The middlemost table was directly beneath the highest painted dome of the golden hall.
Everyone in Las Vegas focused their gazes on the screen facing the middlemost gambling table, likewise for the spectators in the live broadcast rooms outside the venue.
There were shouts of surprise, sharp inhales, murmured whispers… undulating and unending.
[Omg, it’s that guy—!!]
[AHHH I have no words, I only know how to move my hands to take screenshots like a maniac.]
[I went out to poke around the forums, the forums have already exploded. Hightailed back to the live broadcast room, let’s fucking gooo.]
This was the first time that any contender was able to see this powerful figure from up close.
No. 1. The Devil.
No one knew his true name. All anyone knew was that this was a mark of the figure exalted as a god in the infinite loop.
Exactly how fearsome his power was, no one dared to ascertain, for any rumour that touched upon ‘the Devil’ would turn into legends. He had ascended the supreme altar that people could only look up to.
Few had ever met him in person; everything about him only existed through word of mouth.
What was left to the contenders was an unassailable track record in each and every horror instance, a perpetually solo attacker who fought indiscriminately against both enemies and teammates, with a pathing elusive as a shadow. Everything was wholly obscured in a grey fog of mystery, drenched in an indescribable, unspeakable terror.
In the extreme environment of the infinite loop where the strong were revered, countless people continually surged forth to follow him with fanatical zeal, hailing him as their god and founder of a new age, the abnormal worship even turning into an almost cult-like following that they would be willing to lay down their lives for.
However, it was obvious that this cult-like following entirely formed of their own volition. No. 1, the Devil, himself had yet to express anything about it.
But that was only natural. For an existence of his standing, he didn’t need to amass power or solicit followers the way others did.
He didn’t need it, nor did he even care for it.
But it was also precisely because of this indifference, the way he scorned people like ants, that caused his followers to become all the more zealous.
The man sat in the spotlight, his medium-long hair tied behind him with a scarlet ribbon brushing against the shoulders of his suit.
A cold aura of utmost wrongness was steeped in the air about him. He seemed to walk the tightrope between elegance and insanity, like a black hole that annihilated light in the universe, easily grabbing the attention of everyone around him, sunken in the deep trenches of evil intentions.
He brimmed with extreme danger and astonishing charisma.
Standing behind Van Zhuo, the young man looked past the black and gold epaulettes on the military uniform, and happened to lock gazes with the other.
Those pair of dark golden eyes half-concealed beneath his black hair resembled a particular type of coldblooded animal, unsettling Zong Jiu’s heart.
This time, he was the first to avert his gaze.
The same shiver Zong Jiu felt in the second round of evaluation once again crept up his spine, sticky and unignorable with malice.
Zong Jiu believed that he had grasped onto the flash of inspiration that he had previously missed.
Looking up at this gaze, Zong Jiu had only ever felt this from one person.
Van Zhuo’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Since this is a public gambling table, players can, of course, freely choose to participate as they will. Be my guest.”
“Tbe mjc’a pera rjs atja.”
Ktf Gfnli rwlifv. “Vlcmf P’w atf rajgalcu qijsfg ktb rfar atf geifr, P klii cjaegjiis tjnf atf gluta ab vfmlvf atf lclalji atgfrtbiv obg atf cb-ilwla ajyif.”
Qjr atlr jcbatfg qfgrbc agslcu ab rtbk tlw eq?
Ibcu Ale jgmtfv tlr fsfygbkr.
Ciatbeut tf bcis tjv jgbecv clcfas atberjcv mtlqr lc tlr qbrrfrrlbc, ageat yf abiv, clcfas atberjcv mtlqr kjr cbatlcu ab atf V-gjcxr ja atf wlvvifwbra ujwyilcu ajyif.
Everyone thought that this bigshot was going to give this white-haired C-rank a run for his money.
But, to everyone’s surprise, the Devil languidly raised a hand, gesturing to the casino official dressed in purple standing behind him to explain to the crowd.
The official bowed respectfully from behind the chair, speaking calmly.
“According to his wishes, the game will continue to be Texas Hold’em, with an ante of 50,000 chips.”
50,000 chips?!
That wasn’t any grand sum. Not to mention S-ranks, even A-rank trainees could squeeze their way in if they really wanted to.
Just as everyone pumped their fists and jumped up and down excitedly, intent on impressing this powerful figure, the official smiled, announcing the second rule.
