Using the MC system to pretend spiritual revival

Chapter 132 Magical props
"What...is this thing?"

Like everyone else in the room, there was a boy with short brown hair and freckles on his face.

He also picked up a gold coin from the floor in front of him, just like everyone else's.

I weighed the coin in my hand and found it was quite heavy.

It makes me wonder if it really is pure gold?
However, it is clear that some people share the same idea.

A young man with sunken cheeks and brown skin put the coin in his hand directly into his mouth and bit down hard.

"Ouch!"

Contrary to expectations of the coin's hardness, the man who bit down felt as if he had bitten into a piece of hard marble.

A sharp pain shot through my gums.

He gasped for breath, then took the coin out and examined it closely.

But they found that there wasn't a single scratch on the surface of the coin.

"Ha! You idiot!"

After the brown-skinned man completed this action.

A few steps away, there was a white woman with her arms crossed, wearing glasses and business attire.

Noticing the other party's actions, he couldn't help but let out a disdainful snort.

However, the gloomy man had obviously heard this as well.

He then narrowed his bloodshot eyes and looked at the female office worker who had just spoken.

The long-haired woman, her face full of disdain, froze when her gaze met the other's.

He silently moved his feet further away.

He then turned his face away.

Now, our focus shifts back to the entire room.

This series of messages has left many people confused.

But there are still people who can maintain their rationality, like the boy who huddled in the corner.

While everyone was engrossed in their own actions.

An elderly man, dressed in a worn priest's robe and with sparse, gray hair, silently stepped forward and stood out.

It was just like preaching and expounding in a church for decades.

He raised the Bible he always carried with him and said in a calm but clear, aged voice:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please put down what you are doing and listen to what I, God's servant, have to say."

And the result of this appeal.

In this country where the belief in God is widespread, at least for now, there is no danger.

Most people are still willing to listen to what this highly respected elder has to say.

Seeing that most people had quieted down and were looking at him, the old man gave a gentle smile before continuing.

"As you can see, what we are experiencing today is clearly beyond the realm of common sense."

“When we opened our eyes, we arrived here. I may not know why, but I do know that we are in the lake park near the coastline.”

As he spoke, the old man raised his withered finger and pointed to the open window.

At that moment, through that window, one could see the lush green forest outside and the hazy sea in the distance.

This confirms what the old man said.

"The last scene in my memory was in my church."

"It's a small church, on the outskirts of the city, closest to the wasteland, at least a three-hour drive from here."

These words seem to have also reminded some people who haven't yet realized what's going on.

The old man also quieted down at the right time, giving everyone present time to think.

Some people looked at each other in bewilderment, while others frowned and rubbed their foreheads, as if their long-forgotten memories were just beginning to slowly resurface.

Clearly, although neither of them spoke, they both received a message from each other's eyes.

Everyone comes from different places, and they are far apart.

After a moment of thought, the old man in priest's robes spoke again slowly.

“Clearly, we come from all over the city, which is beyond the capabilities of ordinary people.”

"God has not guided his faithful servants, and I do not know whether this is a test from God or a trick of the devil."

"But everyone, please think carefully, think about what happened in the last moment before you woke up here..."

As he guided them, some people couldn't help but lower their expressions and begin to seriously recall the events.

The first to react was a burly black man who stood out conspicuously in the crowd.

At that moment, he seemed to suddenly realize something, looking down at his hands and the only thing he was wearing: a pair of beach shorts.

As I recalled, some blurry, faded, and somber images gradually surfaced before my eyes.

"Shit! Shit! I was fucking shot and killed by a cop!"

"On the beach not far from the park, that bald old man fired at least seven shots at me!"

The location he was referring to, as some people know, is a wild beach that has not been developed into a tourist area.

Of course, it is very popular with some young couples who like to seek excitement, or people who throw parties.

"I can feel my blood draining and my life fading away; it's definitely not an illusion!"

The tall, muscular Black man slowly lay down on the ground, his dark face showing signs of paleness.

As the memories surfaced, the agonizing struggle before death and the pain of feeling life slipping away also assaulted the brain.

This feeling of being on the verge of death, or rather, the process of dying, is clearly not pleasant.

As he shouted, some people suddenly realized something.

He recalled the vague memories in his mind, and his expression changed immediately.

Some suddenly covered their mouths and gagged, while others' foreheads were quickly covered in cold sweat.

Most people gasped in shock, clutching their foreheads or chests with lingering fear.

It was as if something had pierced through there before.

Even as the memory became clearer, a faint phantom pain arose from the original location of the fatal wound.

At this moment, everyone vaguely realized that they might have already died.

This naturally includes the freckled boy who is huddled in the corner.

At that moment, his hand, which was inside his schoolbag, was tightly gripping a Grote pistol.

He closed his eyes in pain.

