《Nirvana Game》 Prologue This morning, when I woke up and turned on the faucet, I discovered that what flowed out was blood. At the same time, a mechanical voice chimed in my ear: "Welcome to Nirvana Game. You have one minute to decide whether to begin." What game? I looked up in confusion, only to see my reflection in the mirror¡ªbleeding from every orifice, my eyes hollowed out into dark, gaping holes. Rotting chunks of flesh peeled away, plopping onto the sink. I stumbled back, heart pounding, and ran a trembling hand over my face. Then, hesitantly, I looked down¡ª My hands were clean. No blood. No decay. Maybe I was just hallucinating from too many sleepless nights. I glanced at the mirror again. Everything was normal. My face was flawless¡ªsharp suit, perfect features, the kind of man who, with glasses on, could pass as a gentlemanly villain. I let out a breath, wiped my face and cold sweat with a towel, then turned around. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Suddenly, my heel pressed down on something cold and slimy. A sharp crunch echoed¡ªit sounded like brittle bone. A chill crawled up my spine. Slowly, I lowered my gaze¡ªto a corpse on the floor. A corpse, already beginning to rot. A corpse, bleeding from every orifice, its eyes gouged out. A corpse... my corpse. "Beep." The mechanical voice chimed again. "You have 30 seconds left to decide whether to start Nirvana Game." Who am I?! Why am I here? My mind went blank. Because I realized¡ªI had completely forgotten who I was. Even my name was gone. "Beep. Ten seconds remaining." Why did I die? "Nine, eight, seven..." What is this game? "Six, five, four..." Nirvana? "Three, two..." Can it bring me back to life? "One..." "Start." I gasped, shouting at the last second, "Confirm! I confirm!" "Player identity confirmed: Sylas Turing." I could''ve sworn I heard the mechanical voice chuckle darkly. "Stage One begins." Chapter 001 - The Infinite Train 01 Chapter 001 - The Infinite Train 01 This was a train bound for an unknown destination. When I stepped through the door of my hotel room, responding to the mechanical voice that had guided me so far, I expected to find something¡ªanything¡ªthat explained what was happening. Instead, I found myself here. Inside the train, the warmth was almost suffocating, wrapping around me like an artificial embrace. Outside, the world was nothing but an endless storm of wind and snow, a desolate white void stretching beyond sight. The contrast was unsettling. It felt as if this train was the only thing left in existence, cutting through a frozen purgatory without beginning or end. I settled into my seat by the window, watching as snow-covered fields blurred past, punctuated by the occasional power line or signal station. I waited, expecting the mechanical voice to return with new instructions. But no instructions came. One day passed. Then another. Then a third. The train rumbled on, following some unseen path. Everything around me functioned as it should¡ªthe passengers chatting softly, the attendants moving through the aisles with their trolleys, the occasional station announcement. If I hadn¡¯t known better, I might have convinced myself that I was just another traveler on an ordinary train. But something was wrong. On the fourth day, the announcement finally came: ¡°Dear passengers, we have arrived at Coldwind Station One. Please take your belongings and valuables and exit from the right-side doors in the train¡¯s forward direction. Mind the gap between the train and the platform as you disembark.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. A chill ran down my spine. Not because no one was boarding¡ªonly disembarking¡ªbut because I had heard this exact announcement before. On the first day. I quickly pulled out a napkin and the ballpoint pen I had borrowed from an attendant, scribbling down the words: ¡°Coldwind Station One.¡± I needed to keep track. Needed proof that I wasn¡¯t imagining things. And so I waited, watching the stations come and go, noting down each name. Three more days passed. I had the full route now: Coldwind Station One, Coldwind Station Two, Coldwind Station Three, Coldwind Station Four, Coldwind Station Five, Noah Station One, Noah Station Two, Noah Station Three, Riverplain Station, Moby Station, Waterbloom Station, Uss Station, and Serco Station. Thirteen stops in total. And then, on the twelfth day¡ªmy third cycle¡ªI found myself staring at the sign outside the window once more: Coldwind Station One. We were looping. I had spent the past twelve days combing through every carriage, searching for anything out of place. But the problem wasn¡¯t that something was wrong. It was that everything was too perfect. Too normal. The train ran with pristine efficiency. The meals were neatly pre-packaged, their labels listing standardized manufacturers, storage instructions, expiration dates¡ª That¡¯s when I noticed it. The dates were moving backward. Not by much. A day here, a few hours there. But enough to be impossible. If this train had no origin, if we were never stopping long enough for proper resupply, where was the food coming from? And if the food was somehow being replenished¡­ then maybe, just maybe, there was a way off this train. I had to find out. And more than that¡ªI had to get out. Chapter 002 - The Infinite Train 02 Chapter 002 - The Infinite Train 02 As I once again attempted to make my way to the very end of the carriage, a voice called out to me. A man¡¯s voice. It carried an air of casual curiosity, yet I sensed an underlying sharpness, a quiet calculation behind it. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to be a player too, would you?¡± I stopped, turning to face him. He was younger than me, though not by much. Lean build, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the kind of guy you might pass on the street and forget the next moment¡ªexcept for the way he watched me, eyes dark and observant, picking me apart like a puzzle he was halfway through solving. Seeing my guarded expression, he raised his hands in mock surrender. ¡°Relax. I¡¯ve seen you pacing back and forth at least four or five times these past few days. No one else on this train does that¡ªexcept the staff.¡± I didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, I crossed the narrow aisle, pouring myself a glass of vodka from the half-empty bottle on the table. The burn of the liquor was a welcome contrast to the stale, recycled air of the carriage. ¡°What day did you board?¡± I asked. ¡°Twenty-five days ago.¡± I swirled the vodka in my glass, keeping my expression neutral. ¡°What a coincidence. Same here. I woke up to the damn mechanical voice dumping me into this place, like a bad joke with no punchline.¡± His brow lifted slightly, as if gauging the truth in my words. ¡°Do you remember your name?¡± he asked. ¡°Or did that damn robotic voice just throw you in here without one?¡± I smirked at that. ¡°Good question. What about you?¡± He seemed to consider for a moment before answering. ¡°The system initialized and gave me one.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Elliot Vance.¡± I repeated it under my breath, testing the weight of the syllables. ¡°Sounds deliberate. Like it means something.¡± Elliot let out a short chuckle, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Maybe. Or maybe it¡¯s just another label. Either way, it¡¯s mine now.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°And you?¡± ¡°Sylas Turing.¡± Recognition flickered across his face for the briefest moment, gone almost as soon as it appeared. We both knew names could be meaningless here¡ªor they could be everything. We exchanged information. Fragmented observations. Small, strange inconsistencies we¡¯d both noticed but hadn¡¯t yet pieced together into a coherent answer. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The train began slowing, the rhythmic clatter of metal against the tracks shifting into a dull hum as we pulled into another station. Elliot suddenly asked, ¡°Have you ever stepped out when the doors open?¡± I glanced toward the carriage entrance. The station beyond was barely visible through the frosted windows. ¡°I¡¯ve looked,¡± I admitted. ¡°Never stepped out. You?¡± Elliot hesitated for just a second before replying, ¡°Once. Just to see.¡± His fingers tapped absently against the tabletop, a slow, methodical pattern. ¡°The platform is isolated,¡± he continued. ¡°No roads. No paths leading away. Just an endless snowstorm stretching in every direction.¡± A cold weight settled in my gut. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± He shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s a slaughterhouse. And a kitchen.¡± The weight turned to ice. Elliot reached out, clasping my shoulder in a firm grip, his fingers like iron. ¡°Don¡¯t eat the meat the attendants bring you.¡± As if on cue, a cheerful voice interrupted our conversation. ¡°Gentlemen, your lunch for today.