March Into Hell

Initially, the Nether Domain seemed like death's pitch seeping out from Hell, as if it were the blood of demons dripping from thin air.

It descended upon the world haphazardly, swallowing everything within its reach, not even light could escape.

Yet, just when the entire world was at its wits' end over this, a patch of the Nether Domain silently vanished.

As the fog cleared, the first survivor saw the light of day again.

In the footage, his face, marred by burn marks, showed no sign of decay; instead, he held up the treasure in his hand with frenzied excitement.

Only when people recognized that extraordinary creation did they come to a sudden realization.

The Nether Domain wasn't pitch; it was oil.

It wasn't filled with death; it was a gold mine!

However, from the survivor's description, it seemed like some demon lord reigned over that place.

But this was trivial, even exhilarating.

"Satan? How many battalions does he have?"

Following this wild claim by a leader of the Northern Territory, humanity's exploration of the Nether Domain fully commenced.

In the subsequent twenty years, legends took the stage one after another, and the world saw drastic conflicts and changes.

To this day, order has stabilized and life has returned to normal.

The Nether Domain had long been given a new name—Secret Realm.

For the new generation of young people, the Secret Realm had already become a part of the world; it was both the unavoidable earthquake and tsunami, and the occasional wonderful gift from nature.

But this feast was destined to be unattainable for most, only the professionals were entitled to partake.

And those professionals,

those adventurers filled with greed and intelligence,

those cunning and yet great pioneers,

those brutes, gamblers, and warriors,

the most admirable idols, the most despised magnates,

they have always had just one name—

Vanguard.

...

21 years after the Secret Realm opened, March 17th, in the afternoon.

[Time until β1-2103257 Secret Realm outbreak: 49 minutes 33 seconds.]

Xinhaishi's Northern Isle High School was enjoying its most pleasant moment of the day.

In the corridors of the high school section, boys and girls left their classrooms after meals, either rushing down the stairs or lazily leaning by the windows.

As with every lunch break, the boys were debating topics that never had right or wrong answers, while the girls shared gossip that never came to any conclusions.

Those who cherished their youth had already quietly met each other's gaze under the temptation of the early spring breeze, or blushed, shy yet receptive.

Everything was like a slow-motion youth film, with a touch of true happiness amidst the mundanity.

But suddenly there was a moment.

As if some devil had passed by, the breath of spring began to extinguish, corridor by corridor, and all colors dimmed.

Boys and girls alike stopped mid-conversation, looking towards the center of the hallway with complex eyes, watching a tall boy walk by, pass through, and then walk away.

The boy wore a tight black shirt, black uniform pants, and black leather boots.

With a neat side-parting hairstyle, under it were a pair of eyes that looked through everything, completely devoid of warmth.

Those eyes didn't look at anyone, and the boy didn't care about anything, simply walking with his hands in his pockets, chest slightly puffed, progressing at a steady pace like a wandering ghost.

Of course, he was no ghost; he was Li Qingming, a senior from class four.

But most people, in private, called him Hannibal.

Yes, like that high-IQ psychopath from the movies.

If there were such an indifferent, elegant, brutal, and calculating criminal in real life, then Li Qingming would definitely be the youthful version of him.

Everyone believed he was behind everything from the tragic deaths of the white rabbits in the breeding farm to the mystifying withdrawals of campus celebrities.

From the urban legends of the beautiful young man at the crossroads to the head teacher confined to the mental hospital.

All were the handiwork of Li Qingming!

It's just that no criminal evidence had yet been found.

Why so certain?

Take one look at him, isn't it obvious from his contempt for humanity?

Everyone knows his backpack is loaded with things on the edge of being contraband.

And the "Elementary Creatures of the Secret Realm" artwork he submitted to the art festival even depressed the most spirited art teacher.

Not to mention his constant verbal abuse and incomprehensibly excellent grades across all subjects.

In short, his every mannerism and expression signaled that he was a budding criminal mastermind, someone who belongs in Arkham Asylum, a fitting candidate for a straight pass to Azkaban—how could Northern Isle High School contain him?

This was why, whenever Li Qingming passed by, an instinctive alertness would arise in those around him.

But they neither dared to discuss him nor could ignore him; they could only watch him until he was far away before they dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

And Li Qingming himself, he actually enjoyed his current social status very much.

Not every group is worthy of joining, and there are very few people worth befriending.

Rather than betraying one's own heart and joining the majority,

it is better to ignore everything and enjoy wandering alone.

Of course, everything comes with a price.

If you don't give a dang about anyone and seem to enjoy yourself too much, naturally people start to dislike you, followed by rumors and collective bullying.

Li Qingming never cared about these things, unless someone really was foolish enough to bully him.

But, unfortunately, he waited three years to no avail; this group, even when banding together against outsiders, only dared to attack the weaker ones, those who were bound not to fight back.

However...

This is precisely the best educational outcome of the school, is it not?

Lost in thought, Li Qingming had arrived at the door of the counseling room and knocked softly.

"Please come in," a young woman's voice responded.