"Mr. Lamp God... please save me... save me..."
Zhou Chen shot up in bed and focused, listening intently. The pleading voice was faint and ethereal, as if coming from a great distance—too unclear to tell if it was male or female.
'Right now, only Soron and Lin Ya know the Lamp God exists, so I don't know who's calling for help... I can't rule out some "fairy tale enthusiast" getting desperate and trying anything, somehow managing to call on me. Of course, the probability of that is very, very small—practically negligible...' As Zhou Chen's thoughts raced, what surprised him more was that he could actually hear a prayer at all.
"I'm feeling more and more like an Evil God..."
Muttering, Zhou Chen closed his eyes. His consciousness floated upward, and he arrived in the Round Table Hall with its Obsidian Round Table.