¡± A train attendant stood before us, all polite smiles, setting down two meal boxes with an almost robotic efficiency. The label on mine read: Steak and potato rice bowl. Elliot watched me carefully as I peeled back the lid. A fragrant, familiar scent greeted me¡ªsavory, well-seasoned, perfectly normal. But the meat... It looked wrong. Something about the texture. The color. The way it glistened under the dim overhead lights. Elliot didn¡¯t touch his. After a brief pause, I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite. He exhaled sharply. ¡°Huh. Doesn¡¯t disgust you?¡± I pushed his meal toward him. ¡°It¡¯s for warmth. We need to keep our strength up. You should eat too.¡± Elliot didn¡¯t move. I turned toward the window, watching the endless flurry of snow rush past. White. Unbroken. Swallowing everything in its path. A boundless winter meant no roads. No travel. No civilization. No way to survive. I chuckled, low and quiet. ¡°Do you think this is real?¡± Elliot¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn¡¯t answer. He didn¡¯t have to. I took another bite, chewing deliberately, tasting the weight of the moment more than the food itself. ¡°If this isn¡¯t real, then what¡¯s there to be disgusted by? What¡¯s there to fear?¡± Elliot¡¯s grip on his chopsticks tightened. I met his gaze, unwavering. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on finding clues. We need to get out of here.¡± Chapter 003 - The Infinite Train 03 Chapter 003 - The Infinite Train 03 I had a long discussion with Elliot that night, the rhythmic clatter of the train on its endless tracks serving as our only constant. We both reached the same conclusion: To end this game, we had two choices¡ªescape or die. But where was there to escape to? The train had no final destination, no terminus, no end in sight. Beyond the platforms, there were no roads, no civilization, nothing but a barren, howling wasteland of snow and ice. Every time the doors opened, the wind howled through like a starving beast, eager to sink its fangs into exposed flesh. Day Thirteen. That was the day the conductor finally showed himself. He was a heavyset man, middle-aged, with a gruff voice and the air of someone who had long since stopped caring. When he stepped into the carriage, conversation stilled. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± he announced, his voice carrying over the muted chatter. ¡°I sincerely apologize, but our fuel reserves are running low. Starting tomorrow, the heating will only be turned on at night.¡± A slow chill crawled up my spine. The temperature outside was well below freezing, and inside, we weren¡¯t much better off. I looked down at my thin dress shirt and slacks. Without heat, we wouldn¡¯t last long. My fingers tapped against the cold glass table as I weighed my options. Then I turned to the stewardess standing by the door. ¡°Are there blankets on board?¡± She offered a polite, professional smile. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Bring me two,¡± I said. She hesitated, glancing toward the conductor, who had barely finished his speech. ¡°Sir, if you could wait until¡ª¡± ¡°I want them now.¡± I slammed my glass down. The impact sent a ripple through the vodka, a few drops spilling onto the table. The sharp sound cut through the uneasy quiet of the carriage. Something in my expression must have unsettled her because she hurried off without another word. When she returned, she carried two thick duvets. I took them without thanks. ¡°I¡¯ll also need two blankets,¡± I said evenly. She flinched. ¡°Sir, I¡ª¡± ¡°My knees,¡± I interrupted smoothly. ¡°Bad joints. The cold makes it worse. That a problem?¡± ¡°N-No, of course not. I¡¯ll get them right away.¡± Elliot, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, let out a quiet chuckle as I tossed one of the duvets toward him. ¡°Nice theatrics,¡± he murmured. I ignored him, lowering my voice. ¡°Stop enjoying the show. Tomorrow¡ªmaybe the day after¡ªthis train is going to turn violent.¡± His amusement faded. ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± I leaned back, running a hand over the fabric of the duvet, testing its weight. ¡°I counted the supplies on my first day. Each carriage has only five duvets. Five blankets. That¡¯s it.¡± Elliot frowned. He knew as well as I did that the passengers on this train weren¡¯t quite¡­ normal. Most drifted through the days like NPCs in a badly coded game, following their routines with an eerie, mechanical consistency. But they still felt cold. They still got hungry. And survival had a way of making even the most passive of beings desperate. ¡°They¡¯re starting to ration supplies,¡± I murmured. ¡°And when people start realizing there¡¯s not enough to go around¡­¡± I met Elliot¡¯s gaze. His expression turned grim. ¡°They¡¯ll tear each other apart.¡± Chapter 004 - The Infinite Train 04 Chapter 004 - The Infinite Train 04 The next morning, I woke up to the kind of cold that gnawed at the bones. The kind that made it hard to tell if you were shivering from the chill or something worse. And to the sound of shouting. Car No. 5 housed sixteen people. More than half of them were elderly, women, or children¡ªnon-threats. Only one passenger stood out. A giant of a man. Tall and thick-set, with broad shoulders and a belly like a sumo wrestler. He had his dark, greasy hair tied in a short topknot, which made him look even more imposing. His clothes were thin, just like the rest of us, but his sheer bulk probably gave him some resistance against the cold. He was dangerous¡ªnot just because of his size, but because of his expression. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no second-guessing, just hunger. Not for food, but for control. He didn''t target Elliot or me. Maybe he thought two grown men weren¡¯t worth the trouble. Instead, he went for a young girl, small and rail-thin. She clutched a threadbare blanket around her shoulders as if it were her last defense against the world. The man reached down, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it away. "Stupid bitch! Should¡¯ve handed it over sooner." The girl staggered backward, her frail body slamming into the glass table. Her forehead hit the edge with a dull thud, and crimson immediately bloomed across her pale skin. She didn¡¯t cry out, just whimpered softly, curling into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees. I flexed my fingers, rubbing warmth back into them. The heating was really gone. The wind howled outside, slipping through the cracks in the train like an invisible predator. Even wrapped in a duvet, I felt the sharp bite of cold against my skin. Across from me, Elliot was already awake. He lounged on the seat, wrapped snugly in his own duvet, chin propped up in one hand, watching the scene unfold with vague amusement. When he noticed me stir, he smirked lazily. ¡°Morning.¡± I ignored him, pushing myself up with a sigh. It was impossible to go back to sleep now. Tossing off my blanket, I called out, ¡°Hey, girl!¡± She flinched as if expecting another blow. ¡°I¡ªI won¡¯t make a sound! I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°I¡¯m not scolding you.¡± I waved her over and tossed my duvet in her direction. ¡°Wrap up in this. We¡¯ll share warmth.¡± Elliot raised an eyebrow but made room as the girl hesitated before hesitantly scooting closer, clutching the duvet around herself. Testing the waters, I asked, ¡°You here for the game too?¡± She blinked at me, confused. ¡°Game? What game?¡± I frowned. ¡°Your name?¡± ¡°One-three-seven,¡± she murmured hesitantly. ¡°That¡¯s what they call me. One-three-seven.¡± Elliot and I exchanged a glance. We didn¡¯t need words to understand each other¡ªthis was important. The other passengers had names. Real names. Even if they were assigned, they were names. But this girl¡­ she was just a number. A variable. Later, when she was in the bathroom, I muttered to Elliot, ¡°We should prepare. Just in case.¡± ¡°For what?¡± He leaned against the window, staring at the white abyss beyond like he was basking in nonexistent sunlight. ¡°An alliance. Two people aren¡¯t enough.¡± I kept my voice low. ¡°There are still plenty of grown men onboard.¡± Elliot hummed nonchalantly. ¡°Not that many. This train has exactly three hundred forty-seven passengers. Only fifty-one of them are adult men. In our carriage, there are four¡ªyou, me, sumo guy, and that businessman with the briefcase. At night, the doors between carriages lock. We¡¯re actually pretty safe.¡± I smiled, sharp and humorless. ¡°You sure about that?¡± Elliot hesitated. The next morning, I woke up to the smell of blood. And to the sight of the second corpse I¡¯d encountered since this nightmare began. The sumo man was dead. A dinner knife was lodged deep in his throat, severing his windpipe and vocal cords. His right eye was gone¡ªstabbed out, leaving a deep, oozing cavity. Blood had pooled beneath his bulk, staining the carpeted floor. A steward stood nearby, entirely unfazed, whistling a soft tune as he dragged the body out onto the platform. Just another routine cleanup. I exhaled through my nose. And the blanket? The one sumo had stolen? Now draped over the shoulders of an old woman sitting calmly in the corner, sipping her tea. Her fingers were still wet with blood. She caught me staring, rolled her eyes, and scoffed. Elliot let out a low whistle beside me. ¡°Well, that¡¯s one way to redistribute resources.