I Got My Cheat Skill by Acting My Way into a Horror Protagonist Role Chapter 107

This suddenly appearing high-hierarchical entity had brought unimaginable impact to the human side in such a shocking form.

His sufficiently high hierarchical status, elusive attitude, and subtly revealed stance were enough to make them treat the Writer with caution.

If he were like those previously determined ultra-high-level existences—an opposing force whose stance couldn't be changed—then humanity could only prepare for one more powerful enemy.

But if he truly harbored goodwill toward humans, then a turning point that could change everything might have appeared.

Still, no matter how they thought about it, wasn't it all rather unbelievable?

How many heavy prices had they paid just to barely maintain today's balance?

Could an existence above the Death God Level like him truly establish friendly relations with humanity?

If it were possible, Cheng He desperately hoped the Writer would indeed become that turning point.

People wouldn't need to live in constant fear anymore, wouldn't need to dread death potentially descending upon them at any moment.

However, just because he thought this way didn't mean others would feel the same.

Those despicable individuals who craved power, status, and authority—the horror game world gave them such an opportunity.

They willingly sacrificed everything, frantically grasping at it all, even going so far as to turn the former human world into hell.

If the time truly came to restore the world to its original state, the first to object would likely be those whose minds and spirits had become completely twisted.

Humans could be so despicable at times.

If war broke out, they would not only have to fight those terrifying, distorted ghosts and monsters—they'd probably have to face blades drawn by their own kind as well.

Cheng He lowered his head slightly, his thick glasses concealing his eyes.

If one observed carefully, they would notice his pupils had always appeared gray-white.

The world in his eyes contained only black and white, reflecting no other colors.

Actually, everyone had probably heard that legend about how everything would end.

It was said that the arrival of the final 'Cursed Child' would bring the answers to everything.

Because most of the previous 'Cursed Children' had vanished without a trace, their whereabouts unknown, and their ultimate fates weren't particularly good.

So the 'Cursed Children' that came after desperately concealed their existence.

Moreover, the dark side of the real world was extremely chaotic, with all sorts of dubious characters emerging to confuse matters.

This made it difficult to determine exactly how many 'Cursed Children' had appeared.

Perhaps the 'final Cursed Child' had already appeared, but with his current abilities and status, he still couldn't learn about this important secret.

Or perhaps they hadn't appeared yet, and no one knew when they would arrive.

Maybe they would never be born at all?

It wasn't like he could just wish for the 'final Cursed Child' to appear and have them magically sit next to him, right?

Ha! How could something like that possibly happen?

It was more realistic for him to check on Yang Qianqian's situation.

The boy wearing thick glasses stealthily tilted his head, scanning the area until he quickly spotted the girl not far from them.

She appeared like a reclusive little girl, tightly clutching the doll in her arms, half her face buried in the doll, revealing only a pair of profound black eyes.

Beneath the cover of her hair and the doll, those black eyes were fixed intently on the Writer's direction, with a fierce, almost predatory intensity.

If not for the role-playing requirements, Cheng He estimated Yang Qianqian would probably fearlessly charge forward directly.

The face hidden beneath the doll was likely now flushed with a sickly, blushing smile.

How could he possibly count on her?

Cheng He withdrew his gaze, sighing deeply in his heart.

The Writer had told a few small stories that were somewhat interesting, but Cheng He hadn't come here to listen to those.

Unfortunately, none of the orphans currently surrounding the Writer were ghosts he had planted with silver gu worms, otherwise he could have manipulated them to make requests to the Writer.

As things stood, he would have to step up personally.

"Teacher Yan..." The boy with thick glasses mumbled, hesitating before finally speaking, "The stories you've been telling... I don't think I've heard them before... Did you read them when you were younger?"

The thin youth glanced almost imperceptibly at the boy.

Although the stories the Writer told were vivid and interesting, some of the plot details and subtle aspects clearly carried an aura that didn't belong to the modern era.

It was the residue from a more distant Republican Era, sedimented through the passage of time.

"Do they sound unfamiliar? That's possible—these are among the few children's stories I read during my youth." The Writer didn't seem suspicious, smiling good-naturedly.

"Thinking back, quite a few interesting things happened back then..." The gentle, jade-like black-haired youth smiled, his eyes tinged with a nostalgic expression.

These human emotions made him feel more genuine, less ethereal and distant.

"Then... could you tell us about those interesting things?" The speaker was the birthmarked boy sitting to the Writer's right, who nervously gripped his own clothes, his eyes showing subtle curiosity and longing.

The Writer was like a free wind that never blew into the orphanage, carrying the different scents of the outside world.

Everything he had experienced, the scenery he had witnessed—these were undoubtedly realms that orphans trapped in this prison could never touch.

Perhaps through the Writer's words, they could catch a glimpse of different landscapes.

Excellent!

Just like delivering a pillow when someone is sleepy—perfect timing!

This meant he didn't need to continue guiding the conversation, avoiding potential exposure of more flaws.

Cheng He immediately perked up, pricking up his ears and focusing intently.

Xu Zisheng also heard the suggestion, his fingers curling slightly at his sides, ripples stirring in his heart.

Regarding the Writer's past, he had learned some aspects through previous illusions.

Heart-wrenching screams, endless blood and tears, towering flames—these occupied most of the memories belonging to the being before him.

Everything the Writer cared about had been completely devoured and destroyed.

Even if the Writer wanted to lose himself in those bygone days, the illusions couldn't bury the tragedies that had occurred.

The stench of rotting, decaying corpses lurked beneath the illusory surface.

Xu Zisheng had also glimpsed the beautiful aspects deep within the other's memories.

But perhaps precisely because it had once been so beautiful, the pain and despair of losing it had been so intense?

Actually, he too wanted to learn more about the gentleman...

"Is that so?" The Writer showed some surprise at the birthmarked boy's request, but after a moment's contemplation, he ultimately didn't refuse.

He chuckled softly, then began, "The story I want to tell is about a youth, born in an era quite distant from the present..."

That youth—they all understood who he was—