The White Plague had swept through like a silent storm, stripping away every soul crystal core and hoarding every rare resource it could find. Only what the Treasury allowed to circulate among the people remained untouched.
Before returning to Dongwu City, Sabo had already taken his tenth-share—dividing what was his and what belonged to the city.
During those days, Bai Yi had thought a great deal.
The Federation had lost an enormous amount and yet hadn't uttered a single complaint. That silence said everything—it was waiting for his response, for Dongwu City's position. After all, his alliance with the Difeng family complicated matters.
Technically, the Federation couldn't object to Dongwu City claiming spoils during this change in the law. The city had, after all, initiated it. With its growing influence, Dongwu was entitled to a share of the Federation's assets—but twenty-five percent? Even Sabo's original estimate of ten percent had been pushing the limit.
Sure, Bai Yi could ignore the imbalance. The Federation couldn't touch Dongwu City anyway. On the surface, nothing would change.
But that kind of greed left a bad taste. Taking too much from a united Federation risked weakening the whole. And for someone like Bai Yi—who thrived because of the Federation's infrastructure, resources, and alchemical networks—cutting himself off from it was unwise.
So he began to think of a solution.
If Sabo had taken too much, perhaps he could give something back—something that would settle the tension.
After a while, Bai Yi's expression hardened. He connected to Metheus through Zero.
"White Plague," Metheus's voice came through the channel, low and tense. "What do you need from me? Everyone's still unsettled after that ancient god appeared."
Even the calmest officials had grown uneasy. Divine presences weren't something mortals forgot easily.
"I remembered the locations of a few small planes," Bai Yi said bluntly. "I thought the Federation might be interested."
"Small planes?" Metheus's tone immediately changed, curiosity replacing caution. "What kind?"
"Fragments left behind from the Divine War," Bai Yi replied. "The collision of rules created several minor worlds—three that I know of. I can't pinpoint the exact coordinates, only their general regions."
These weren't dangerous realms or dungeons—just quiet, dwindling worlds where resources were scarce and magic all but gone. In his past life, even players hadn't bothered exploring them. Now, they seemed like the perfect offering to ease political tension.
The three small worlds were like dying stars—fading civilizations sliding toward the end of magic itself. No beasts, no monsters, only ordinary people living mundane lives. The Federation might find that useless; players certainly did. Some degenerate ones had even entered just to slaughter the helpless inhabitants for sport.
Night Rose had once issued missions tied to those realms, but the chaos that followed made them impossible to manage. In time, the Federation abandoned them, and the small worlds were claimed by abyssal lords and ancient gods—turned into dead prisons.
But now that Bai Yi remembered their existence, he realized their true value.
They held something far more precious than resources.
People.
Populations.
The Federation's wars and reforms had bled it dry. Its population barely hovered at eight hundred million—far too small for a power of its scale. If the Federation gained access to these three worlds, it could open new migration routes, expand its civilian base, and perhaps restore its former vitality.
Not every world rich in mortals was useless. Even without magic, humans carried potential. Given time and cultivation, some of those forgotten souls might become the next Lonin, Erin, or Sabo—geniuses who'd once died nameless deaths but now shone with brilliance.
"Of course the Federation's interested," Metheus said, his voice now bright with barely restrained excitement. "But do you have anything more specific—any major resources?"
Bai Yi sighed silently.
Typical. Always thinking about profit.
"Population," he said. "A massive one. Each of the three worlds has more people than the entire Federation combined."
"If you don't want them," he added dryly, "Dongwu City can take everything for itself."
"No—no! We'll take them," Metheus blurted. "Send me the coordinates. I'll summon the Parliament immediately. This could be critical for the Federation's future!"
Bai Yi's mouth curved faintly. Everyone knew population was power, yet the Federation's endless wars and flawed policies had crippled its growth.
"Fine," Bai Yi said. "But I'd suggest something else—send some of the less desirable races there. Let them settle those worlds. Goblins, for example. Dongwu's been having trouble with them lately."
"Understood," Metheus replied with a weary sigh. "The Parliament will consider it."
Goblins—breeding fast, cunning, and largely useless beyond manual labor. Even their brightest minds barely reached the Seven-Star level, and now that arcane studies dominated, they had little place in the Federation.
When the call ended, Bai Yi sent over the coordinates and finally leaned back. That would be enough to calm the Federation—for now.