¡± I didn¡¯t answer. I just pulled my duvet a little tighter around me. This train was turning into a battlefield. And it was only just beginning. Chapter 005 - The Infinite Train 05 Chapter 005 - The Infinite Train 05 I turned to Elliot, keeping my voice low but firm. "You were on watch last night. What did you see?" Elliot swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the way it clung to the sides before taking a slow sip. "We''re allies. That gives us an advantage¡ªbetter observation, better defense. So yes, I''d say we''re still safe." I let out a dry chuckle. "Safe, huh?" The sumo man had been alive yesterday. Now he was a corpse, his blood scrubbed from the floor, his blanket draped over a woman who had murder in her fingertips. If that was safety, I¡¯d hate to see danger. I pulled the blanket over my head, deciding that sleep was the better option. By the time I woke again, the light filtering through the train windows was dull and gray¡ªmidday. The air smelled faintly of something savory, and the sharp, empty pang of hunger twisted in my gut. There was a single plate of food on the table¡ªa dish of stir-fried pork with garlic sauce, and nothing else. No rice. No soup. Just meat, slick with oil. My brow furrowed. "Where¡¯s my morning milk?" I asked, my voice flat but edged with suspicion. "Did you drink it?" Elliot didn¡¯t answer immediately. His expression was darker than usual, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the rim of his glass. Finally, after a pause, he said, "There was no breakfast. You were right. They¡¯ve started rationing. This," he gestured toward the meal in front of me, "was the only thing delivered. And if I had to guess, there won¡¯t be any dinner either." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. I leaned lazily against the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow-covered tracks. "Guess? Why are we guessing?" Without waiting for a response, I pressed the service button several times, the sharp, repetitive chime cutting through the thick tension in the air. It didn¡¯t take long before a nervous-looking attendant appeared. "Breakfast is no longer provided, correct?" I asked, my tone neutral but firm. Elliot sighed beside me. "..." The attendant hesitated, clearly recalling my previous interactions. "Y-Yes, sir. That¡¯s correct." "And dinner?" Another pause. "...Also unavailable," she admitted, quickly adding, "Sir, I assure you, it¡¯s due to supply shortages. We kindly ask for your understanding. If you feel uncomfortable, you may take a break at the station during our stops. The station is heated 24/7 and offers food and rest facilities." I nodded slowly, watching her retreat before turning back to Elliot. He was still staring at the table, his fingers lightly drumming against the surface, lost in thought. "We need to find a way off this train," I said between bites, eating as fast as I could. "If we stay, we either starve or get killed. The cold burns through too many calories, and one meal a day won¡¯t sustain us." Elliot lifted his gaze to meet mine, considering my words. "The train stops aren¡¯t long enough. The longest halt I¡¯ve seen was five minutes. If you don¡¯t get back on, it leaves without you." Five minutes. I exhaled slowly, calculating in my head. That wasn¡¯t much time. But maybe, just maybe, it was enough. Outside the window, the world was a white blur, an endless wasteland of snow and ice. The train rattled on, consuming its dwindling resources, dragging us all toward an uncertain fate. And if we didn¡¯t act soon, we¡¯d be just as consumed as the fuel running out in its engines. Chapter 006 - The Infinite Train 06 Chapter 006 - The Infinite Train 06 Five minutes wasn¡¯t enough time to scout an escape route. Barely enough to glimpse the edges of a mystery. The moment the train groaned to a halt, I stepped off. This was Noah Station No. 3. The platform stretched in a grand, curving arc, reminiscent of its namesake¡ªNoah¡¯s Ark. On the left, a waiting lounge, a restaurant, and a grand hall dominated the space. At the far end, the exit gates loomed, their heavy locks an unmistakable warning. Here and there, makeshift souvenir stalls cluttered the open spaces, merchants peddling trinkets no traveler truly needed. To the right, I spotted a fuel supply station, a waste disposal center, and¡ªoddly¡ªa small internet caf¨¦. Five minutes passed in a blur of cold wind and hurried glances. I had no time to enter any of the buildings. Elliot¡¯s sharp tug at my arm forced me back onto the train just before the doors slid shut. I staggered into the carriage, my body trembling from the biting cold. No. 137 saw me shivering and immediately draped a blanket over my shoulders. ¡°Did you find anything?¡± she asked, her voice hushed, urgent. ¡°No,¡± Elliot answered before I could. Then, turning to me, he added, ¡°Next stop is Riverplain Station. The station layouts seem identical. We only have time to check one place. Where do we start?¡± ¡°The internet caf¨¦.¡± Elliot¡¯s brow creased. ¡°Why?¡± I took a slow sip of the last remnants of strong liquor, letting the heat thaw the ice in my veins. ¡°Because a normal train station wouldn¡¯t have an internet caf¨¦. A waiting lounge, a restaurant, even a souvenir stall¡ªall of that makes sense. The fuel station and waste disposal center? Logical, considering a train running in a loop would need them. But an internet caf¨¦? That¡¯s out of place.¡± Elliot studied me for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Good point. We¡¯re both going?¡± I nodded and turned to No. 137. ¡°Stay on the train. Watch our stuff. If we don¡¯t make it back in time, do whatever it takes to keep that door open.¡± She hesitated, then nodded determinedly. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± Elliot, however, sighed, glancing between us. ¡°Are we sure she¡¯s¡­ capable of that?¡± I shrugged. ¡°No idea.¡± No. 137 clenched her fists, whispering, ¡°I¡¯ll do my best¡­¡± Three hours later, Riverplain Station emerged from the snow-blurred horizon. The sky burned crimson as the sun bled into the jagged silhouette of mountains. It was beautiful, in the way a dying ember is¡ªglowing, fragile, ominous. We had no time to stare. The moment the doors hissed open, we bolted for the internet caf¨¦. A lanky young man with a buzz cut greeted us, his grin stretched wide. ¡°How long do you wanna stay?¡± Still catching my breath, I swept my gaze across the room. ¡°Overnight price?¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Three hundred dollars,¡± he said cheerfully. ¡°Planning to stay the night?¡± A cold knot twisted in my gut. Not because of the price. Because every single desktop was powered on, screens glowing with the default WinXP wallpaper¡ªa blue sky over a rolling green hill. The light flickered strangely, shadows shifting on the walls. Yet¡­ Not a single person sat at any of the stations. The entire caf¨¦ was empty. The manager¡¯s grin didn¡¯t waver as he leaned closer, the bluish glow reflecting eerily off his face. ¡°So? Staying or not?¡± Elliot cut in smoothly. ¡°Can we put it on a tab? We didn¡¯t bring cash.¡± The smile vanished. The man¡¯s voice sharpened. ¡°No money? Trying to freeload? Get out! Go beg at the restaurant if you want a free meal!¡± While they argued, I moved swiftly through the rows of computers, scanning each screen. Every single one displayed the same, unchanging desktop¡ªno open windows, no login prompts. Nothing. ¡°Time¡¯s up,¡± Elliot called, glancing at his watch. ¡°Ninety seconds left.¡± I stole one last glance around the room. The manager¡¯s shouting grew harsher, edged with impatience. Annoyed, I slammed my palm onto the nearest keyboard. ¡°Fine, we¡¯re leaving! Quit nagging already!¡± For a single, frozen second, silence settled. Then¡ª The computers flickered. One by one, screens blacked out, plunging the caf¨¦ into total darkness. Then, just as suddenly, the first monitor blinked back to life. A single line of text glowed in stark white: Pay attention to the station name!!! A second screen lit up, displaying the same warning: Pay attention to the station name!!! Then another. And another. The entire caf¨¦ erupted in a chaotic chorus of beeping monitors, each flashing the same, frantic message. My breath caught. I reached for the keyboard, desperate to type, to test, to¡ª ¡°Shit,¡± Elliot cursed, yanking me backward. ¡°Thirty seconds left. Move!¡± The loudspeakers blared: ¡°Doors closing in twenty seconds.¡± We ran. Snow crunched beneath our boots, every step slower than I wanted. Ten seconds. Five. As the doors began to slide shut, we flung ourselves forward, tumbling onto the train in a breathless heap. And landed face-to-face with No. 137. I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why are you clinging to the steward?