Chapter 3
After delivering her statement with great momentum, Iris seemed to hear the sound of something breaking—perhaps it was her own sense of shame. She stared at the mirror surface; no one in the group chat responded. The cold silence made her acutely aware of the awkward chill she used to feel after speaking in online groups on Earth.
The conversation had gone cold.
This prolonged silence felt like a public execution. She put down the mirror and covered her face, inwardly lamenting.
How did I actually say that out loud...? No, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t everyone have joked along with me?
Two minutes later, Fallen Morning Star finally spoke again.
“Fallen Morning Star: I have recorded your summoning words in the Codex of All Phenomena. The codex has no objections. Welcome to our ranks.”
After this message, the previously silent members began to send new messages one after another.
“Mysterious Mother: Welcome, child.”
“Pale Messenger: Welcome, new ascendant. Forgive my boldness... were you once human? Or are you something else?”
“Silver Scales: A reminder to the fool above: didn’t they claim to be the ‘Oldest Witch’? Perhaps they have already undergone a change.”
“Crimson Despair: Wait, none of that matters. You should first tell us your hobbies. Only then can I judge if we’ll get along. Please share your views on living beings, flesh, corpses, and aliens... Oh, and do you like the scent of skeleton flowers?”
Iris: The rapid-fire responses in this group... I have to say, your character settings are quite thorough.
Seeing Iris did not reply, they continued their questioning.
“Pale Messenger: Are you a servant of a certain deity?”
“Pale Messenger: In which region are you active? Is it the West? Are you currently hidden or in the real world?”
“Fallen Morning Star: ...Have you finally burned out your sanity from responding too frequently to your followers’ prayers? The West is the church’s territory. How could a long-lived ascendant have summoning words like ‘Master of Darkness’ or ‘Witch,’ which they most despise?”
“Pale Messenger: I merely heard someone in the West was preparing a new ascension. Since it’s not you, my guess was wrong. If I offended you, I apologize.”
Clearly, this was addressed to Iris.
“Crimson Despair: Your questions are rather mundane.”
“Silver Scales: I think they don’t really want to talk to you; you’re asking too much.”
“Clear Gold Key: The conversation is too purposeful. Those who were once human always mix in their own little cleverness during talks—it’s quite unpleasant.”
“Pale Messenger: That’s unfortunate, because to me, you soulless, self-righteous people are far more unpleasant.”
The atmosphere turned tense within just a few words.
Iris rested her chin on her hand, staring at the screen. Honestly, she didn’t know how to respond. Though she was a cheerful netizen in her past life, joking and meme-sharing depended on mood and atmosphere. By nature, she disliked trouble. She preferred to conserve energy and remain silent, lurking rather than actively participating in unfamiliar environments.
Just as Iris was preparing to multitask—opening her newly unlocked attribute panel—someone mentioned her again.
“Mysterious Mother: New ascendant, if you have time, please visit Dust Valley. My children would be delighted. They haven’t seen newcomers in far too long.”
---
The Mysterious Mother skillfully diverted the topic, avoiding an impending repetitive argument.
Iris stared at the mirror, unsure what to say. She deeply missed vivid emojis; without them, she wouldn’t even chat with strangers online.
“Crimson Despair: Yeah, your adorable children scared my messenger badly. We thought they’d be chased to the abyss’s end by those hunting dogs.”
“Fallen Morning Star: I wish I could take one home, but my siblings and the Father God wouldn’t allow it. The hounds would mess up our great library.”
“Mysterious Mother: Sadly, these children are only suited to Dust Valley. Too far from home makes them irritable and aggressive... If I breed a pet-friendly variant, I’ll save one for you.”
“Pale Messenger: Count me out. I hate dogs.”
“Crimson Despair: So you really have been bitten by a dog?”
Reading their exchange, Iris felt their words brimmed with conviction. It reminded her of forum posts with similar role-playing themes, like “What if I’m rejected by the Five Spirit Roots Sect?” or “Got my Hogwarts acceptance letter—any advice?” or “Is there really a job crisis for sword cultivators? Any job tips?” Ultimately, it boiled down to one thing—goofy netizens having fun.