After that guiding conversation, he recalled what he had experienced today. He was a poor student, both academically and physically, and was often bullied by various people at school.

This went on for a year until he finally couldn't take it anymore.

Just like in many stories.

Tell your only good friend not to come to class tomorrow.

He then stuffed his birthday present into his backpack and silently carried the heavy package into the school.

What followed was a battle royale game.

In his recollections, Cohen couldn't even count how many people he had shot.

All I remember is knocking down every familiar and loathsome face I saw, leaving them to wail and bleed.

In the end, all 70 bullets he carried were used up without dropping a single one.

Only then, carrying his empty schoolbag, did he shuffle to the school gate like a walking corpse.

Then, in the next moment, there were no words of advice, nor any warnings.

What awaited him seemed to be the spear that was destined for him.

A sniper bullet, seemingly shot from an unknown rooftop.

It pierced precisely through his forehead, tearing his half-length brown hair and skull to shreds.

My memories end abruptly here, plunging me into darkness.

Cohen also gritted his teeth and closed his eyes in pain.

It was as if the numb, dull pain of the bullet entering the brain and shattering the brain tissue was still tugging at the nerves.

However, everything came quickly and went quickly.

Recalling what had happened, a relieved and relaxed smile appeared on his face, and he loosened his grip on the pistol in his backpack.

My memory is hazy, only up to the time before I walked into the school gate.

Looking back now, I realize I've done what I wanted to do, so I have no regrets.

The tension and fear in my heart completely subsided.

His mindset had drastically changed, and he couldn't help but turn his gaze to the pile of items scattered on the table.

Those items that have been ignored, or rather, that many people have noticed but dare not approach due to the lingering influence of the black and white monster bird.

Meanwhile, on the other side, an old man with white hair dressed in priest's robes was still using his highly infectious voice to soothe the crowd.

He offers guidance to those tormented by images of their impending death.

Most people's attention was focused on him.

Nobody noticed at all.

The short, thin, freckled boy, carrying his backpack, slowly moved to the small table.

Now that the distance is closer, the items scattered on the table are all clearly visible.

Their shapes are strange, but you can still roughly guess their uses or functions by judging from their shapes.

First and foremost, the most obvious thing is a square piece of paper about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, which looks quite thick and heavy, or you could call it cardboard.

On this cardboard is a blurry map, and in the very center of the map is a flat, leaden-gray arrow.

Cohen is a city I'm fairly familiar with.

I observed it carefully for a while.

You can then see the coastline and small squares outlined on the map.

It is an aerial view of the city I live in and the nearby wasteland coastline.

Besides this seemingly ordinary map, there are three other items:

They are a brown, one-meter-long wooden stick.

An arrow, about the length of a forearm, had a faint, eerie black light gleaming at its tip.

An ugly, wrinkled hat that looked like it was made of some kind of rough leather.

You can tell what it is at a glance.

But Cohen wasn't naive enough to think that what those two strange birds left behind would be so simple.

At least that arrow, with its arrowhead gleaming with a deep black sheen, was definitely unusual.

Thinking this, Cohen looked up and around to make sure no one was paying attention to him.

He then prepared to reach out and take the arrow in his hand to examine it.

Just as he touched the arrow on the table, before he could even fully pick it up and hold it in his hand...

Suddenly, a loud shout came from not far to the side.

"What are you doing, you brat?!"

Upon hearing this, Cohen was also taken aback, but he did not stop what he was doing.

Instead, he simply picked up the unusual-looking feathered arrow and stuffed it into his schoolbag.

After finishing all that, I finally had some free time and turned to look in the direction from which the sound came.

The one who spoke was the man who had tried to bite the mysterious gold coin with his teeth earlier.

At this moment, the young man with sunken cheeks and a thin figure strode over with a hateful expression on his face.

Judging from their attitude, they clearly share the same idea as Cohen.

However, Cohen beat him to it, which is why he shouted it out in a fit of embarrassment and anger.

His shout drew the attention of everyone gathered around the old priest to the small round table.

Upon noticing this scene, the gaunt young man, who had impulsively shouted out, decided to go all out.

With a determined effort, he rushed to the small round table and picked up the short stick that most resembled a weapon.

After completing this series of actions, he held the short stick he had snatched in his hand, raised it to his chest, faced the crowd looking over, and slowly retreated to the vicinity of the wall.

Although no one saw Cohen's actions just now, his blatant act of robbery was clearly visible to everyone.

At this moment, the others who had witnessed the whole thing also realized what was happening.

As they looked at each other, their gazes toward the thin, gloomy man turned hostile.

Among them, the tall, imposing Black men were the most prominent.

He immediately rubbed his hands together, twisted his neck, and approached the thin young man who had retreated to the wall:

"Kid, if you know what's good for you, give me what you have!"

"You better not make me say it a second time!"

(End of this chapter)