¡± No. 137¡¯s eyes were wet with unshed tears. She quickly released the flustered steward. ¡°I-I was trying to keep her from closing the doors!¡± I smirked, dragging myself onto a seat. ¡°She¡¯s a steward. She doesn¡¯t control the doors.¡± No. 137 blinked, her expression crumbling into confusion. ¡°But¡­ you told me¡ª¡± ¡°Just messing with you,¡± I chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re too gullible.¡± Elliot coughed pointedly, clearly unimpressed. ¡°Let¡¯s focus.¡± I leaned back, stretching as the warmth of the carriage seeped into my frozen limbs. My breath steadied. My mind did not. I stared at the frost-bitten window, at the crimson sky fading into the ink of night. ¡°Alright,¡± I murmured, my voice edged with a new sense of urgency. ¡°Let¡¯s analyze this.¡± Chapter 007 - The Infinite Train 07 The train car was oppressively silent at night, the kind of stillness that made every breath feel too loud. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks had become background noise, blending into the thick, suffocating quiet. Only six of us remained in the carriage. Besides the three of us and the old woman who had so casually taken the life of the young man with the braid, there were just two others: a company employee clutching a briefcase and a small child, his fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his oversized coat. The company employee sat rigidly upright, his knuckles white against the leather of his case, while the child shrank into his seat as if hoping to disappear entirely. The others shot wary glances in our direction, their movements stiff with unease. Clearly, we unsettled them. Lowering my voice, I murmured to Elliot, "I think this is the game giving us¡­ a sign. Dropping us here with no instructions, no hints¡ªit¡¯s too deliberate, too unnatural. Like it wants to see how we react." Elliot exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on his sleeve. "Pay attention to the station names¡­" He read them aloud, his brow furrowing. After a pause, he said, "Next stop: Moby Station. It arrives at midnight. Do we get off?" I pressed my lips together before answering. "Of course we do." My gaze swept between the two of them. "Have you heard of the M?bius strip?" I reached for the stiff paper menu, tearing off a long, narrow strip about an inch wide. Twisting it 180 degrees, I carefully joined the ends together, forming a peculiar loop. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Holding it up for them to see, I explained, "This is a M?bius strip, discovered by the German mathematician M?bius. It only has one continuous surface. If you start walking along it, you¡¯ll never reach an end¡ªit just keeps going, infinitely." Elliot¡¯s voice was barely above a whisper. "Like this train. Always moving. Never stopping." "And look at the station names," I continued. "They¡¯ve split ¡®M?bius¡¯ into ¡®Moby Station¡¯ and ¡®Uss Station.¡¯ That can¡¯t be a coincidence. And in between them, there¡¯s ¡®Waterbloom Station.¡¯" I frowned, my eyes drifting to the frost on the window, melting in ghostly streaks beneath the cabin¡¯s warmth. "What exactly is waterbloom?" No. 137, clearly struggling to keep up with the conversation, scratched her head. "Is that something you can eat?" Elliot let out a long-suffering sigh. "...You¡¯re thinking of water caltrops." "Waterbloom can be edible too," I cut in, unwilling to let the topic derail us any further. "But let¡¯s worry about that later. Look ahead." A warm glow flickered to life in the distance, pooling like molten gold in the darkness. It wavered slightly, as if the light itself was unsure of its own existence. The station¡¯s lights. The train, meant to arrive at midnight, was pulling in early. Moby Station. Elliot and I exchanged glances, and in his eyes, I saw the same sinking weight I felt in my chest. The automated station announcement crackled to life, hollow and mechanical, its distorted words sending a chill down my spine. I exhaled, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter. "Let¡¯s go." Chapter 008 - The Infinite Train 08 Chapter 008 - The Infinite Train 08 Even though the train arrived two hours ahead of schedule, our stop still lasted only five minutes. This time, Elliot and I split up¡ªhe went to scout the lounge while I checked the dining hall. The dining hall was eerily pristine. Tables gleamed under the overhead lights, glass counters reflected a sterile brightness, and decorative mirrors gave the illusion of a larger space. A few passengers sat in near silence, heads down as they ate. The air smelled faintly of broth and something richer¡ªsomething I couldn¡¯t quite place. A neatly dressed waiter approached with a professional smile. ¡°Sir, are you staying overnight or dining?¡± Staying overnight? That was the second time I¡¯d heard that phrase. The internet caf¨¦ attendant had said the same thing earlier. So spending the night at the station meant something. Something I probably didn¡¯t want to know. I kept my voice even. ¡°Dining.¡± The chef gave me a polite smile, pulling out a chair with exaggerated hospitality. ¡°Please wait a moment. I¡¯ll prepare your meal.¡± The moment he turned away, I subtly rose from my seat, ensuring no one was watching, and followed him at a distance. A quick glance at my watch¡ªtwo minutes gone. That left me two and a half. To the side of the kitchen, I spotted a restroom. I ducked inside, turned on the sink to mask any noise, and pried open the vent connecting to the kitchen. The moment the vent loosened, a thick, metallic stench poured out. Blood. My stomach twisted. I held my breath, but the foul, coppery odor forced its way into my lungs. Swallowing hard, I peered through the narrow gap¡ª And found myself staring straight into a pair of lifeless eyes. A severed head dangled from a triangular hook just two meters away. Recognition slammed into me like a freight train. I knew this man. I¡¯d seen him just days ago. His long braid was still intact, but his eyes were frozen wide in shock. Blood dripped sluggishly from the jagged stump where his neck had been severed. My gaze flicked further to the right. Under dim yellow lighting, a conveyor system of metal hooks slowly rotated, moving counterclockwise. Bodies¡ªor what remained of them¡ªhung from the hooks. Thighs, forearms, hands, feet. Carved apart with brutal precision. Like a slaughterhouse. Except here, the ones being butchered weren¡¯t livestock. They were people. My breath hitched. My pulse pounded against my ribs. Just as I tried to steady myself, something shifted in my periphery. Another pair of eyes. Closer. Right in front of me. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Bloodshot. Wrinkled skin below the lower lids. The chef£¡ He was staring straight at me£¡ ¡°What,¡± he whispered, voice razor-sharp, ¡°are you looking at?£¡¡± Cold terror slammed through my veins. I forced my muscles to obey, counted to three in my head¡ªthen, with a flick of my wrist, I drove the dining knife in my grip straight into his right eye. His shriek was inhuman. The sound of flesh tearing, of bone cracking, of a body stumbling backward. I ran. Behind me, footsteps pounded against the floor. I glanced back¡ªthe chef, his face a mask of blood, clutched his ruined eye with one hand. In the other, he gripped a gleaming cleaver. His expression contorted with rage, mouth twisted in a furious snarl. He looked like something that had crawled out of hell itself. I tore through the dining hall, yanking tablecloths as I passed, sending dishes and silverware crashing to the ground in my wake. When he got too close, I snatched up a heavy serving tray and hurled it at him. The second I reached the exit, I bolted into the freezing night, my boots slipping on the icy platform as I stumbled toward the train. I lunged inside just as the doors slid shut behind me. Even back in my seat, my skin crawled. My stomach twisted with nausea. ¡°Fuck£¡¡± I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. Elliot, having just returned, caught sight of my face and frowned. ¡°What the hell happened? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± I didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, my eyes flicked to the window. Just beyond the white boundary line, barely ten meters away, the chef stood motionless. He was staring at us. His breathing ragged, his body trembling with rage. But he didn¡¯t step forward. Couldn¡¯t. Something held him back. He swayed slightly in place, his grip tightening on the cleaver, his frustration evident in the way his shoulders heaved. I forced myself to remain still, slowly reaching up to pull the window curtain shut. Then, exhaling through gritted teeth, I gave Elliot a condensed version of what I¡¯d just seen. No. 137¡¯s eyes went wide with horror. She clapped a hand over her mouth. ¡°You mean¡­ that huge guy who stole my blanket¡­ he was butchered? And the chef¡ªhe was going to¡ªwas he turning him into¡ªoh my god. Then what the hell were we eating?!