CHAPTER 796: 796: DIVINE GAME: CARD SWAP 45

"...And that’s how, after eight hundred brutal rounds, I—your most brilliant apprentice—defeated GodDraw77!"

"This should be recorded in Moonlight Marsh’s history books as a legendary battle. What a pity she cleared the field early."

"After winning, I awakened a skill called Prologue of a Legend."

"’If every legend needs a definitive beginning... then it’s now.’"

"Teacher, listen to that line. Really savor it! Isn’t that just the most incredible thing ever?"

"GodDraw77 was shocked too. She laughed for so long, I thought she was making fun of me. But then she taught me a new skill—Rule No. 805. She said you wouldn’t be mad about it."

"She told me she and you unlocked it on the same day. Now I’m super curious what actually happened back then."

"But I’ve gotta say, if I ever write an autobiography, the prologue has to be about getting beat up by a certain elf under that bridge in Gilane."

—The Legend Who Got Beat Up, Rita.

...

After registering, time seemed to speed up. Rita barely had time to collect five stacks of 999 autumn leaves before it was already snow-gathering season again.

But she already had plenty of winter snow. Snowballs didn’t stack well, but she had three full inventory slots just for snowballs—each one capable of making over ten thousand Summer Snowmen. More than enough to last her a long while.

Under Reyhana’s guidance, not only had she become a great sketch artist, her handcrafted snowmen were now more intricate than ever. Each snowman could provide seven rewinds.

Even classmates with the most absurd appearances would still get a six-rewind snowman. Summer Snowman had become a hot commodity at Moonlight Marsh.

As Winterveil break approached, the mood around Fat Goose and Maple Syrup grew increasingly heavy.

Over the past six months, Maple Syrup had grown colder.

On the surface, she was the same—joking around, laughing loudly, full of bold confidence and occasional pranks. If someone asked her for help, she would usually oblige.

But only close friends like Rita and Mistblade knew there was something different. It was like Maple Syrup’s heart had been encased in an invisible shell of ice.

She never talked about it. And so, Rita and the others never asked. They only helped when Maple Syrup explicitly asked for it.

Fat Goose’s problems were simpler, but heavier. He spent most of his time writing letters—some to his adoptive parents, some to his biological ones, and some handling family affairs for both sides. He burned through an entire bottle of ink every week.

It was all a transaction, really. His adoptive parents paid for his education, and in return, he’d repay them tenfold after graduation. There was no deep affection, but both parties understood the terms.

Everything was fine—until his biological parents reentered the picture.

Every time the word "biological" came up, Fat Goose’s tone got... weird.

He’d lose his appetite whenever a letter from them arrived.

He said more than once that he should’ve just sold himself to Lightchaser when he had the chance.

Until Mistblade told him how much she owed Lightchaser in gold. After that, Fat Goose never brought it up again.

"My life’s not that expensive," he declared.

Rita looked at Mistblade and said, "So... should we be grateful Lightchaser put a high price on us?"

Mistblade replied, "I ran the numbers yesterday. I’ve only actually spent maybe ten thousand gold. But on Lightchaser’s bill, it says I owe 130,227 gold and 7 silver. I don’t even know how she calculated that."

Maple Syrup, spreading honey on her bread nearby, said, "She probably just made up some numbers."

Mistblade pointed at her. "That’s... probably the truth."

Rita nodded vigorously. "Same! Mine says 310,000 gold. I’m thirteen! By next year, I swear it’ll say 410,000."

Fat Goose picked up his fork and knife again. "Thank you. That actually helped. Compared to your debts, my problems don’t seem that serious."

Across the table, the mech-eared motorcycle who had been eavesdropping the entire time chuckled to itself.

...

Rita spent Winterveil at home again, but had to return to Moonlight Marsh by the 2nd. On the morning of the 3rd, teachers and contestants would depart via large-scale teleportation array to Ashen Valley, where this year’s Divine Game would be held.

Students who weren’t participating could tag along if they paid the 300-gold fee to cover travel and lodging.

That was nearly one-tenth of a semester’s tuition.

Still, Mistblade, Fat Goose, and Maple Syrup were all going. With Rita competing, how could they miss it?

At dinner, Lightchaser didn’t say a single word about whether she’d go. Wail, on the other hand, smiled and said she definitely would.

As a former GodDraw77, Wail got invited every year. She usually skipped out of laziness, but this year was different.

Rita sneaked a glance at Lightchaser. The elf was quietly eating her food, showing no interest in the topic whatsoever.

Even the next day, Lightchaser didn’t give any hint of surprise. When Rita left with Mistblade to return to school, Lightchaser was already gone.

Outside, Mistblade whispered, "Why does it feel like Lightchaser really doesn’t like Divine Game?"

Rita glanced at her. Mistblade looked genuinely confused.

She loved Divine Game. After watching it last year, she talked about it nonstop for over two months. Her room had at least 1,000 gold’s worth of Divine Game merchandise.

If she didn’t know Moonlight Marsh’s revival rule, she probably would’ve signed up too.

And yet—even Mistblade didn’t know about the Lightchaser Era.

She might’ve read about old Divine Games... but thirty-seven years was a long time.

For a thirteen-year-old, thirty-seven years might as well be ancient history.

No matter how glorious the Lightchaser Era was, time buried everything eventually.

Bitterness and frustration welled up in Rita’s chest. She said earnestly, "It’s not that she doesn’t like it. It’s just... today’s Divine Game isn’t worth her time."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the only time Divine Game was worth watching... was when GodDraw77 was awakened."

The two small figures walked off toward the rising sun, their shadows stretched long by the morning light.

Back at the house, Lightchaser lay on the roof with her hands behind her head, staring at the cloudless sky, unmoving.

"What are you looking at up there?" Wail’s voice called from beside her.

Lightchaser’s voice was scratchy and lazy, like she’d just woken up. "The sunrise. What else?"