“There will be three rounds of betting, and each round doesn’t have any upper limit, but the raise must be higher than the previous bet. Unless they fold on the spot, players must raise each round. If they fail to do so, they will automatically be regarded as having abandoned the game.”
A commotion broke out within the crowd of spectators and in the bullet chat.
[50,000 chips may not be much for higher-ranked trainees, but the rule that the bet has to be raised each round is a little scary. One round is fine, but three rounds… /fear.jpg]
[Right. If it was an ordinary A-rank with only about fifty or sixty thousand chips, you may not have any chips left to bet after the first round. After all, the next raise has to be higher than the previous bet… If a bigshot decides to double the bet straight out, won’t you be forced to fold even if you have a good hand, just because you don’t have enough chips to follow through with the bets?]
[Yeah… and folding like this is very frustrating. Plus you’d even have to leave behind the full ante of 50,000 chips in the betting pool. Although you get the opportunity to share a table with that hotshot, the risk is too great. The loss outweighs the gains.]
[Man, you guys are absolutely right. But this is him! The same gambling table! Throwing all else to the wind, if I really could afford it, I’d spend 50,000 chips just to leave a good impression.]
And if those in the bullet chat could figure this out, how could the trainees in Las Vegas be unaware?
There were still numerous fanatical admirers who wanted to get in on the middlemost gambling table, regardless.
After the dealer dressed in purple announced the rules, countless veteran trainees raised their hands, indicating that they, too, wished to get a seat at the table.
Even a few of the other S-ranks came in to join the fun.
No. 5’s cheerful laughter came from not far off. “Old Ghost and I just left for a bit and this place got so exciting? I’ll say it upfront; two of those seats are ours.”
Black-Robed Azan, following step in step with him folded his arms. His brows furrowed as his gaze swept across Messiah at the gambling table, but he didn’t refute the Exorcist’s words.
On the other side, many A-rank trainees were comparing their chip balances to determine the remaining spots at the table.
In the end, ten people sat at the middlemost gambling table.
No. 1, the Devil; No. 2, Van Zhuo; No. 4, Black-Robed Azan; No. 5, the Exorcist; No. 7, Messiah; No. 10, Yin-Yang Master.
Apart from these S-ranked bigwigs whose mere mention of their names could make people tremble in fear, there were three A-ranks whose gazes unwaveringly clung to the person at the most prominent seat, as well as the wholly out-of-place C-rank, Zong Jiu. Ten people, capping the capacity of the middlemost gambling table.
Black and white tuxedoed attendants followed behind the ten players, holding champagne and towels in their hands, helping to pull their seats for them and providing immaculate service.
At this point, the situation had already spiralled beyond Zong Jiu’s control.
If No. 1 was determined not to let Zong Jiu gamble at the table, he could have simply set an initial threshold of 200,000 or 300,000 chips.
But No. 1 didn’t. He only got the casino dealer to alter the rules.
Now, Zong Jiu’s biggest concern wasn’t whether he could make a fortune at the middlemost gambling table, but whether he had enough chips.
He wasn’t worried about his skill; or, better put, what he had was confidence and technique. The rule set by the other seemed completely ordinary without any surprises, and the initial threshold was only 50,000. However, after thinking deeper into it, the chips required for this were much more terrifying than simply setting a 300,000-chips ante from the outset—it was practically a bottomless hole!
What’s more, Zong Jiu had just harvested the leeks at the A-rank gambling table. If he couldn’t enter the middlemost gambling table now, he would have to take a step back and settle for second best, temporarily returning to the A-rank area.
But, because Zong Jiu’s previous way of harvesting leeks was too flagrant, no A-rank trainees would be willing to gamble with him. And 90,000 chips was far less than Zong Jiu’s initial objective when he set foot in Las Vegas this time.
Having come to this, Zong Jiu suddenly found an issue.
He felt that this No. 1, by nature, seemed fated to clash with him.
During the previous evaluation round, the other party gazed down at him from high above with quite a fair amount of interest. But he passed it off as a fluke, that he was just unlucky then.
This time, Zong Jiu went to great efforts and managed to reel in Van Zhuo through his hidden relationship with Anthony, finally gaining an upstanding excuse to enter the middlemost gambling table. But this No. 1 popped up out of the blue, and his plan was directly disrupted.
Now, he couldn’t help but recall what Zhuge An had told him about how they were theoretically fated enemies.
He lowered his gaze to look upon the joker card peeking out his sleeve, his pale pink eyes veiled in dark light.
What a pity, everything was still the same as what Zong Jiu had said to Zhuge An, then.
