The system notification didn't just hang in the air; it seared itself into the collective consciousness of trillions.
In the Tower of Eternity, the great central pillar of progression that pierced the heavens of the Inner World, the atmosphere shifted from one of scholarly pursuit to a electric tension.
For eons, or what felt like eons under the time-dilation of the Sovereign's grace, the Tower had been a place of camaraderie.
Hunters of different races shared bread, traded tips on boss mechanics, and reposed in the absolute certainty that no hand would be raised against them in malice.
That certainty was now a glass floor, and the first cracks were spider-webbing beneath their boots.
On the 42nd floor, a massive, tusked Orc scratched his head, staring at the glowing script of the decree. "What does it mean, exactly?" he grunted, his voice echoing in a hallway carved from obsidian. "The Moral Stabilizer is gone? Does that mean the crops will grow differently?"