¡± Elliot, however, didn¡¯t look particularly surprised. ¡°I had my suspicions,¡± he admitted. ¡°The number of passengers has been dropping¡ªsome get off, some¡­ die. But the number of people at the stations hasn¡¯t changed much.¡± He hesitated before adding, ¡°I checked the lounge, but nothing new stood out. If anything, the only difference is in the station¡¯s structure. The windows and doors here are made of glass, unlike the aluminum ones at Coldwind and Noah Station. Glass is weaker¡­ but I tried hitting it with a knife. Didn¡¯t break.¡± He glanced at me, lowering his voice slightly. ¡°You¡¯re thinking something, aren¡¯t you?¡± Chapter 009 - The Infinite Train 09 Chapter 009 - The Infinite Train 09 The warmth in the dead of night felt like a fleeting indulgence¡ªone that only served to highlight the bone-deep chill lingering in my fingers. Rubbing my hands together, I spoke slowly, my breath curling in the cold air. "Before we reached Moby Station, we were talking about the M?bius strip, weren¡¯t we? I meant to say it then¡ªif a M?bius strip is severed, it means the end of an infinite loop. So..." "Could Waterbloom Station, the one between Moby and Uss Station, be the key?" No. 137 frowned, tracing circles on the frost-laced window. "But isn¡¯t ¡®waterbloom¡¯ just a plant? Doesn¡¯t sound particularly interesting. The only plants we¡¯ve seen on this train are the ones they hand out¡ªcarrots, cilantro, leafy greens, bean sprouts." She paused, watching as the frost melted and trickled down like teardrops. "Or... could it mean frost flowers?" She leaned closer, studying the delicate, crystalline formations dissolving before her eyes. "Doesn¡¯t seem like it, either..." "And the final stop, ¡®Serco Station,¡¯ is likely a transliteration of ¡®circle¡¯¡ªan endless loop," Elliot mused, his gaze sharp as he mapped out the connections in his mind. "Which means, like you, I believe the key lies in Waterbloom Station. That¡¯s our next stop." I glanced at the schedule. "Two hours to go." He nodded once. "Get some rest. I¡¯ll keep watch." The station announcement jolted me awake two hours later. My skin was damp with cold sweat, my breath uneven. Instinct took over. Without hesitation, Elliot and I stepped off the train. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. We had five minutes¡ªjust five¡ªto uncover something, anything, that could break this cycle. But the moment our feet touched the platform, a suffocating sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu settled over us. Waterbloom Station was a perfect replica of Moby Station. The same layout. The same partitioned glass, catching the dim station lights and refracting them into a disorienting maze of reflections. A funhouse illusion designed to keep us lost. And beyond that, Uss Station was no different. A loop. A carefully crafted, inescapable loop. We had known something was off, had pinpointed exactly where the wrongness lay, yet the answer remained just out of reach. Each station stood alone, an isolated island amidst an endless blizzard. The cliffs loomed high and merciless, swallowing any notion of escape. There was no way in. No way out. The only thing threading these forsaken places together was the train, its wheels grinding over the tracks, shuttling passengers and cargo through an ever-repeating cycle of nowhere. Day 37. The train attendant approached with an apologetic smile stretched too thin, as if it might crack under the weight of reality. "Dear passengers, we sincerely apologize. Our supplies are running low. From this point forward, meals will only be distributed once every three days. We appreciate your understanding." A silence heavier than the storm outside settled over the car. I leaned toward Elliot and murmured, "At this rate, more people will be forced off the train. I don¡¯t know exactly what happens when you spend the night at a station, but whatever it is, it can¡¯t be good. It¡¯s a death sentence." My fingers grazed the side of the nearly empty meal box beside me. "And as for us¡­ we probably have just one last loop left." Chapter 010 - The Infinite Train 10 Chapter 010 - The Infinite Train 10 No meals were provided today. The train would pass through five stations¡ªfrom Coldwind Station One to Coldwind Station Five. Elliot looked at me and asked, ¡°Are we really going to get off just to search for clues?¡± Every time we confronted the biting cold, our bodies expended enormous amounts of energy. And with no daytime heating¡ªforced to rely solely on our own warmth¡ªthe meager food rations were woefully insufficient. To make matters worse, that scheming old woman in our carriage watched us with unmistakable malice. ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± I said through gritted teeth. ¡°You stay and conserve your strength.¡± He raised an eyebrow in surprise. ¡°Alone?¡± ¡°Who else is there?¡± Just then, No. 137 hesitantly murmured, ¡°I¡ªI can go too¡­¡± I paused, ¡°¡­¡± I sighed, ¡°With those tiny arms and legs, do you really think you can make a round trip in five minutes? Just stay on board.¡± In the end, I was the only one who stepped off. I sprinted toward the station hall, where a thick door sealed the exit. Beyond it lay a snowbound wasteland, battered by the howling northern wind. I scoured every inch of the hall for waterblooms¡ªexamining every carved detail, every decorative motif. Yet, I found nothing. After five desperate trips, hunger gnawed at me, yet I still managed to salvage a few items¡ªa dining knife, a metal tin, and a small glass bottle¡ªanything that might serve as a weapon. I feigned weakness, prompting Elliot to volunteer to search for clues at stations from Noah Station One to Noah Station Three. I nodded, set aside my half-eaten meal, and wrapped myself in a blanket to rest and regain my strength. During the five-minute window when Elliot was off the train, I maintained a lazy, half-asleep guise. No. 137, unwilling to wake me, kept a nervous vigil. Suddenly, she screamed, ¡°Sylas¡ª!¡± A sharp scraping sound shattered the silence; I snapped awake and flung the glass bottle aside. Amid the cacophony of shattering glass, I subdued the culprit and, arching an amused eyebrow, quipped, ¡°Auntie, you really know how to stab¡ªneck first, then the eyes? Not even varying your technique?¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. It was that old woman, clutching a sharp knife and flailing wildly, still determined to kill me. Without hesitation, I wrested the knife from her and plunged it into her palm, pinning her hand to the floor. Her hoarse, shrill screams filled the air. Growing impatient, I warned, ¡°Keep this up and I¡¯ll chop your hand off.¡± Outside, the dim station lights cast a sickly glow into the dark carriage, where blood trickled along the floorboards. The old woman fell silent, her body trembling in small, pitiful spasms. While waiting for Elliot to return, I kept her restrained. Bored, I said casually, ¡°Let me ask you something¡ªanswer correctly, and I won¡¯t kill you; otherwise¡­¡± I drew my knife and tapped it lightly against her neck. ¡°What is waterbloom?¡± I asked. ¡°Waterbloom?¡± she gasped in pain. ¡°You mean the kind that grows in fields?¡± ¡°No kidding¡ªwe all know that.¡± Her gaunt face contorted as her eyes darted wildly. Then, as if struck by a revelation, she blurted, ¡°I remember now¡ªwaterbloom can also mean a mirror! Isn¡¯t there a Waterbloom Station? I bet it¡¯s filled with mirrors, which is why it got that name!¡± She continued cautiously, ¡°Right? You all saw them when you got off at the station, didn¡¯t you? Now, will you let me go?¡± Waterbloom¡­ a mirror? I hadn¡¯t expected to extract any useful information from her ramblings¡ªthis was an unexpected bonus. I kept my word and released her as soon as Elliot returned. She scrambled back to her seat as if her life depended on it, frantically trying to bandage her wounds. Elliot scanned the area in disbelief, patted the shivering No. 137, and asked, ¡°Did she attack you?¡± ¡°I disabled her hand,¡± I replied with a nod, then asked deliberately, ¡°Elliot, do you remember how the hall at Waterbloom Station was filled with glass and scattered crystals everywhere?¡± He answered, ¡°I remember. I even tapped them with a knife¡ªthey were so sturdy, nearly unbreakable.¡± I leaned in, my voice barely audible over the hum of the train¡¯s engines, ¡°Was there a door whose glass had an unusually high reflectivity¡ªalmost like a mirror?¡± Chapter 011 - The Infinite Train 11 Chapter 011 - The Infinite Train 11 Elliot fell into a moment of recollection, clearly uncertain. After a pause, he finally asked, ¡°What made you bring that up all of a sudden?¡± ¡°That old woman just said that ¡®Waterbloom¡¯ means ¡®mirror¡¯,¡± I replied, tapping the glass bottle, dining knife, metal plate, and assorted objects scattered on the table. ¡°If among all these glass surfaces there¡¯s one that acts like a mirror, that¡¯s the door we¡¯re looking for¡ªthe door that severs the M?bius strip and lets us escape.¡± Elliot paused, then said, ¡°There are plenty of glass surfaces¡ªmore than just one mirror.¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He sat down and spoke slowly, ¡°In the dining hall, the kitchen, at the sinks, in the changing rooms¡ªglass is everywhere. Even the hall is lined with it. But can you pinpoint which one is the mirror? We only have five minutes.¡± I answered, ¡°No, we have an entire night.¡± He looked at me and asked, ¡°You want to get off and spend the night at the station?¡± I tapped the nearly empty meal box with my fingertips and said, ¡°Do you really think we¡¯ll have enough supplies to survive the next cycle? Or even if we do, what then? With no food left, resorting to feasting on our companions¡¯ corpses might keep us going for another week¡ªbut what about after that? Are we doomed to be trapped on this train forever? So, do we bet, or not?¡± Elliot stared at me in silence for a long moment before finally uttering one word: ¡°Bet.¡± Chapter 012 - The Infinite Train 12 Chapter 012 - The Infinite Train 12 When the train pulled into Waterbloom Station this time, the three of us leaped off without a backward glance. We split up immediately¡ªeach of us racing toward a different sector: the bustling main hall, the station restaurant, and the washbasin area. The main hall, teeming with passengers and clearly the safest refuge, was left for No. 137 to cover. I plunged into the restaurant, where chaos reigned beneath an eerie calm. With a serving tray as my makeshift hammer, I began to pummel the glass panels¡ªone after another. The glass proved astonishingly resilient; even my stainless steel trays buckled under the force, yet the panels remained unbroken. I struck each pane no more than ten times, checking their reflective qualities with each blow. Finally, I encountered one that perfectly captured my reflection¡ªa genuine mirror. I delivered a decisive, crushing blow, and the mirror shattered into countless fragments. Beyond the broken glass, there was nothing but an abyss of utter darkness¡ªa void whose destination remained an enigma. Glancing at my watch, I realized our allotted five minutes had long since expired. There was no turning back. With retreat no longer an option, the sudden emergence of this new possibility was all the more tantalizing. The pitch-black void seemed to beckon, almost whispering, ¡°Jump in! Jump in! Leap into me and end this game once and for all!¡± I stood before it, expression blank, and hurled the serving tray into the void. Silence was all that answered. The restaurant staff, long unnerved by my reckless, near-suicidal behavior, had already scurried off to summon security. Seizing the moment, I slipped into the kitchen. Battling a wave of nausea, I snatched one of the long arms from a kitchen worker¡ªshoving half of it into the void before yanking it back. Sure enough, the arm snapped off, its severed edge jagged and uneven. A bitter laugh escaped me as I continued my assault, shattering three more mirrors. Each one yielded the same disquieting result: an expanse of impenetrable darkness, as relentless and merciless as a meat grinder. At last, when the restaurant was devoid of any smooth mirror surfaces, I did not linger. I deftly dodged the approaching security and made my way back into the main hall. There, pandemonium reigned¡ªthe few remaining passengers were thrown into disarray, their faces etched with terror as they watched us methodically shatter glass. I edged closer, and that¡¯s when I noticed: No. 137¡¯s waist-length hair had been drastically shortened. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°Where¡¯s your hair?¡± I asked, my tone laced with concern. Elliot, standing nearby, explained, ¡°She heard someone call for security and tried to leap into that void¡ªbut I stopped her, and a chunk of her hair got caught in the process.¡± Just then, yet another mirror exploded into shards. The three of us froze before the final, pitch-black void, exchanging hesitant, uncertain glances. Nearby, security personnel began to gather, leaving us no time to waste. Murmuring a half-hearted apology to No. 137 amidst her pained cries, I yanked two strands of her hair¡ªtossing half of them into the void and then pulling them back out, snapping them in the process. Our hearts sank into an abyss of despair. No. 137 bit her lip and asked, ¡°Does this mean¡­ the last one isn¡¯t either?¡± Elliot scanned the armed security team assembling around us. In an uncharacteristically calm tone, he raised his hands in surrender and loudly explained, ¡°We mean no harm¡ªplease, don¡¯t shoot.¡± The head of security bellowed, ¡°Hands up! Drop your knives and any other weapons, and come over here!¡± I kept silent, my lips pressed into a thin line. I could hear my heart pounding furiously, a silent, resentful question echoing in my mind. This path¡ªthis cycle¡ªhad to be the right one. Those successive, trap-like voids were the best evidence: the mirrors had shattered, the cycle was broken, and a new path had emerged¡ªthough the correct route had yet to fully reveal itself. So¡­ where is the correct path? And where is the right mirror? Suddenly, I spotted a display cabinet nearby, its glass showcasing a collection of classical bronze mirrors. Instinctively, I grabbed Elliot by the arm and whispered, ¡°Look at that mirror over there. When we pass, let¡¯s smash it.¡± But Elliot lowered his gaze, considering it for a moment before saying, ¡°That¡¯s not realistic.¡± I remained silent. Then No. 137 softly offered, ¡°The bronze mirror over there? I once snuck off mid-journey to buy one. It¡¯s in my pocket¡ªshall I smash it now?¡± Elliot and I shot her sharp, questioning looks, and I urged, ¡°Hurry up!¡± No. 137 flinched, but maintained her composure as she quickly produced the small bronze mirror and handed it to me. I then struck its surface hard with the handle of my dining knife. At that moment, the security team¡ªgrowing increasingly impatient with our hushed whispers¡ªraised their guns and fired a warning shot into the air, shouting, ¡°Did those three hear me? Drop everything and put your hands up!¡± With a sharp crack, the bronze mirror splintered, fine fissures spreading rapidly, and the dark, ominous void reappeared. It was tiny¡ªpitifully so. This time, without any prompting, No. 137 tore off a few strands of her hair and shoved them into the void. Once again, our hearts sank as we watched it snap cleanly into two pieces. Chapter 013 - The Infinite Train 13 Chapter 013 - The Infinite Train 13 How could this be?! My heart plummeted, an anchor sinking into the depths of my chest. This wasn¡¯t right¡ªthis wasn¡¯t¡­¡­ how it was supposed to be! Elliot exhaled heavily, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he moved toward the security guards. His voice was steady, a quiet warning edged with restraint. ¡°Don¡¯t act on impulse.¡± The guards on the other side, growing impatient with our hesitation, fired warning shots into the air. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the vast station, but another, stranger sound followed¡ªhigh-pitched, almost crystalline. I looked up. The ceiling of Waterbloom Station shimmered like a fractured mosaic of light and shadow. Bullets had lodged themselves deep within its surface, and as the fissures spread outward, something else emerged¡ªa void. An abyss darker than night itself. It flickered in and out of view, as if reality had been torn apart, revealing the gaping maw of some unfathomable entity. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine. That darkness wasn¡¯t just empty¡ªit was consuming. The three of us exchanged glances, unspoken understanding passing between us. Whatever that thing was, whatever lay beyond it, it wasn¡¯t meant for us. It couldn¡¯t be our escape. And even if it was¡ªhow could we possibly reach it? Yet, against all logic, I found myself laughing¡ªa low, humorless chuckle. ¡°I almost forgot,¡± I murmured. ¡°We still have one mirror left unbroken.¡± With a steady grip, I raised the bronze mirror¡ªits back adorned with intricate waterbloom engravings¡ªand, without hesitation, brought it crashing down against the floor. The impact sent a dull shock through my arms, but the surface remained unscathed. Again, I slammed it down, and again, the mirror held. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. The ground beneath us, smooth and polished like a mirror itself, refused to yield. Elliot and No. 137 sprang into action, scrambling to grab anything heavy¡ªmetal trays, chairs, whatever they could get their hands on¡ªand hurled them at the floor with desperate force. But it was like trying to shatter the sky with pebbles. Gritting my teeth, I stole a glance at the guards. They were still aiming at the ceiling, but it wouldn¡¯t take long before they turned their sights back on us. I made my decision. ¡°Take cover and brace yourselves!¡± I shouted. Before they could react, I flung the bronze mirror¡ªand a small knife¡ªstraight at the lead security guard. The knife whizzed past his face, narrowly missing his eye. He staggered back, then caught himself, seething. His hands tightened around his weapon. ¡°Stop! Or I¡¯ll open fire!