Even a God Can Become Flustered

It was a cloud situated within the darkness, gently floating aimlessly, casting mild light into the night occasionally. Situated atop the cloud was a hut, also made of a cloud. And situated within was a single hammock.

Sleeping on it was a wizened old man that for some reason looked like he had just been born. It was a distracting contrast. As usual, he used his perception of the myriad laws to observe the state of the Sub-Realm and check if everything was working perfectly. 

After observing Layer 3, he smirked, muttering to himself, "The humans are struggling as more and more races exit their confined landmasses. Now that there is only one Checkpoint Turtle left for their use, one that only sells six items now, they're having a harder time."