the night wind, yet he remained motionless, like an iron stake set into the asphalt.

Three seconds.

He stared for a full three seconds.

"In that direction, at least four."

In the shadow behind, Xu An stood barefoot and silent, the black sutures on his lips glinting a muted sheen under the red light.

Chen Shao turned his head and looked north.

In the direction of the Abandoned Factory there was also a column, much thinner than the southeast one, yet equally distinctive.

"Where shall we go first?"

Xu An gave no response.

He never voiced opinions on tactics, and the sewn‑shut mouth allowed him no comment. He only needed to know who to strike.

Chen Shao slipped his phone into his pocket, both hands tucked into the windcoat's pockets.

The night wind blew through the ruins' fissures, carrying the smell of burnt plastic and a deeper, rotting sweetness.

Three light columns.

Three directions.

Three forces strong enough to tear this city apart, separated by kilometers of broken walls, probing each other through Rules‑level vibrations.

The air itself trembled.

Just then—

The broadcast sounded.

It wasn't a single broadcast.

It was every functional speaker, car audio system, mall PA, school playground megaphone, even the fire‑engine's siren across the city, all seized at the same instant.

First came the noise.

A sharp electric current hissed for two seconds, like a Nail scraping frosted glass.

Immediately after, a melody flowed out.

Classical music.

Strings laid the foundation, the cello drew a low, lingering introduction, the violin trembled in the high register to join, the French horn's harmony pushed in from afar— it was the fourth movement, Adagio, of Mahler's Fifth Symphony.

One of the world's most gentle, most passionate melodies.

Was forced to play in this corpse‑strewn dead city.

Absurdity reached its extreme.

Elegance also reached its extreme.

When the strings reached the most lingering passage, the volume suddenly dropped by three levels.

A voice cut in.

"Good— even—ing—!"

The elongated trailing tone, breathy, sounded like an operatic tenor warming his voice.

"My dear, respectable, pitiful, tragic— contestants."

Each adjective was separated by a perfectly timed half‑beat pause, the tone's mockery and affectation thick enough to be drawn into threads.

Lin Fan's footsteps halted.

Jiang Yuan's hand tightened a inch on the Spinal Sword's hilt.

Chen Shao tilted his head slightly, and Xu An's suture line on his lips twitched gently.

"The game has progressed to now, everyone's performance— how to put it—"

Pause.

The background music happened to reach a sustained note.

"Pass. Barely pass. The kind of pass that scores sixty‑one points."

"The weak have already exited; those remaining are all characters with two brushes. But— having two brushes isn't enough. You lack a stage. A stage worthy of your mutual tearing, a stage beautiful enough."

"So."

At this point, the classical music abruptly switched; the cello and timpani struck simultaneously, the low‑frequency vibration causing every speaker's casing to hum and shiver.

"The final stage is now open."

"Location— the tallest, ugliest, most landmark‑significant building in your city— TV Tower."

"The Rules are simple. Whoever reaches the summit bearing all Divine Gifts may ask a god for a wish."

"Any wish."

"Bring the dead back to life? Possible. Destroy the world? Also possible. Turn you into a god? No one can say for sure."

The voice here suddenly became extremely light and soft, so light that it had to be pressed against the speaker to be heard clearly.

"Of course, no one mandates that you must come."

"But you won't not come, right?"

"Because each of you has something in your heart that cannot be reclaimed even with your life."

The classical music concluded on the final overtone, drifting away.

The broadcast cut off.

The whole city fell into a silence deeper than before.

Three seconds later.

In the direction of the City Center TV Tower, the skyline was torn open by a patch of ink‑green cold light.

That Weird fluctuation rippled across the entire city, and every Weird‑domain practitioners' inner power surged violently at the same moment.

That was not an ordinary Weird aura.

It was an entire Weird Domain forming inside the TV Tower.

From the foundation to the tower's tip.

Five hundred thirty‑eight meters.

All of it came alive.