¡± he barked. I answered him with a raised middle finger and a mocking whistle before tossing a metal tray in his direction. That did it. The leader¡¯s face twisted with rage, and in the next instant, he tilted his gun downward and pulled the trigger. A hail of bullets erupted, striking the floor with violent force. And that was all it took. The moment the first round hit, I heard it¡ªthe sound I had been waiting for. A shattering, like the breaking of an ancient spell. The entire floor beneath us¡ªonce solid, once untouchable¡ªbegan to crack. Fissures rippled outward, splintering like ice under sudden pressure. Through the widening gaps, an eerie white light bled through, growing stronger, brighter, until it was all-consuming. Then, the world began to tremble. Not just the hall, not just the platform¡ªWaterbloom Station itself quaked as if reality were fracturing around us. There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. ¡°Jump!¡± I roared. And as the floor gave way beneath us, as everything crumbled into chaos, we leapt¡ªinto the blinding white void. For a moment, there was nothing. No sensation, no sound, no pain. Then, realization dawned. I had won the gamble. ¡ª *The Infinite Train ¡¤ The End* ¡ª Chapter 014 - Moonlit Mirage 01 Chapter 014 - Moonlit Mirage 01 After the white light faded, Elliot and No. 137 were nowhere to be seen. I stood alone in an endless void of white¡ªboundless, silent, utterly devoid of substance. There was no sky, no ground, no sense of direction. When I glanced down, I saw that I was still wearing my white shirt and black trousers, the only remnants of familiarity in this strange, empty expanse. With a sigh, I sat cross-legged on nothingness, closing my eyes to regain both my strength and my frayed spirit. This game was beyond bizarre. The gruesome, resource-starved, merciless trials of the first round still haunted me. It was like a brutal survival game where the only options were to die in some horrific manner or claw your way forward, desperate to stay alive. Kill or be killed. Fight or perish. The rules were simple, yet utterly ruthless. Time lost all meaning. For all I knew, I had been sitting here for an eternity, drifting in and out of a dazed half-sleep, until a strange melody suddenly shattered the silence. It was eerie¡ªsoft, yet chilling. A woman¡¯s voice hummed the tune, low and ghostly, carrying undertones of darkness, crows, and withered trees. The haunting song sent shivers down my spine, an unsettling prelude to what came next. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Then, as expected, the cold, mechanical voice returned. ¡°Congratulations on passing the preliminary selection of the first round. You may now choose whether to continue the game.¡± I barely cracked open my eyes and muttered, ¡°What happens if I choose not to continue?¡± ¡°You will die.¡± I: ¡°¡­¡± A dry laugh escaped me. ¡°Then what exactly are you offering?¡± ¡°I am merely stating the facts and providing you with a choice.¡± I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to curse. ¡°Fine. Continue the game.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± The voice was devoid of emotion. ¡°Sylas Turing, Number 32. Commencing the second round.¡± Wait. Number 32? Was this another designation, like No. 137? Who exactly was behind all of this? Who controlled everything¡ªthe environments, the mechanics, the very transportation of human beings? Before I could even form another question, an invisible force seized me, hurling me violently through the void. I didn¡¯t scream. I didn¡¯t panic. I simply maintained my usual smile. And in my mind, I silently cursed that damnable voice¡ªand whatever faceless puppet masters lurked behind it. May they rot in the deepest pits of hell, suffer every misery imaginable, and choke on their own twisted games. Chapter 015 - Moonlit Mirage 02 Chapter 015 - Moonlit Mirage 02 The pavilion floated upon an endless sea, a solitary wooden structure adrift in the night. It was nine stories tall, each tier layered upon the next like an intricate puzzle. Redwood beams, carved with elaborate patterns, twisted upward in sweeping arcs, and delicate copper bells swayed gently from its curved eaves, their chimes swallowed by the vast silence. The roof shimmered beneath the moonlight, its translucent glazed tiles catching the glow like liquid silver. When I pushed open a wooden lattice window, the world outside stretched infinitely¡ªan expanse where water and sky melted into a seamless horizon. A full moon hung low, its reflection trembling on the water¡¯s rippling surface. The sight was breathtakingly beautiful, yet tinged with something eerie, something profoundly unsettling. No land. No shore. Nothing but this lone, fragile pavilion drifting in an ocean without end. I stood on the third floor, frowning as I scanned the structure, trying to make sense of its layout. From above, from below, from unseen places, the others began to arrive. They stumbled in one by one¡ªsome landing with a thud, others rolling across the wooden planks, a few sprawled face-down in unceremonious heaps. A string of curses erupted. ¡°What the hell?! No warning at all¡ªwhat if someone broke a damn bone?!¡± I watched quietly, keenly noting a crucial difference between this round and the last. Back in the previous instance¡ªthe very first one¡ªmost participants had seemed almost¡­ absent. Many couldn¡¯t recall their names, nor did they appear to realize they were inside a game. They moved mechanically, as if bound to an unseen script. But this time? This time, everyone was fully aware. Lost in thought, I nearly missed the sound of my name being called. ¡°Sylas!¡± I turned. Standing a short distance away, waving at me, were Elliot and No. 137. Elliot looked just as polished as before¡ªhis fair complexion, refined features, and neatly combed hair giving him the air of a top student. He wore plain-framed glasses, a checkered shirt, and crisp white trousers, looking every bit the kind of guy high school girls would swoon over. Handsome enough to belong on a movie poster. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. No. 137, however, had changed. Her waist-length hair was now tied into two low ponytails, giving her a playful charm¡ªlike the lively girl next door. I was mildly surprised but didn¡¯t ask questions. Instead, I simply greeted them. ¡°Elliot, Lil¡¯ 137.¡± As I approached, I lowered my voice. ¡°When we arrived, that voice called me Number 32. What about you?¡± Elliot adjusted his glasses. ¡°Number 33.¡± No. 137 scratched her head. ¡°I got one too¡ªNumber 34. So should I be 137 or 34?¡± I: ¡°¡­¡± Elliot: ¡°¡­¡± After a beat, I shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ll keep calling you No. 137 in private, but officially, you¡¯re Number 34. There could be another No. 137 out there¡ªwe don¡¯t want to mix things up.¡± Then, with a more serious tone, I murmured to Elliot, ¡°I think the numbers are assigned based on who survived the last round. The question is¡­ how many made it?¡± Elliot¡¯s expression darkened. He turned toward the window, scanning the floating pavilion. ¡°This still feels like an isolated island,¡± he said. ¡°Like the last game. Too many mirrors. It¡¯s getting interesting.¡± I opened my mouth to respond¡ªbut then, from above, a sound drifted down. It was distant, yet hauntingly close. A voice. Soft. Eerie. Almost a whisper. It came from the very top of the pavilion. A woman¡¯s voice¡ªgentle, sorrowful, lingering like the breath of a ghost. She was singing. The melody curled through the night air, both chilling and hypnotic. ¡°My distant lover has died; I have preserved his skin as a keepsake¡­ The moon is like white frost, while floral drums resound in bursts¡­ Oh, restless ghost of a troubled soul, when will you finally be laid to rest? I whisper softly, fearing it might take forever¡­ Perhaps we are waiting for an illusion as fleeting as moonlight on water¡­ Oh, my restless, burning anger¡ªwhen will it finally dissipate? I speak slowly, afraid it will end with everyone scattered, leaving nothing behind¡­ Scattered and empty¡­¡± A hush fell over the pavilion. I didn¡¯t need to look at Elliot or No. 137 to know they felt it too. Something wasn¡¯t right. And the game had only just begun. Chapter 016 - Moonlit Mirage 03 Chapter 016 - Moonlit Mirage 03 The sudden song, grating and unnatural, cut through the air like nails raking across a chalkboard. A hush fell over the pavilion. The eerie melody slithered through the wooden halls, sending a shiver down my spine. I flexed my knuckles, fighting the chill creeping up my arms. ¡°Did you catch the lyrics clearly?¡± I asked, my voice low. No. 137 hesitated. ¡°Bits and pieces¡­¡± Elliot adjusted his glasses. ¡°More or less. There were a few words I couldn¡¯t quite place.¡± I exhaled slowly. ¡°It¡¯s repeating. Listen carefully¡ªwe¡¯ll break it down after.