Magicians never believed in fate.
After all the players were seated, the young man abruptly stood up from the gambling table.
His thin shirt glowed white under the light. His cuffs were pulled to his elbows, and his fingers were long and slender like jade. White hair cascaded down, and his delicate skin carried a faint lustre in the warm light.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the washroom.”
Zong Jiu picked up the platinum gold card on the table, nodding to the others and walking down the stairs to the bathroom without looking back.
Seeing this, the spectators watching the middlemost gambling table broke out in whispers.
“This C-rank couldn’t be terrified from sharing a table with so many bigwigs, is he?”
“Probably. Any physiological needs have been suspended during the competition; it doesn’t matter whether or not you eat or use the washroom. Using the washroom at this kind of time, I guess he wants to piss.”
“Man, actually, it’s quite normal to me. Just look at who those seated at the middlemost gambling table are. He’s no more than a puny C-rank who only won ninety-thousand chips earlier by dumb luck. But now, he can’t use luck to cruise through the middlemost table; if those S-ranks are in a good mood, they could easily raise the bet to a hundred thousand. Then wouldn’t the ninety-thousand he had just won be in vain? If it were me, I’d know my place from the start and stop the losses in time, retreating like a champion.”
“Those are the facts. It’s up to him to see the truth.”
—
Amidst the noisy discussion, Zong Jiu stepped into the washroom without a flicker in his expression.
Aphrodite, made of pure gold, was wearing a long scarf, with red wine flowing from the crook of her arms, winding and trickling into the pool of wine.
Everything in Las Vegas was lavishly gilded in gold. Even the washroom, which was hardly ever used, was warmly lit, oozing extravagance, luxury, and flawless beauty.
The white-haired young man walked over to the mirror at the sink, scooping a handful of cold water to slowly wash his face.
Cold droplets of water slid down from his high brow ridges, along the curve of his high nose bridge, down to his jaw.
Zong Jiu took an ironed towel from the counter and while wiping his face, suddenly spoke.
“Didn’t you say that our next meeting would be when I came to you?”
He wiped the water from the ends of his eyes and looked up towards the dark-haired man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed through the reflection of the mirror.
Zhuge An didn’t speak, only gazing at him very calmly, his eyes deep and contemplative.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Zong Jiu threw the towel into the towel basket, waving a hand. “Let me guess… coming up to my doorstep at this time, could it be that you’re here to give me chips?”
Zhuge An’s eyes narrowed. He finally spoke.
Instead of responding to Zong Jiu’s probes, he skirted around to another topic.
“Do you know… why everyone is so fearful of No. 1?”
He, indeed, didn’t know why. Since someone was gift wrapping the information to him, of course he wouldn’t turn it down.
Zong Jiu lifted his eyebrows, showing his interest in learning more.
Trainees at the peak all had their own trademarks that shot them to fame.
Like Black-Robed Azan, who had a bone-chilling mastery of rearing ghosts; the Black Shaman’s elemental sorcery; the Exorcist’s holy water, etc.
Aside from these people of mystical professions, there were also those who had made their fame solely on the basis of a special physique obtained from a horror instance, such as the half-vampire, No. 2 Van Zhuo, and No. 9 with a top-notch psychic constitution.
And besides the aforementioned, there were those who wielded extremely rare abilities, such as No. 6 who could manipulate water, and an A-rank with a tracking ability.
Compared to the former two, ability wielders were more flexible and had a higher upper limit of power, but they were also negligibly few in number.
No. 1, the Devil, was an ability wielder.
“Manipulation. His ability is manipulation.”
“Puppeteer of humans, dolls, wood carvings, marionettes, shadows… These are the most powerful features of No. 1’s ability.”
“Through silk threads, he can manipulate the people around him without anyone knowing.”
The dark-haired man unfurled his wide palm, showing a ‘five’.
“The Devil has a total of five types of puppet strings, namely, perception reading, subconscious control, physical control, mind control, and soul invasion. The implantation of each requires certain conditions to be met, but once the five strings are implanted at the same time, the person at the other end of the puppet strings will lose their self-awareness and become a walking corpse, a marionette under the hands of the Devil.”
“Who he chooses to manipulate can be an NPC, an ordinary person, or possibly any trainee around you. What is most fearsome is that his manipulations leave no trace and are impossible to detect. Anyone can be manipulated by him, and the human puppet themself will have no knowledge of it, remaining oblivious whether it be any of their five senses, at any time, at any place.”
“—he is everywhere.”
