Land of the Lost: Chapter 3

This anecdote was not fully retranslated 100%. Only lines or word choices that were mistranslated or poor localization choices were retranslated. Revisions made are tracked in red.

Revised English

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03 | Mysterious Visitor

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The fortress that had been destroyed is gradually being repaired while the Overlord’s birthday banquet is being meticulously prepared. Even though the Overlord called off the interstellar checkpoint alert, began an inventory of spaceships in the fortress, and raised the requirements for gifts from the visiting High Lords, sitting on such an awe-inspiring, imposing throne, the Overlord’s goes unquestioned. There are just rumors that lately, the Overlord’s been tied up with a mysterious interplanetary guest.

“You lost again.” Sylus on the chessboard, a smirk of derision on his face. “You’ve already lost 97 ships. To fill them all up will require a significant amount of gifts. Can you afford it?”

“They’re merely worldly possessions…” Bound to his chair and unable to move, the Overlord forces himself to smile through clenched teeth. After all, only during a game of chess is he temporarily to himself.

“As long as you get what you want, you’ll let me go, right?”

Sylus leisurely resets the chessboard. “Compared to 97, I like the round number of 100 even more.”

Bastard!

For the first time in his rotten life, this slips into the wicked Overlord’s thoughts. But on the surface he works to maintain an eager smile. “Of—of course.”

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows lies an artificial garden. In the night, glowing eyes lurk in the shadows with the occasional impatient bestial growl floating through the air.

“This is your menagerie?” Sylus asks nonchalantly.

“Hand-picked by the High Lords from all over the land. If you’re interested, I can have them loaded onto your spaceship.”

“A cage is no place for wild animals.” He casually starts another game of chess.

As the Overlord’s birthday draws near, spaceships loaded with gifts continue to arrive, lining up at the port per the Overlord’s instructions. The High Lords flock to the fortress to pay their respects.

As they take their seats in the banquet hall, the room’s fancy, crystal chandeliers throughout the room suddenly go out. In the pitch black darkness, countless tendrils of red mist are seen to spread like frost, all-powerful and , sealing off the entire space.

Someone tries to break through the blockade, but the instant they get close to the mist, a scream of agony resounds—a chilling warning in the dark.

“Everyone.” A deep, rolling voice cuts through the anxiety from behind the Overlord’s throne. “You have yet to wish today’s star a happy birthday.”

With the sound of a match being struck, a bright red flame illuminates a sharply defined face, and pale hair that can faintly be seen in the flickering light.

Sylus casually settles at the edge of the banquet table, sticking a lit candle into the elaborately decorated cake at its center. The weak glow faintly illuminates the terror in the guests’ eyes.

“Oh, wait. I don’t know how old the Overlord is turning this year,” Sylus remarks, lightly tapping his right eyelid with his index finger.

Anyone whose mind is invaded by that mysterious power has no awareness of their surroundings. So, when the Overlord regains consciousness, he finds the High Lords imprisoned by the mist lining both sides of the banquet table, their forms barely illuminated by candlelight.

“You’ve already lived for so long, it’s hardly a big deal if you miss one birthday,” Sylus says as he scrapes some buttercream off with a dinner knife and brings it to the Overlord’s lips. “But, there won’t be any more chances in the future, it should be properly celebrated.”

“Sylus, please, spare me… I’ll give you anything…”

As the knife glides across his quivering mouth, the sickeningly sweet frosting mixes with the taste of blood, triggering a rash of painful dry heaves.

The once-invincible ruler of this dark planet is now being toyed with in a sadistic game. This scene, coupled with the name “Sylus”, continuously saps the will to resist from the previously unfettered High Lords.

“Outside… Our armies…” A High Lord struggles in his final breath.

As if in reply, a deafening explosion echoes from afar, so loud it shakes the banquet hall.

The Overlord can’t help but widen his eyes. “That direction…”

“That was the candle I set in the armory. Happy birthday.” Sylus speaks lightly, relishing the way the expressions of everyone present dim to match the surrounding gloom.

“Now it’s your turn to show some sincerity.” Sylus stands up and pats the Overlord’s shoulder. “The Overlord’s life is worth 100 ships full of treasure. Anything less than that, and you might not get to taste the Overlord’s birthday cake.”

Original Chinese