Global Game: I Have Portable Store

The Elite Corps possess formidable combat strength, comprising powerful Extraordinaries. They are only here to scout, pinpoint the exact location of the White Frost Withered Tree, and then the Elite Corps will handle it.

Sena fell into a brief silence. If it weren’t for the foreseen visions, she certainly wouldn’t have done this, and now she just wants to clear this undead tide in the safest way to prevent any accidents.

”Of course, it’s necessary. This undead tide is not as simple as it seems. Haven’t you noticed? When we encountered this undead tide a few days ago, it wasn’t like this. In just a few days, they can already hunt Tier Seven Extraordinary Creatures.”

”Such growth speed is more terrifying than any known creature, and this world has too many zombies.”

However.

She still doesn’t believe the destruction was caused by the undead tide. It might be related to some person, some creature, or perhaps simply some object.

...

A metal-constructed tower shimmered under the starlit sky, visible from ten miles away.

Flames suddenly appeared on the table, then ashes, and finally, a letter floated down from the air, landing in a dark, withered hand.

His head full of long white hair, a frail and withered frame, wearing a tattered gray robe, the old man exuded an aura of death and decay. At first glance, people would think he’s very old and might die at any moment, fearing he would suddenly close his eyes and collapse to the ground.

”Has it arrived?”

”It seems to be exactly as foretold in the prophecy...”

Without opening the envelope, the old man spoke to himself, making it seem like he already knew what was inside, perhaps he had peeked at the contents.

A young man beside him, wearing glasses and a silk robe, looked at the envelope with curiosity and respectfully asked, ”What prophecy? Has the teacher already deduced what’s inside?”

The old man is the most experienced and top-tier Spirit Master, Kamanalu, also the only Spiritualist surviving from the previous era. No one knows his exact age, but certainly over a hundred. His knowledge is unimaginably vast.

”I don’t know. I only learned some information from an old prophecy. My teacher once received prophetic visions from a border prophet, stating that in the future a girl, also a prophet, will send a black pigeon to the Empire.”

”In the vision, the pigeon symbolizes the future and black signifies destruction. The prophecy says the recipient of the pigeon is me. I’ve been waiting for this day, year after year, growing older each time.”

”I’ve never thought I would die, for I have yet to receive this black pigeon, now it’s here...”

This is the intuition from the Spiritualist, having a subtle connection with all things, able to see the truth through the surface.

Without opening it, the old man knew roughly what was inside—a piece of bad news, very bad news.

The young spiritualist beside him seemed to see wisps of black smoke emanating from the envelope, sending chills down his spine.

He quickly said, ”Teacher, let me handle it. Your health is not well now, such matters should be left to the young.”

Speaking, he reached out to take it, but was stopped by the old man, ”No, you can’t. Only I must. This is also why I’ve survived until now; it’s my mission.”

”Step back and do not peek into its contents. I sense some unknown connections that could put you in danger with your intuition.”

The old man sternly instructed his disciple, in a tone leaving no room for refusal.

The young Spiritualist, facing his teacher’s authority, could only sigh and step back.

Cautiously opening the envelope.

The elderly Spiritualist opened his eyes and looked at the pitch-black painting, causing his body to involuntarily tremble, as if seeing an unknown presence in the sky behind him, cloaked, face obscured, gazing at their nation.

”Is that a Divine Spirit?”

His eyes widened, becoming clear from murky, feeling a splitting headache, as if something exploded in his Spirit, yet he still quivered as he picked up a pen to write on another paper, detailing the known information.

”The black flame is zombies, an undead tide formed by them, potentially one day in the future, will crush our civilization, behind which lies an unknown presence...”

The paper stopped, unfinished, the elderly Spiritualist closed his eyes and slumped onto the table, his breathing rapidly calming then slowing, reaching no Life Breath.

He died on the day of verifying the prophecy, leaving behind a half-deciphered prophecy.

Being a Spiritualist is inherently a highly dangerous profession, where the Spirit may contact the hazardous existences in Alternate Space, leading to sudden death.

His survival thus far is undoubtedly a miracle.

A powerful Spiritualist once said, no Spiritualist can survive beyond fifty, despite rich experience and high intuition.

”Teacher...”

The young Spiritualist looked at his fallen teacher without much expression, believing this might be the best end for a Spiritualist.

To die within the Spirit interpretation, like a bird dying in the sky, having the sky as its tomb.

He walked over and picked up the still incompletely analyzed painting, continuing the analysis, yet merely glancing at it—without beginning to write—he quietly collapsed to the floor.

”Sending heads one after another?”

Su Changxing’s mind conjured such an image, bewildered by unknown individuals making some connection with him, insisting on directly contacting his Spirit and then dying.

This was no different than crashing for compensation.

In that small room, seven or eight identically dressed individuals fell successively, like relay batons, one down, another following.

What they engaged with was Su Changxing, using Faith to isolate, twisted by the Evil God, the Spirit they perished by seeking some form of communication and died upon collision.

”Why bother?”

He saw that these individuals were conducting some mystical ritual, but the scenes were too obscure to discern precisely what they were doing.

Over a dozen elite Spiritualists died consecutively; upon engaging with the painting, they immediately met their end.

”This likely pertains to a true Divine Spirit, something beyond what mere mortals can contact. The analysis cannot proceed; only Master Kama deciphered half, and how he achieved it remains unknown,” a slightly older Spiritualist said after taking a cold breath.

Beside him, the officer in a blue uniform witnessing the scene said nothing further, knowing that continuing would be futile after so many deaths. He waved his hand and commanded the soldiers nearby:

”Take all bodies for purification and incineration, along with everything in this room.”

From that night onwards, the entire civilization commenced operations, dispatching troop after troop to clear zombies on their lands, along with every creature related to zombies.

Su Changxing had no idea about the immense shock such an unintended act had caused these new humans.

Even if he knew, he would not be surprised. While his true form was only a Tier Five Extraordinary, having amassed immense Faith, on the positional scale, he’s surely a Demigod, not to mention he theoretically commands an entire world.

In fact.

If Wanfang sacrificed the entire world, becoming a monster within the Blood Moon, but given Su Changxing enough time to spread Faith across every corner of the Pocket Galaxy World, it’s not impossible to defeat Wanfang.

It’s just that this demands a lengthy time, which might seem brief to a true Divine Spirit.