The middlemost table was directly beneath the highest painted dome of the golden hall.
Everyone in Las Vegas focused their gazes on the screen facing the middlemost gambling table, likewise for the spectators in the live broadcast rooms outside the venue.
There were shouts of surprise, sharp inhales, murmured whispers… undulating and unending.
[Omg, it’s that guy—!!]
[AHHH I have no words, I only know how to move my hands to take screenshots like a maniac.]
[I went out to poke around the forums, the forums have already exploded. Hightailed back to the live broadcast room, let’s fucking gooo.]
This was the first time that any contender was able to see this powerful figure from up close.
No. 1. The Devil.
No one knew his true name. All anyone knew was that this was a mark of the figure exalted as a god in the infinite loop.
Exactly how fearsome his power was, no one dared to ascertain, for any rumour that touched upon ‘the Devil’ would turn into legends. He had ascended the supreme altar that people could only look up to.
Few had ever met him in person; everything about him only existed through word of mouth.
What was left to the contenders was an unassailable track record in each and every horror instance, a perpetually solo attacker who fought indiscriminately against both enemies and teammates, with a pathing elusive as a shadow. Everything was wholly obscured in a grey fog of mystery, drenched in an indescribable, unspeakable terror.
In the extreme environment of the infinite loop where the strong were revered, countless people continually surged forth to follow him with fanatical zeal, hailing him as their god and founder of a new age, the abnormal worship even turning into an almost cult-like following that they would be willing to lay down their lives for.
However, it was obvious that this cult-like following entirely formed of their own volition. No. 1, the Devil, himself had yet to express anything about it.
But that was only natural. For an existence of his standing, he didn’t need to amass power or solicit followers the way others did.
He didn’t need it, nor did he even care for it.
But it was also precisely because of this indifference, the way he scorned people like ants, that caused his followers to become all the more zealous.
The man sat in the spotlight, his medium-long hair tied behind him with a scarlet ribbon brushing against the shoulders of his suit.
A cold aura of utmost wrongness was steeped in the air about him. He seemed to walk the tightrope between elegance and insanity, like a black hole that annihilated light in the universe, easily grabbing the attention of everyone around him, sunken in the deep trenches of evil intentions.
He brimmed with extreme danger and astonishing charisma.
Standing behind Van Zhuo, the young man looked past the black and gold epaulettes on the military uniform, and happened to lock gazes with the other.
Those pair of dark golden eyes half-concealed beneath his black hair resembled a particular type of coldblooded animal, unsettling Zong Jiu’s heart.
This time, he was the first to avert his gaze.
The same shiver Zong Jiu felt in the second round of evaluation once again crept up his spine, sticky and unignorable with malice.
Zong Jiu believed that he had grasped onto the flash of inspiration that he had previously missed.
Looking up at this gaze, Zong Jiu had only ever felt this from one person.
Van Zhuo’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Since this is a public gambling table, players can, of course, freely choose to participate as they will. Be my guest.”
“Tbe mjc’a pera rjs atja.”
Ktf Gfnli rwlifv. “Vlcmf P’w atf rajgalcu qijsfg ktb rfar atf geifr, P klii cjaegjiis tjnf atf gluta ab vfmlvf atf lclalji atgfrtbiv obg atf cb-ilwla ajyif.”
Qjr atlr jcbatfg qfgrbc agslcu ab rtbk tlw eq?
Ibcu Ale jgmtfv tlr fsfygbkr.
Ciatbeut tf bcis tjv jgbecv clcfas atberjcv mtlqr lc tlr qbrrfrrlbc, ageat yf abiv, clcfas atberjcv mtlqr kjr cbatlcu ab atf V-gjcxr ja atf wlvvifwbra ujwyilcu ajyif.
Everyone thought that this bigshot was going to give this white-haired C-rank a run for his money.
But, to everyone’s surprise, the Devil languidly raised a hand, gesturing to the casino official dressed in purple standing behind him to explain to the crowd.
The official bowed respectfully from behind the chair, speaking calmly.
“According to his wishes, the game will continue to be Texas Hold’em, with an ante of 50,000 chips.”
50,000 chips?!
That wasn’t any grand sum. Not to mention S-ranks, even A-rank trainees could squeeze their way in if they really wanted to.
Just as everyone pumped their fists and jumped up and down excitedly, intent on impressing this powerful figure, the official smiled, announcing the second rule.
