"We'll circle back to that later," said the elder in the main seat, remote in hand. "Right now, we need to discuss the Prophet's two posts."
The screen shifted, returning to the familiar forum threads that had sent ripples across the world.
"I agree with many of you," the elder continued. "That line—'For myself, for the future'—isn't just poetic. It's a warning. The Prophet is trying to tell us: disaster is coming, and only those with mythical talents and hidden professions can stop it."
Heads nodded around the table.
One man spoke up. "Our own early-classed personnel are already demonstrating remarkable strength. Warriors, mages, clerics, shooters—their skills scale fast. Within weeks, they'll surpass the effectiveness of conventional thermal weapons. And if what we're seeing from mythical talents holds true… even nuclear deterrents may eventually lose relevance."
The room was silent a beat too long.
"Then the age of professionals has arrived," someone said quietly.
"Not quite," said another. "More accurately, the age of hidden professionals—and those with myth-grade talents."
A frown creased the brow of an old general. "That's dangerous. If individuals become powerful enough to rival armies… we may lose control. Internal unrest, factions, warlords—"
"We don't have a choice," the elder in the main seat interrupted. "If we suppress talent growth, while other nations do not—then when the time comes, we'll be standing on a battlefield with bare hands. The Dragon Kingdom cannot afford that."
No one argued. Everyone understood the stakes.
For a moment, only the hum of the projector filled the air.
"Let's move to the Prophet's second post. About nicknames." The elder tapped the remote, shifting the screen.
"What hidden insights do you see here?"
A scholar in glasses leaned forward. "The Prophet strongly warns against using the names of divine beings. This implies those names are more than superstition—possibly tied to real entities."
"Cause and effect," murmured another. "In mythology, using a god's name without permission is an affront. In a digitized world shaped by rules… such names may have real consequences."
"Agreed."
"I also found something curious," said a younger strategist. "In the Prophet's phrasing—'taboo also means opportunity.' That suggests that if divine beings exist… some might be challenged."
The room stirred.
"You mean," someone said slowly, "one could… supplant a god?"
"If they're truly real," the strategist continued, "and if digital systems obey metaphysical rules… yes. It's not just a warning. It's an invitation. But the Prophet also stresses this path is high-risk. Use a sacred name—and you might provoke the original owner."
More silence.
Then, the elder at the head of the table leaned forward. "So. Gods exist. Or something like them. And if so, battles for divinity may be possible."
"It's a gamble," someone muttered. "With stakes beyond imagination."
"Which is why," the head elder said firmly, "we won't go after the likes of Sanqing or the Jade Emperor. Those are beyond reach. But Mao gods… lesser immortals… mid-tier beings—we may be able to claim those titles. With the right people, and the right power."
A murmur of reluctant agreement followed.
"Proceed with extreme caution," he added. "And continue efforts to contact the Prophet. We need confirmation. He knows more than he's saying."
The projection flickered again. This time, it displayed a different forum post—one speculating on the Prophet's true identity.
"There are many theories," the elder said. "But the one gaining the most traction… is that the Prophet is an 'inside player.' Someone with knowledge beyond this timeline."
He clicked again. A new profile appeared on screen—Wang Xian.
"Our analysts now believe that the Prophet and the so-called 'Immortal King' are both inside players. However, it's possible only the Prophet retained full memory. The Immortal King may have partial recollection—perhaps just fragments—leading him to believe he's dreaming rather than remembering."
The room broke into animated discussion.
"If this is correct," said one advisor, "then there may be others. Inside players, some aware, some not."
"Exactly," the elder confirmed. "And the difference lies in whether certain… conditions were met. Conditions we don't yet understand."
"Which the Prophet likely did meet," someone else said. "Hence his knowledge."
"Correct."
"But we don't have enough data," muttered another. "We're playing blind."
"Then we must uncover more," the elder in the center said solemnly. "We need to understand this world's new rules before someone else rewrites them in blood."
He clicked again.
"Now—[Goddess of Fortune's Favor]. Myth-grade talent. Owner: Su Jin."
Two photos appeared—one of a girl in her teens, the other a woman in her twenties.
"The younger is Su Jin. The older, her sister—Su Mu."
"And… what's the significance?"
The elder folded his hands.
"Su Mu was once Wang Xian's girlfriend. They broke up a year ago, after he quit his job and returned to his hometown. However, they kept in touch—first frequently, then less so. The last contact was two months ago."
"Go on."
"Recently, Wang Xian appeared on the level ranking boards—at number one. His class: 'Sacrifice.' Our experts believe this is no ordinary class."
"Obviously," someone muttered.
"Our proposal is simple," the elder continued. "We rebuild the connection. Deploy Su Jin to locate Wang Xian. Recruit Su Mu into our talent protection division. Once she feels allegiance to the state, a reunion with Wang Xian could not only benefit him emotionally—but bind him to us."
Silence. Then a slow, knowing chuckle.
"So… we're matchmaking now?"
"It may seem small," the elder replied, "but bonds create loyalty. And loyalty builds nations. Wang Xian is a variable we can't afford to leave floating."
No one disagreed.
The elder clicked the remote one final time.
"Begin the preparations. Contact Su Mu. Locate Su Jin. And for god's sake—find the Prophet."