[Before Dawn, New Babylon City]

  At the moment the blade slashed down, it wasn't just the battlefield of the 13th Street; the entire communication network of New Babylon experienced a brief yet historically significant "standstill."

  The reason was simple: that streak of azure blade light cutting across the night sky was simply too dazzling, too... unreasonable.

  It not only sliced through the corpse monster but also cut through the myth of "invincibility" the Guild had painstakingly built over decades. It also sliced open the cocoon of "fear" encasing the hearts of all the citizens secretly watching this livestream with illegal receivers.

  [Upper Sector · A Luxury Apartment]

  A young heir in silk pajamas was lounging on a sofa, wearing the latest holographic glasses, originally intending to watch a boring show about "cleaning up trash."

  "Tsk, another one-sided massacre. Boring."

  He yawned, watching the massive war machines on the screen rolling over the ruins.

  But in the next second, his yawn froze on his face.

  He saw the red horse, the azure blade, and the blade aura that was as brilliant as an aurora yet carried an apocalyptic momentum.

  Clang.

  The priceless wine glass in his hand dropped onto the carpet, spilling red wine everywhere.

  "That... what was that?!"

  The heir bolted upright, even falling off the sofa in his haste. Ignoring the pain, he crawled to the holographic projection, replaying the scene that lasted only a second, over and over again.

  "No magical fluctuation? No tech assistance? Not even a charge-up?"

  "Just... one slash?"

  He stared at the Titan Mech, the pinnacle of Guild technology that cost billions to develop, sliced in half like a block of tofu before that ancient cold weapon. An unprecedented sense of absurdity welled up in him.

  "Is this... the power of the 'savages' we've been mocking?"

  The heir muttered to himself.

  For the first time, he felt an emotion called "Awe" toward the lower world he had always regarded as insects.

  [Middle Sector · Corporate Cubicles]

  Though it was late at night, this office, bathed in harsh fluorescent light, was still full of overworked drones. They typed numbly, overdrawing their lives for a pitiful amount of overtime pay.

  Suddenly, someone gasped: "Holy sh*t!"

  Immediately after, all the screens in the office were forcibly overwritten by the same image (Grace's masterpiece).

  It was the back view of Guan Yu reining in his horse and sheathing his blade.

  The background was burning ruins and fallen behemoths. And atop those ruins, the young man in the tattered hoodie stood straight as a spear.

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  "Who is that?" A programmer with thick glasses took them off and rubbed his dry eyes. "Is it CGI?"

  "It's not CGI! This is a livestream! It's happening in the 13th Street!"

  "Isn't that... the Martial Saint?"

  "Martial Saint? That's an ancient relic from thousands of years ago, right? Who believes in that anymore?"

  "But..." The programmer pointed at the screen, his voice trembling. "Look at that look."

  That glance back from Guan Yu.

  That disdain, that arrogance, that domineering disregard for power.

  In that instant, the office fell deathly silent.

  These corporate slaves, usually submissive and afraid to even speak loudly to their bosses, felt a rush of hot blood surge to their heads.

  Looking at that back, they seemed to see the long-dead teenager deep inside themselves who had once dreamed of resisting injustice.

  "So... one can live like this."

  A female employee covered her mouth, tears streaming down silently.

  "We work overtime every day, get scolded every day, live like dogs... turns out it's because we've been kneeling for so long, we forgot how to stand."

  That night, no one in that office typed another word.

  They stared at that image until the screen went black, remaining motionless for a long time.

  A seed named "Awakening" was quietly planted in the hearts of these numb cogs.

  [Lower Sector · Underground Black Market]

  Smash!

  Blind Eye slammed his wine bottle onto the ground, his single eye flashing with fanatical light.

  "I knew it! I knew this kid could do it!"

  Blind Eye grabbed a confused vendor next to him and shook him violently: "See that?! That's John! That's the John I watched grow up! That skeleton frame was bought from me (not actually Bone, but he claimed credit)!"

  The entire black market boiled over.

  Rats, thieves, and scammers who usually hid in the gutters all rushed to the big screens.

  They cheered, they screamed, they even hugged each other.

  Because they saw hope.

  In this bottom-tier world ruled by the Guild, crushed by rules, and spat on by everyone, someone could actually poke a hole in the sky!

  "If anyone dares to say the 13th Street is a dump again, I'll be the first to cut him!"

  "John is awesome! Guan Er Ye (Second Master Guan) is awesome!"

  "Let's go! Go support them! Even if it's just sending water!"

  Some started packing supplies; others pulled out homemade guns hidden under their beds.

  This slash cut not only the mechs but also the curse of "The Guild is Invincible" that had weighed on the hearts of the lower class for years.

  It told everyone:

  Gods can bleed too.

  Gods can be killed too.

  As long as you dare to draw your blade.

  [Cloud Office]

  Moriarty didn't lose his composure like the others.

  He still sat in his high-backed chair. Only this time, instead of drinking tea, he interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them. His deep eyes stared through the holographic screen, fixed on the now-empty battlefield.

  "Magnificent."

  Moriarty spoke softly. There was no anger in his voice, but rather a nearly pathological appreciation.

  "Data overflow. Logic collapse. Cause and effect reversal."

  He extended a slender finger and gently traced the trajectory of the residual azure blade mark in the air.

  "According to physics, the kinetic energy of this slash should have triggered a small nuclear explosion, but it didn't. All its destructive power was perfectly condensed into a single line. This defies the laws of thermodynamics."

  "According to sociology, this display of power should have triggered fear, yet these fools are cheering. This defies crowd psychology models."

  Moriarty pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, the lenses reflecting countless streams of data frantically reorganizing.

  The mathematical model he had built to predict John's behavior had thoroughly collapsed in this moment.

  But he wasn't annoyed.

  Instead, he felt a long-lost excitement. It was the "unknown" he had been searching for in this boring, rigid, perfectly calculable world.

  "Is this... the [Singularity Effect]?"

  Moriarty muttered to himself.

  "A tiny variable, under specific conditions, triggers the collapse and reconstruction of the entire system."

  "John Doe, you are not just a variable."

  Moriarty stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city trembling with fear and excitement.

  "You are... a new formula."

  "Since the old algorithms can no longer explain you, let me see where exactly you can push this world..."

  He picked up the communicator on the desk and pressed a red button.

  That was the direct line to High Priest Mordred.

  "Hello, Your Excellency, High Priest."

  Moriarty's voice returned to its elegant indifference.

  "I suggest suspending all military operations. Our deterrence system has failed. Continuing to fight will only fan the flames higher."

  "It is time... to change the game."

  [Message from Singularity]

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