After observing more, she began to understand.
Though everyone spoke in character, their conversations reflected their real lives, albeit exaggerated.
For example, the dog topic likely stemmed from real life. Iris guessed the Mysterious Mother was a well-off woman with a manor—hence all the hunting dogs. Dust Valley was probably her estate. Or perhaps she ran a kennel, breeding and selling hunting dogs.
Crimson Despair seemed a young person with niche interests, fascinated by dark and bloody themes, and had visited the mysterious woman’s estate.
Fallen Morning Star was probably the youngest sibling in a scholarly, wealthy family with an independent library.
Finally, Pale Messenger appeared to be the one most often roasted, seemingly low on the social hierarchy.
“Crimson Despair: Why is he silent? Did I hit a nerve?”
“Crimson Despair: Fine, one less doesn’t matter. Newbie, are you still there? You haven’t answered my previous question—do you like the feel of Snakeghost Grass?”
Iris: ...That’s not the question you just asked.
This friend’s thoughts seemed scattered, or perhaps they were just forgetful.
“Fallen Morning Star: Enough with the Snakeghost Grass. Can someone help me identify these? Which library should I catalog them in?”
On the mirror, a photo was sent.
It showed a cluttered desk filled with books, scrolls, and some open papers covered in text.
“Crimson Despair: Don’t ask me. I can’t stand those worm-like squiggly human letters. Goodbye.”
“Clear Gold Key: I’m just a key. How would I know?”
“Silver Scales: Don’t ask me. I’m only a scale.”
“Fallen Morning Star: ?”
The quick replies suggested no one had actually looked at the image.
---
Only Iris still held onto a shred of reverence. She refused to believe the system led her to the magic mirror merely to witness petty quarrels among eccentric netizens on the magic internet.
Noticing many book spines and covers bore incomprehensible script, Iris prepared to examine them closely. Her mind sounded a warning—she shouldn’t. Having experience, she abandoned a deep read and instead scanned for any familiar letters.
Because the mirror was small, Iris zoomed in carefully.
“Alchemy Secrets: Crafting Your Own Intelligent Tools,” “Maintenance of the Airborne City’s Magic Core,” “Dedicated to Dear Theseno,” “Mad Recipes: Ghoul Stew with Potatoes,” “Basic Meditation: Transforming Dark Attribute Magic into Non-Attribute Magic”...
Wait—she seemed to spot something extraordinary.
She zoomed in again, reading each letter carefully to ensure she wasn’t mistaken.
“Meditation Technique for Converting Dark Attribute Magic and Non-Attribute Magic,” she murmured.
If Iris had been relaxed before, treating the chat as playful, her grip on the mirror tightened involuntarily upon seeing those words.
The content on the paper was exactly what she needed most at this moment.
Her lighthearted expression vanished.
The appearance of this meditation technique was too coincidental, almost jokingly presented. She couldn’t be sure if it was a genuine meditation method or just an excerpt from a novel by these bookish friends.
When something longed for suddenly appears, rather than welcoming it joyfully, Iris’s first reaction was suspicion.
Did the system lead her to the magic mirror because it knew she’d obtain this meditation technique? What was the system’s true nature and role? What was its purpose?
Pacing back and forth in the room, after a few seconds she returned to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out scrap paper. She quickly copied the content from the mirror.
She didn’t know how long the chat logs on the magic mirror would last; better to be safe.
While copying, she used her limited supernatural knowledge to preliminarily assess the meditation’s plausibility. Though increasingly convinced the material was genuine, she didn’t trust her own expertise enough to confirm its authenticity.
Iris typed into the magic mirror:
“Dark Saint: Should these works be verified for authenticity and accuracy before entering the library?”
“Fallen Morning Star: No need. There is no junk here.”
Confident, but it didn’t answer her question directly.
Besides, claiming no junk existed—she thought the ghoul stew recipe seemed pretty useless.
As Iris organized her thoughts to follow up, another message arrived:
“Fallen Morning Star: Father God has entrusted me with a great mission. Sorry everyone, I might be gone for three to five years.”
Iris: ...What mission keeps you from group chat for three to five years? Are you a kid forced into endless exams and mock tests?