“There will be three rounds of betting, and each round doesn’t have any upper limit, but the raise must be higher than the previous bet. Unless they fold on the spot, players must raise each round. If they fail to do so, they will automatically be regarded as having abandoned the game.”
A commotion broke out within the crowd of spectators and in the bullet chat.
[50,000 chips may not be much for higher-ranked trainees, but the rule that the bet has to be raised each round is a little scary. One round is fine, but three rounds… /fear.jpg]
[Right. If it was an ordinary A-rank with only about fifty or sixty thousand chips, you may not have any chips left to bet after the first round. After all, the next raise has to be higher than the previous bet… If a bigshot decides to double the bet straight out, won’t you be forced to fold even if you have a good hand, just because you don’t have enough chips to follow through with the bets?]
[Yeah… and folding like this is very frustrating. Plus you’d even have to leave behind the full ante of 50,000 chips in the betting pool. Although you get the opportunity to share a table with that hotshot, the risk is too great. The loss outweighs the gains.]
[Man, you guys are absolutely right. But this is him! The same gambling table! Throwing all else to the wind, if I really could afford it, I’d spend 50,000 chips just to leave a good impression.]
And if those in the bullet chat could figure this out, how could the trainees in Las Vegas be unaware?
There were still numerous fanatical admirers who wanted to get in on the middlemost gambling table, regardless.
After the dealer dressed in purple announced the rules, countless veteran trainees raised their hands, indicating that they, too, wished to get a seat at the table.
Even a few of the other S-ranks came in to join the fun.
No. 5’s cheerful laughter came from not far off. “Old Ghost and I just left for a bit and this place got so exciting? I’ll say it upfront; two of those seats are ours.”
Black-Robed Azan, following step in step with him folded his arms. His brows furrowed as his gaze swept across Messiah at the gambling table, but he didn’t refute the Exorcist’s words.
On the other side, many A-rank trainees were comparing their chip balances to determine the remaining spots at the table.
In the end, ten people sat at the middlemost gambling table.
No. 1, the Devil; No. 2, Van Zhuo; No. 4, Black-Robed Azan; No. 5, the Exorcist; No. 7, Messiah; No. 10, Yin-Yang Master.
Apart from these S-ranked bigwigs whose mere mention of their names could make people tremble in fear, there were three A-ranks whose gazes unwaveringly clung to the person at the most prominent seat, as well as the wholly out-of-place C-rank, Zong Jiu. Ten people, capping the capacity of the middlemost gambling table.
Black and white tuxedoed attendants followed behind the ten players, holding champagne and towels in their hands, helping to pull their seats for them and providing immaculate service.
At this point, the situation had already spiralled beyond Zong Jiu’s control.
If No. 1 was determined not to let Zong Jiu gamble at the table, he could have simply set an initial threshold of 200,000 or 300,000 chips.
But No. 1 didn’t. He only got the casino dealer to alter the rules.
Now, Zong Jiu’s biggest concern wasn’t whether he could make a fortune at the middlemost gambling table, but whether he had enough chips.
He wasn’t worried about his skill; or, better put, what he had was confidence and technique. The rule set by the other seemed completely ordinary without any surprises, and the initial threshold was only 50,000. However, after thinking deeper into it, the chips required for this were much more terrifying than simply setting a 300,000-chips ante from the outset—it was practically a bottomless hole!
What’s more, Zong Jiu had just harvested the leeks at the A-rank gambling table. If he couldn’t enter the middlemost gambling table now, he would have to take a step back and settle for second best, temporarily returning to the A-rank area.
But, because Zong Jiu’s previous way of harvesting leeks was too flagrant, no A-rank trainees would be willing to gamble with him. And 90,000 chips was far less than Zong Jiu’s initial objective when he set foot in Las Vegas this time.
Having come to this, Zong Jiu suddenly found an issue.
He felt that this No. 1, by nature, seemed fated to clash with him.
During the previous evaluation round, the other party gazed down at him from high above with quite a fair amount of interest. But he passed it off as a fluke, that he was just unlucky then.
This time, Zong Jiu went to great efforts and managed to reel in Van Zhuo through his hidden relationship with Anthony, finally gaining an upstanding excuse to enter the middlemost gambling table. But this No. 1 popped up out of the blue, and his plan was directly disrupted.
Now, he couldn’t help but recall what Zhuge An had told him about how they were theoretically fated enemies.
He lowered his gaze to look upon the joker card peeking out his sleeve, his pale pink eyes veiled in dark light.
What a pity, everything was still the same as what Zong Jiu had said to Zhuge An, then.
