In a castle courtyard filled with laurel trees, Yanyan Huang locked her bedroom door and set a squat gray jar on her vanity.
It looked a bit like an incense burner from her own world—except the clay was painted with black flame-patterns, and the lid sealed tight.
Noon heat pushed through the window. A dry wind stirred the white lace curtains embroidered with laurel blossoms.
Yanyan went to the window, checked the courtyard below, then shut it, drew the curtains, and returned to the jar.
It was time.
She lifted the lid.
Inside sat a Fire-Seal Orb: a small round medallion of gold, carved with flames around a line of ancient script, a purple-gold gem set at the center.
An Artifact.
It could deliver letters.
Its price was simple and ugly: every use required an offering of raw meat—anything except seafood.
The research institute issued Fire-Seal Orbs to all officially registered players, crafted by veteran players through forging. It was how they shared intel in Endless Sea without relying on the System.
Yanyan checked the brass clock, then dropped a palm-sized piece of beef into the jar.
Flame blossomed.
The room filled with the smell of roasting meat.
Between the dancing sparks, a letter formed, solidifying like a thought made physical. Heat lifted it, then it fluttered down onto the vanity.
Yanyan shut the lid at once. The flame died. The heat vanished.
She picked up the envelope. It was addressed to her by her in-world name.
Sender: Qi Heng.
Qi Heng was a veteran player from an earlier batch—and the institute’s squad leader.
Yanyan unfolded the letter and read.
“Yanyan,
Intel cutoff: August 1, 12:00 PM.
Last night I followed my mentor into the Royal Capital. I’ve confirmed the news: Faranil’s notes have been found, and Red Falcon of the Circle of Earth is presenting them to the King.
As you suspected, the notes contain information related to breaking through the so-called ‘unbreakable tier’ and advancing into demigodhood.
But there is more—something extremely beneficial for us.
The notes also record a method to upgrade Relics.
As you know, both players and the institute have been limited by one thing: we cannot reliably obtain Relics of a higher tier. This is the core bottleneck that keeps us from advancing.
I will do everything I can to learn more. My mentor also desires those notes—there may be room to leverage that relationship. It may take time.
Please use the chat channel to inform players from our batch: do not discard fully fused Relics. They may still be upgradeable.
When I confirm the upgrade method, I will tell you immediately. Abyss-aligned players don’t rely on Relics, so you can share the method openly in chat if needed.
One last thing: you must warn Player 0067.
Tell him not to attempt the System reward ‘advancement quest.’ Veteran cases show that a direct tier-raise reward is dangerously tempting, but the task difficulty is absurd. No one has ever completed it. It is effectively impossible.
Do not let Player 0067 gamble his life. He must advance by safer methods.”
Yanyan burned the letter as soon as she finished.
She stared out at the laurel trees swaying in the sun, remembering the night Windrest screamed under demon fire.
Faranil’s notes, found this fast?
Something even demons couldn’t locate—and yet someone had.
Her thoughts flicked to the name every young lady in the city had been whispering lately.
Rhine.
Could it be him?
No. That was ridiculous.
A Tier 1 Hunter didn’t just “find” something like that.
Again… the King had already named Rhine a Free Man before the Sea Throne, and half the city’s families had nearly gone feral over the implications.
That title meant a seat in the King’s noble hall.
On paper, Rhine was the perfect husband candidate.
Yanyan rolled her eyes.
Honestly, it was easier to believe he was the King’s secret bastard than to believe he’d truly killed a demon.
She pushed the thought away and opened the player chat log.
Still no messages from Player 0067.
Her worry returned.
Qi Heng was right: the System reward advancement quest was a death trap.
In fifty years of recorded players, only two had ever completed the Cycle 4 tasks and received that reward quest. One was the institute’s squad leader, Qi Heng. The other—three years ago—had tried to complete it with the institute’s full support.
He died anyway.
Because the task wasn’t “hard.”
It was “impossible.”
Last night, when the institute leadership ordered her to warn Player 0067, Yanyan had posted the warning immediately.
But more than ten hours had passed.
No reply.
Had he not checked chat?
Or had something already happened to him?
—
Rhine sat in a carriage rattling along the streets of Windrest, eyes on the chat window.
He’d been busy. Too busy.
Now he read the warning, and the knot in his stomach tightened.
“Gargoyles. Gargoyle Mother,” he muttered. “Yeah. That tracks.”
He had no intention of touching that quest right now.
But since he’d finally seen the message, he replied.
[CHAT]
Player 0067: “I understand. Thank you.”
Anonymous: “Whoa, that’s Player 0067.”
Anonymous: “Boss finally saw it—thank God.”
[/CHAT]
Yanyan exhaled so hard her shoulders sagged.
She spoke under her real player number.
[CHAT]
Player 0097: “Good. If you need anything, contact the institute.
Also—one more thing…”
[/CHAT]
She shared Qi Heng’s intel: Relics might be upgradeable. The institute was investigating methods and would publish findings when confirmed. Players should not discard fully fused Relics.
The chat exploded with excitement—then got pulled back to earth.
[CHAT]
Anonymous: “If I hadn’t been too broke to throw mine away, I would’ve boiled it and eaten it by now.”
Anonymous: “What kind of Relic do you have?”
Anonymous: “Relax, it’s common junk. I’m not a freak.”
Anonymous: “Serious point: low-tier Relics are made through alchemy, forging, tailoring—crafts.
Upgrading them probably requires those crafts too.
Are we supposed to learn all that overnight?”
Anonymous: “And if the institute needs multiple Cycles to confirm it… we may be dead before we can even start.”
[/CHAT]
More players piled on, the mood shifting from hope to dread.
Yanyan frowned. The criticism was fair.
But without hope, what did players have left?
Rhine watched the chat scroll, and his original reason for opening it—warning everyone about player kidnappings—stuck in his throat.
If he dumped that fear into the channel now, the panic would become a stampede.
Instead, he posted one clean piece of certainty.
He did it anonymously.
[CHAT]
Anonymous: “Low-tier Relics can be upgraded via inscriptions. Upgrade methods up to Tier 3 will be published by the King soon.”
[/CHAT]
The channel detonated.
Question marks. Demands. People screaming for details.
Yanyan’s blood ran cold.
Whoever had posted that wasn’t guessing.
They knew Faranil’s notes.
They knew what was in them.
Qi Heng only knew fragments because he was in the Royal Capital with a powerful mentor.
So who was this?
And how?
She stared at the chat window, fingers hovering over the keys, and realized the simplest possibility was also the most terrifying:
The note wasn’t just “found.”
It was already being read by someone else.