Chapter 1

The moment the system disconnected, I felt the last bit of magic within me dissipate.

"Ding—The Pantheon System's mini-world module is offline. The main system is monitoring it in the background. You have 72 hours of offline time. Enjoy the game."

A mechanical female voice echoed in my mind, then fell silent. A countdown timer in the upper right corner of my retina began to tick. System offline meant losing quest guidance and shop functionality, but life monitoring and emergency protocols remained operational—after all, a player's safe exit would affect the stability of the entire world.

I looked up and saw High Priestess Morgana, arm in arm with Pit Lord Baal, looking down at me. A smug smile played on her lips, as if she had just torn off a mask she had been wearing for a long time.

"Finally gone." Morgana gently stroked six-year-old Damian's hair, her voice laced with long-suppressed malice. "That damned system is finally gone."

Damian jumped excitedly onto my chest, his muddy little boots pressing hard against my chest.

"Mother, we finally don't have to pretend anymore!" he shrieked, his eyes filled with malicious glee. "I've wanted to crush this fake father for ages!"

"Good boy." Morgana's smile was twisted and cruel. "Stomp on him! Stomp on him hard! Let him know the consequences of deceiving the High Priest!"

Damian stomped harder and harder, each step seeming to dig a look of despair out of my face.

I did not resist.

"My God, look at this pathetic wretch." Bali's voice was low and full of sarcasm. "Morgana, your acting is superb. You managed to play a loving couple with this thing for three years."

"Don't even mention it, it's a nightmare." Morgana made a disgusted face. "Every time he touched me, I felt like throwing up. If I weren't afraid of that system, I would have chopped him into mincemeat long ago."

An encrypted window popped up in the lower left corner of my retina—the Third Hospital in the real world, operating room. My wife had already been wheeled into the operating room, and the surgeon was checking the imported equipment. My daughter's hematopoietic stem cell transplant surgery was going smoothly than expected, and the doctor said she might wake up ahead of schedule.

Account balance: 2,847,000 points. Medical expenses have been fully paid, and everything is proceeding smoothly.

"Surprised?" Morgana crouched down, lifting my chin with her long nails, her eyes gleaming with smugness. "You think I don't know your true identity? System strategist, a lackey of the Pantheon."

Her voice grew increasingly shrill, as if she were about to unleash all the anger that had been building up for three years.

"I knew what you were from day one! All that deep love, all that self-sacrifice, it was all a facade!" Morgana laughed maniacally. "But what you don't know is—I was a facade too! My love for you, every sweet word, every tender glance, was all a lie!"

Damian chuckled and spat in my face again: "The fake dad's been fooled! The fake dad's been fooled!"

I watched their performance in silence, as if observing a group of beings from a completely different dimension. For them, it was a moment of revenge fueled by deep-seated hatred; for me, it was merely the opening act of a 72-hour system vacation.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Morgana's voice was tinged with hysteria. "You should be shocked! You should be in pain! I've lied to you for three years, and you don't have any reaction at all?"

I brushed the dust off my chest and slowly stood up.

"Oh." I nodded, my tone as calm as still water. "And then?"

Morgana froze. Baal frowned. Damian stopped stomping.

"And then...and then what?" Morgana's voice trembled. "I told you I never loved you! I lied to you for three years!"

"I heard you." I straightened my collar. "Congratulations. Happy wedding."

"No!" Morgana almost roared, "You should be angry! You should be desperate! Don't you love me deeply? Didn't you willingly become a sacrifice for me?"

I looked at her confused and angry expression.

"Deep love?" I chuckled softly. "Do you really think that's important?"

Her confusion reminded me of a metaphor in the real world—it's as absurd as a character in a movie suddenly questioning the audience why they don't cry for their lives.

"I have nothing to pack." I turned and walked towards the temple exit. "Everything is yours now."

"Halt! You damned strategist!" Morgana's voice completely lost control. "You think you can leave so easily? I'll make you pay! I'll show you the consequences of deceiving the High Priest!"

Damian shivered inexplicably. When he saw me turn around, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly—not from pain, not from anger, but from a kind of indifference that he couldn't understand.

"Deception?" My gaze swept over her, over Baal, and finally landed on Damian's face. "Who deceived whom?"

"It's you! You were only here to complete the mission from the very beginning!" Morgana pointed at me, her fingers trembling. "You never loved me!"

"That's right." I admitted without hesitation, "I don't love you. Nor do I love him."

I pointed at Damian, whose face instantly turned pale.

These words struck Morgana like a hammer blow. She had expected denial, pain, or any intense emotional reaction—except for this calm admission.

"But," I continued, "does it matter to you? The mission is complete, the points are in hand, and my wife and daughter in real life are undergoing surgery. As for your loves and hates..."

I shrugged.

"What does it have to do with me?"

"Let's go." Bali grabbed Morgana's hand, but I noticed his voice sounded a little unnatural. "He's just a madman; not worth wasting time on."

I turned and left the temple, my footsteps echoing on the stone steps. Behind me came Morgana's near-collapse screams and Damian's uneasy sobs.

A night wind blew across the continent of Eldridge, and a blood moon hung high in the sky. I found a sheltered stone cave on the edge of the wasteland and sat down against the wall.

The operating room monitor popped up again on the retina: the surgeon gave an OK sign, the first stage of the surgery was successful. The wife and daughter's vital signs were stable, and due to the smooth progress of the surgery, they were expected to wake up earlier than anticipated.

In less than 72 hours, I'll be back with them—if Morgana and the others can let me spend this system vacation in peace in this world.

Of course, even if they kill me, it will only bring me back to reality sooner.

I closed my eyes and started counting down.

The howls of abyssal beasts echoed in the distance, mingled with Morgana's hysterical curses. She was plotting a more drastic revenge—perhaps taking away my last refuge, or perhaps more direct physical harm.

Let her be.

In any case, I will leave this world within 72 hours. And they will be forever trapped on this land, continuing their entanglements of love and hate.

The countdown ticked on, as rhythmic and warm as a wife's heartbeat in the real world.