He returned to the city lord's mansion, passed a few things to Lonin, and left again.
Lonin's progress had been remarkable.
Thanks to the Lucky Potion he'd shared with her and Erin, their fortunes had changed dramatically—Erin's luck had risen to 19, and Lonin's an astonishing 55.
That much luck warped probability itself. Under Elsa's guidance, Lonin had begun influencing fate—shifting uncertainty into certainty. A terrifying power. Her silver-rank fortune-telling was already displaying traits of gold.
Bai Yi didn't dwell on it. Over the last two weeks, he had been working on integrating the smallest laser cannon from the Star Sea Battleship. The project alone earned him over 3,000 points of proficiency, pushing his alchemy mastery to:
[Master-Level Alchemy & Technology (1300 / 100000)]
Now, it was time to focus on alchemy and pharmaceutics again.
He still had more than 40,000 proficiency to go and one precious special-skill point remaining. Energy extraction had always fascinated him—whether in science, medicine, or transformation techniques, it was the foundation of power. The Sun Federation's technology for drawing faith was especially elegant.
Bai Yi intended to merge these systems and forge a skill unique to him—a high-tier extraction method befitting a golden alchemist. His panel's origins might be mysterious, but he trusted his own deductions.
He eyed his remaining points: one special skill, sixty-seven ordinary.
Enough to break through.
Half a month later.
A forest outside Dongwu City.
Demacia, Wei Brigade, Xiahou Fuxing, and a few elite players gathered around a flickering countdown timer suspended in the air. The world around them seemed to hum with quiet finality.
"Is it finally ending?" someone asked softly.
"Yeah," another replied. "It's over."
The air was thick with nostalgia.
Xiahou Fuxing, humming an old ballad, stirred a massive pot over an open flame. Standing over three meters tall, the food blogger-turned-warrior looked more like a demon chef than a man. Yet the scent of his cooking was heavenly.
"Brother Xiahou, hurry up! We're starving!" Demacia called out, laughing.
"Almost done," Xiahou grinned, his ladle gleaming. "Don't worry, I've got something special today."
"And make sure to cook some vegetarian dishes for Second Mouse," Demacia added with mock irritation. "That little monster refuses to eat meat again."
He shook his head helplessly. His summons were an odd pair—one a carnivorous plant that devoured anything that moved, the other a timid creature that shivered at its own shadow. Still, both had saved his life more times than he could count.
"Why don't you say your goodbyes?" Hua Kai murmured, watching the fading sky.
"No need," Demacia replied softly. "It's only two months. We'll be back before long."
"Maybe," Wei Brigade interjected. "But maybe not."
Everyone turned to him.
"Come on, eat first," Xiahou Fuxing interrupted cheerfully, setting the food down. "We can philosophize after dinner."
"He means the time difference," someone whispered.
Wei Brigade nodded. "During the internal test and the last two-month suspension of 1.0, time in Shia passed differently—over half a year went by."
The others fell silent.
"They called it the Natural Day," Wei Brigade continued. "A day not influenced by any world but this one. Meaning—time in Shia flows much faster than on Blue Star. Four times faster, at least. Maybe more this time."
"So… when we come back?" Demacia asked quietly.
"Everything could be different," Wei Brigade said. "Maybe even unrecognizable."
The fire crackled. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Demacia sighed and summoned Second Mouse.
"Squeak?" the tiny creature chirped, tilting its head—only to freeze when it saw the towering Xiahou Fuxing. It shrieked, turned tail, and bolted into the forest.
"You little coward!" Demacia shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here before I barbecue you myself!"
Laughter erupted around the camp.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the players ate, talked, and traded theories about the next update. Some believed they'd return as divine messengers; others thought their role would fade entirely.
"If you think about it," Wei Brigade said between bites, "the world doesn't need players anymore. It's moving on without us."
"You mean we're just… extras?" someone asked.
"Pretty much," Wei Brigade replied. "The gods and the Federation will carry on—with or without us."
Demacia returned, dragging Second Mouse by the tail, the creature squeaking indignantly.
"Don't look at me like that," he said with a grin. "Brother Xiahou, let this ungrateful furball taste real food before we go!"
Laughter rose again, light and fleeting beneath the darkening sky.
"See you in 2.0," Wei Brigade said finally, standing and brushing the dust from his hands.
"Yeah," Demacia answered, smiling faintly. "See you 2.0."