Magicians never believed in fate.
After all the players were seated, the young man abruptly stood up from the gambling table.
His thin shirt glowed white under the light. His cuffs were pulled to his elbows, and his fingers were long and slender like jade. White hair cascaded down, and his delicate skin carried a faint lustre in the warm light.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the washroom.”
Zong Jiu picked up the platinum gold card on the table, nodding to the others and walking down the stairs to the bathroom without looking back.
Seeing this, the spectators watching the middlemost gambling table broke out in whispers.
“This C-rank couldn’t be terrified from sharing a table with so many bigwigs, is he?”
“Probably. Any physiological needs have been suspended during the competition; it doesn’t matter whether or not you eat or use the washroom. Using the washroom at this kind of time, I guess he wants to piss.”
“Man, actually, it’s quite normal to me. Just look at who those seated at the middlemost gambling table are. He’s no more than a puny C-rank who only won ninety-thousand chips earlier by dumb luck. But now, he can’t use luck to cruise through the middlemost table; if those S-ranks are in a good mood, they could easily raise the bet to a hundred thousand. Then wouldn’t the ninety-thousand he had just won be in vain? If it were me, I’d know my place from the start and stop the losses in time, retreating like a champion.”
“Those are the facts. It’s up to him to see the truth.”
—
Amidst the noisy discussion, Zong Jiu stepped into the washroom without a flicker in his expression.
Aphrodite, made of pure gold, was wearing a long scarf, with red wine flowing from the crook of her arms, winding and trickling into the pool of wine.
Everything in Las Vegas was lavishly gilded in gold. Even the washroom, which was hardly ever used, was warmly lit, oozing extravagance, luxury, and flawless beauty.
The white-haired young man walked over to the mirror at the sink, scooping a handful of cold water to slowly wash his face.
Cold droplets of water slid down from his high brow ridges, along the curve of his high nose bridge, down to his jaw.
Zong Jiu took an ironed towel from the counter and while wiping his face, suddenly spoke.
“Didn’t you say that our next meeting would be when I came to you?”
He wiped the water from the ends of his eyes and looked up towards the dark-haired man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed through the reflection of the mirror.
Zhuge An didn’t speak, only gazing at him very calmly, his eyes deep and contemplative.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Zong Jiu threw the towel into the towel basket, waving a hand. “Let me guess… coming up to my doorstep at this time, could it be that you’re here to give me chips?”
Zhuge An’s eyes narrowed. He finally spoke.
Instead of responding to Zong Jiu’s probes, he skirted around to another topic.
“Do you know… why everyone is so fearful of No. 1?”
He, indeed, didn’t know why. Since someone was gift wrapping the information to him, of course he wouldn’t turn it down.
Zong Jiu lifted his eyebrows, showing his interest in learning more.
Trainees at the peak all had their own trademarks that shot them to fame.
Like Black-Robed Azan, who had a bone-chilling mastery of rearing ghosts; the Black Shaman’s elemental sorcery; the Exorcist’s holy water, etc.
Aside from these people of mystical professions, there were also those who had made their fame solely on the basis of a special physique obtained from a horror instance, such as the half-vampire, No. 2 Van Zhuo, and No. 9 with a top-notch psychic constitution.
And besides the aforementioned, there were those who wielded extremely rare abilities, such as No. 6 who could manipulate water, and an A-rank with a tracking ability.
Compared to the former two, ability wielders were more flexible and had a higher upper limit of power, but they were also negligibly few in number.
No. 1, the Devil, was an ability wielder.
“Manipulation. His ability is manipulation.”
“Puppeteer of humans, dolls, wood carvings, marionettes, shadows… These are the most powerful features of No. 1’s ability.”
“Through silk threads, he can manipulate the people around him without anyone knowing.”
The dark-haired man unfurled his wide palm, showing a ‘five’.
“The Devil has a total of five types of puppet strings, namely, perception reading, subconscious control, physical control, mind control, and soul invasion. The implantation of each requires certain conditions to be met, but once the five strings are implanted at the same time, the person at the other end of the puppet strings will lose their self-awareness and become a walking corpse, a marionette under the hands of the Devil.”
“Who he chooses to manipulate can be an NPC, an ordinary person, or possibly any trainee around you. What is most fearsome is that his manipulations leave no trace and are impossible to detect. Anyone can be manipulated by him, and the human puppet themself will have no knowledge of it, remaining oblivious whether it be any of their five senses, at any time, at any place.”
“—he is everywhere.”
