National Guardian's Gone and We're Done

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In the White-Red Empire,

Fuyue Mountain stood like an otherworldly giant, tall enough to touch the heavens, resting silently between the sky and the earth.

For centuries, it had exuded a mysterious and enchanting aura, a sacred destination that countless tourists dreamed of visiting.

Upon the mountain, the majestic and solemn Amaterasu Shrine towered, shimmering with a divine radiance.

Its dignified atmosphere possessed a miraculous Magic Power, capable of dispelling all the world’s gloom and wickedness.

It drew wave after wave of devout believers and curious tourists,

who traveled from far and wide, tirelessly flocking to its slopes.

This was especially true for the local citizens of the White-Red Empire.

In a world now shrouded by a dense, dark mist and plagued by turmoil,

they often heard terrifying rumors of bizarre Evil Spirits appearing in various places. Every night, the howling wind sounded like the wails of these spirits, chilling them to the bone.

In this atmosphere of constant dread,

they came to see the Divine Hall as their last spiritual refuge, their only beacon of comfort.

Filled with piety and prayer, they braved the treacherous mountain paths,

and embarked on the pilgrimage to Fuyue Mountain.

All they wanted was to kneel reverently before the Divine Hall and beg the Deities for their mercy and blessing,

to protect their families and keep them safe from the world’s disasters and fears.

「On this day」

The sky had been clear and the sun brilliant. Bathed in the warm, golden sunlight, Fuyue Mountain was draped in a veil of gold, its beauty dreamlike and surreal.

The tourists were in high spirits, their laughter and cheerful voices echoing through the mountains.

Their hiking poles tapped a steady rhythm on the path as they made their way, step by step, toward the summit,

relishing the rare joy of the climb.

But amidst this peaceful scene, disaster struck without warning.

The clear blue sky was abruptly torn asunder. The winds and clouds shifted as a gale roared in, threatening to destroy everything beautiful in the world.

A mass of black, ink-stained clouds,

like a primeval beast that had escaped from the Nine Netherworld Hell to blot out the sun,

shot menacingly from the edge of the horizon at a terrifying, near-teleportational speed,

plunging straight toward Fuyue Mountain.

In the blink of an eye, a massive black curtain enveloped the world, mercilessly swallowing all light.

Fuyue Mountain was instantly plunged into a dead silence and an apocalyptic darkness.

The tourists, who had been joyfully scrambling up Fuyue Mountain,

witnessed this sudden, bizarre scene straight out of an apocalyptic horror film.

They were instantly dumbfounded, their jaws dropping so wide you could fit an egg in them. They nearly lost their grip on their hiking poles, which fell to the ground with a CLATTER.

The sound was piercingly loud in the mountain’s silence.

Before they could even process what was happening, the dark cloud landed with perfect precision on the summit of Fuyue Mountain,

then vanished as suddenly as if it had never existed at all.

All that remained were the stunned people, petrified like statues, frozen in place and trapped in a surreal, spine-chilling nightmare from which they could not awaken.

A tangible, suffocatingly thick stench of blood began to quietly permeate the air.

The smell was incredibly pungent, mingled with the resentment and agony of countless beings before their brutal deaths.

Carried by the howling mountain winds of Fuyue Mountain, it spread like an untamed beast, instantly filling every inch of the air and making one want to retch.

The tourists instinctively covered their mouths and noses.

The ruddy glow and excited anticipation on their faces from the climb had vanished without a trace.

In its place was a profound fear, as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over their heads, leaving them shivering.

They looked at each other, seeing in one another’s terrified, ghost-like gazes

a reflection of their own ashen faces.

A voice in their hearts screamed wildly: ’This is no place to linger! Run for your lives!’

And so, like a startled flock of birds, the crowd turned and fled frantically down the mountain.

Kicking up clouds of dust, their pathetic, scrambling retreat

was a stark contrast to their leisurely ascent filled with cheerful chatter.

They had fallen from Heaven straight into Hell in an instant.

The people of the White-Red Empire had been repeatedly hammered by fate in recent times,

and they were already mentally and emotionally exhausted by the string of bad news.

They had watched helplessly as their Empire, like a battered, rickety ship tossed about in a tempest,

sank irretrievably into an abyss of unprecedented crisis.

Lately, in the streets and alleys, the teahouses and taverns,

a terrifying, nightmarish rumor was spreading like wildfire:

The top echelon of fighters, who had protected the White-Red Empire for years and served as its stabilizing cornerstone,

had been slaughtered in a single night by a mysterious, unfathomable power of unknown origin.

They were the Empire’s strongest shield,

the very source of the people’s confidence. Now, that shield had shattered.

It was as if the sky had fallen, leaving behind nothing but endless panic and despair.

With its backbone torn out, the entire Empire plunged into a state of dead silence and confusion.

As for the origin of this mysterious power,

a smokeless yet incredibly fierce war of public opinion had quietly erupted among the populace.

Some claimed with absolute certainty, swearing they were right,

that this was undoubtedly a conspiracy by the Lighthouse Empire.

In recent years, the White-Red Empire had been like a sports car at full throttle, speeding down the highway.

Its developmental momentum was astonishingly rapid.

Industries flourished, and technology advanced by the day.

This had made many neighboring powers wary, viewing it as a thorn in their side.