Volume One Chapter One: The Dawn of the Age of Myth

That day, the moon turned a bizarre shade of red, and countless legendary monsters crawled out from the darkness. In a single night, the world’s population diminished by thirty percent.

Yet, as nations reeled in chaos, they were astonished to find that nothing at all had happened within the borders of Huaxia. It was as if the upheaval of heaven and earth had nothing to do with them.

As time passed, people soon discovered that in those countries beset by monster attacks, some individuals acquired the monsters’ powers. They named these abilities “Supernatural Sequences.”

Meanwhile, Huaxia remained tranquil—utterly unchanged, not a ripple of trouble. Gradually, a rumor began to circulate among the nations: the monsters were not a disaster, but an opportunity. Huaxia, they said, was a forsaken land where no Supernatural Sequences would ever appear.

But the place was too peaceful, untouched by any invasion. Ambitious schemers set their sights upon Huaxia, plotting to seize it and build a safe haven for themselves.

Huaxia’s warriors fought desperately, but they were no match for those with Supernatural Sequences. Countless soldiers fell, their blood soaking the battlefield.

To utterly crush the faith of the Huaxia people, one “Supernatural Sequencer” smashed the Dragon Pillar—symbol of the nation’s destiny—live before the eyes of more than a billion citizens.

With the destruction of the Dragon Pillar, the nation’s fate collapsed. A thick fog arose across the land. Countless monsters from Huaxian mythology appeared, launching a rampant slaughter.

Huaxia’s mythic age had begun.

Now, the Supernatural Sequences, once a source of pride, became objects of ridicule. Huaxia descended into hell; innumerable invaders fled in madness.

Only then did the nations finally understand why their monsters had never dared set foot in Huaxia. For here, the world’s most terrifying mythic beings were sealed away.

And because of their ignorance, they had ushered in the most dreadful era this world had ever known.

A hundred years later…

“Class, tomorrow is the college entrance exam. I wish every one of you success in being admitted to the Inner City!” homeroom teacher Wang Qiang said with a smile.

After Wang Qiang left, the classroom instantly erupted into a hubbub, the students like wild horses loosed from their reins.

“The Inner City, eh? Only the very best are qualified to live there. In our class, I bet only Montage has a shot,” Li Lu said, turning to look at the boy behind him.

“Is there even a question? With Montage’s grades, he could get into any school he wanted—unlike us…”

“Don’t say that. I’m not like you guys. My parents fell in love too young, my sister’s divorced, and every day I have to walk my grandfather to school and take care of my grandmother in postpartum confinement when I get home. Besides relying on scholarship money to help at home, I really have no other way,” Montage scratched his head in embarrassment.

“Hahaha… Montage, I’ve heard that joke a million times, but every time you say it with a straight face, I can’t help but laugh.”

The entire class burst into laughter.

Montage was always easygoing—though he was a top student, he was far from aloof. On the contrary, he was very popular. After all, who could dislike a star pupil who helped you with your homework?

Faced with everyone’s laughter, Montage could only smile along helplessly. As long as everyone was happy, he wouldn’t be isolated. That was a lesson from his grandfather: Don’t bother reasoning with ordinary people, because even if you reason with them, they may not listen. Just play along—it makes you more popular.

After three years spent together, it was finally time to say goodbye. After bidding farewell to each classmate, Montage slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped out of the school gates.

The dim streetlights, under the crimson moon, seemed especially cold and desolate. A thin layer of mist hung in the air.

“Why is the fog rising so early today? I’d better hurry home,” Montage thought, a chill running through his heart as he saw the mist thickening. Since the collapse of the nation’s fate, dense fog often appeared at night. No technology could dispel it; even the brightest flashlight failed to pierce more than a meter.

Every time the fog lifted, many people would disappear—gone without a trace, neither alive nor dead. Investigations found that without exception, those missing were always the ones caught outside when the fog rose.

Thus, the Security Bureau issued a curfew: after ten at night, everyone had to stay home—under no circumstances should anyone go out.

Montage glanced at his watch: 8:30 p.m.—a full hour and a half earlier than usual.

“Damn!” The fog would peak within ten minutes. At that point, all electronic devices would fail; anyone still outside would almost certainly die.

His home was more than twenty minutes from school—there was no way he could make it. Fortunately, the Security Bureau had prepared for such situations: every street had a temporary shelter. Montage remembered there was one right by the traffic lights ahead.

Without hesitation, Montage dashed toward the intersection. The fog thickened; visibility fell. Though only a hundred meters or so, Montage felt as if he’d been running forever.

“Could I have gone the wrong way?” The fog was known to confuse the senses—experts had confirmed it. But this was Montage’s first time experiencing it firsthand.

“Ow…”

As he ran, he suddenly felt something trip him. He crashed to the ground. Though the fall hurt, he had no time for pain. The fog was closing in—if he didn’t reach the shelter now, it would be too late.

Just as he was about to get up, he felt a pair of icy hands clamp around his ankle.

“Young man, can you help me over there?” came an old, hoarse voice from behind.

Montage turned quickly. Lying at his feet was a ragged beggar woman.

“Grandma, why are you still out so late?” he asked, bending down and offering his hand to help her up.

But as she stood, Montage finally noticed—beneath her disheveled hair, she had no face at all.

No face?

Montage’s heart thudded violently as a chill shot up his spine.

Run! Run!

Those were the only words left in his mind. He’d encountered a monster.

But no matter how his mind screamed, his body refused to move. Icy numbness swept over him, locking his limbs as if he were frozen.

Looking down, he saw the woman’s hair had turned into countless tiny black leeches, crawling up his body.

“It’s over. Am I going to die here?” Montage could feel his body growing cold, as if his blood were being sucked away.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, a burning heat flared in his chest. The red birthmark on his skin began to glow, like a fire-born dragon.

With the eruption of the fiery mark, a surge of warmth flooded Montage. The cold vanished.

The beggar let out a laugh like a wailing infant, her neck twisting at an impossible angle. In the center of her split face, three pairs of bone spurs protruded—the longest one stabbing straight for Montage’s head.

Now able to move, Montage twisted aside at the last second. The bone spur gouged deep into his left shoulder.

Blood sprayed everywhere.