¡± The song came in cycles, returning every thirty minutes like an omen. The singer¡¯s voice was precise, yet there was an underlying lilt¡ªan accent that hinted at deep, secluded places. Somewhere remote. Somewhere forgotten. Elliot, No. 137, and I spent what felt like ages puzzling over the verses, piecing them together word by word. When we finally assembled a full version, we exchanged uneasy glances. Elliot was the first to speak. ¡°Have you ever heard of the Sister Drum?¡± I frowned. ¡°The one from the urban legends?¡± Seeing No. 137¡¯s blank expression, I elaborated, ¡°It¡¯s an old story¡ªabout two sisters. One day, the younger one wakes up to find her sister missing. She searches everywhere, but there¡¯s no trace of her. Eventually, she meets a wandering monk and hears the sound of drums in the distance. That¡¯s when she learns the truth¡ªher sister was murdered and turned into a drum made from human skin. And every time that drum is struck, it sings with the voice of the girl it once was.¡± No. 137 paled. I smirked, teasing her. ¡°Judging by the accent in the song, this place might be tied to some kind of folklore. Maybe even something like those ritual goblets carved from skulls¡­¡± No. 137 let out a sharp shriek. ¡°Alright, big bro¡ªstop going off the deep end!¡± Chuckling, I ruffled her hair before turning serious again. ¡°There are¡­ certain sects with dark histories. Ones that practiced human sacrifice. But we can¡¯t jump to conclusions with just a song. I scouted a little when I got here¡ªonly the third floor, to stay safe. I didn¡¯t find much, but there were some strange Thangka paintings on the walls. Come look.¡± I led them across the creaking wooden floor toward the farthest corner of the pavilion. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. By now, more and more people had begun arriving¡ªsome materializing from thin air, others tumbling in gracelessly. A few landed hard, groaning in pain. Some kept to themselves, surveying the space with wary eyes. Others wasted no time whispering among themselves, forming cautious alliances. Men and women, young and old. Different heights, builds, skin tones. A mismatched collection of strangers, all pulled into the same surreal nightmare. As we weaved through the growing crowd, Elliot murmured under his breath. When we reached the wall, he whispered, ¡°One hundred twenty.¡± No. 137 blinked. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°That¡¯s our headcount,¡± I said evenly. ¡°There are 120 people on this floor.¡± The number kept climbing. Moments later, someone hit the ground hard, letting out a sharp cry of pain. Taking advantage of the distraction, I guided Elliot and No. 137 toward the Thangkas. The artwork was ancient¡ªrichly detailed, drenched in deep indigos and muted golds. But there was something off about them. The figures were distorted, their painted eyes hollow and searching. The more I looked, the more I felt an unsettling sensation creeping over me. Before I could say anything, a sound split the silence. A voice. It was synthetic, mechanical¡ªyet somehow dripping with malice. ¡°All 128 contestants from the first round are now present. The second round begins immediately.¡± A pause. ¡°First task: Help Yangjin find her skin.¡± The moment the words faded, another sound emerged. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Heavy. The unmistakable clunk of wooden clogs striking the floor. Someone whispered, ¡°What the hell? Why do those footsteps sound so¡­ heavy? Must be some huge guy.¡± The clogs continued, echoing in a steady rhythm. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Then, at the stairway between the second and third floors, something appeared. First, a curtain of long, black hair, shifting with each step. Then, a face¡ªpartially obscured, features hidden beneath the tangled strands. Next, a crimson robe, dripping with something dark and wet. And finally¡ª The legs. Or rather, **the leg**. Because there was only one. The figure¡ªthis **thing**¡ªlanded on the wooden floor with a soft, unnatural bounce. The players closest to the stairwell stumbled backward. Some gasped. One cursed under his breath. The entity lifted its head just enough for us to see a glimpse of its face. Pale. Sunken. Twisted into something that had once been human but no longer was. A name flickered through my mind, dredged from the announcement moments earlier. Yangjin. Chapter 017 - Moonlit Mirage 04 Chapter 017 - Moonlit Mirage 04 Yangjin¡¯s form was still that of a petite woman, but the unnatural air around her made her presence suffocating. Most of the men in the crowd were taller and physically stronger than her. Some huddled together, their restless eyes darting between each other, as if debating whether to make a move. Their fingers twitched, gripping whatever makeshift weapons they had scavenged. I caught Elliot¡¯s gaze, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and shook my head slowly. ¡°Wait and see,¡± I murmured. ¡°There are over a hundred of us here. No need to be the first ones to die.¡± The three of us stood slightly elevated on a ledge, barely ten centimeters above the rest of the floor. It wasn¡¯t much, but it gave us a vantage point while keeping us hidden among the crowd. Yangjin moved suddenly, leaping forward with an unsettling weightlessness. Her long, tangled hair swung wildly as she spun her head in a full circle, her neck bending unnaturally, her hollow eyes sweeping over the room. Perhaps she sensed the tension among the men¡ªhow their collective anger and fear teetered on the edge of violence. She cocked her head, raised one bony finger, and pointed at them from afar. Then, without another word, she turned and hopped toward the stairs leading to the fourth floor. The gesture provoked one of the men. He was burly, with a spiderweb tattoo etched across his neck, and his voice had the harsh rasp of a man who had spent years drinking cheap liquor. He didn¡¯t lunge at her¡ªperhaps instinct warned him against it¡ªbut his words lashed out with frustration. ¡°You¡¯re Yangjin, aren¡¯t you?¡± His voice was hoarse but steady. ¡°You want us to find your skin? Then tell us where it is. Give us a damn clue. How else are we supposed to help you?¡± For the first time, Yangjin stopped. Her movement was slow¡ªtoo slow, like a frame-by-frame sequence in an old, glitching film reel. The sound of bone snapping echoed through the silence as she twisted her ankle to an unnatural angle. Her upper body stretched upward, as if pulled by invisible threads, lifting her toward the ceiling even as her single foot remained rooted to the ground. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Then, with grotesque fluidity, her head dipped down¡ªstraight toward the tattooed man. No. 137 sucked in a sharp breath, about to scream. I reacted instinctively, clamping a hand over her mouth. If Yangjin noticed us, we¡¯d be next. Meanwhile, the creature¡¯s lips curled into an eerie, playful smile. ¡°Oh?¡± Her voice was almost teasing. ¡°You mean my skin? My very first one¡­ Isn¡¯t it already with you?¡± Before he could react, before anyone could move, her fingers latched onto his throat with terrifying speed. Crack. His neck twisted with an audible snap. Yangjin didn¡¯t drop him. Instead, she dragged his limp body toward the staircase, pulling out a set of gleaming, rusted nails¡ªlong and thin, as if pried from the bones of something that had never been human. One by one, she drove them into his joints. Shoulder. Elbow. Wrist. Thigh. Knee. Ankle. The sound of metal piercing flesh was sickeningly precise, like a seamstress stitching together a grotesque marionette. Thin wires stretched between the nails, forming a web-like pattern. Yangjin gave them a sharp tug, tightening the threads. Then, with her usual eerie rhythm, she began hopping up the stairs, dragging the lifeless man behind her. His head lolled at a twisted angle, his limbs jerking with each bounce¡ªlike a puppet forced into a grotesque dance. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each step she ascended left behind thick, dripping trails of blood, pooling on the stairs below. No one spoke. No one even breathed too loudly. The crowd shrank back, their fear pressing inward like a crushing weight. I moved instinctively, positioning myself in front of Elliot and No. 137, my arm pressing against them to shield them from the surrounding bodies. The sound of dragging and hopping continued upward. Fourth floor. Fifth floor. Then, silence. Only when the last echoes faded did the people around me dare to shift, exhaling shaky breaths they¡¯d been holding in. But my mind was spinning with unease. ¡°The singing,¡± I murmured under my breath, just loud enough for Elliot to hear. ¡°It was coming from the rooftop before, wasn¡¯t it?¡± He stiffened beside me. ¡°But Yangjin didn¡¯t come down from there,¡± I continued. ¡°She leapt up from below. Does that mean she was downstairs before? Or¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°¡­are there more than one of them?¡± Chapter 018 - Moonlit Mirage 05 Chapter 018 - Moonlit Mirage 05 No. 137 whispered, her voice barely audible over the tension tightening in the air. ¡°Brother¡­ don¡¯t scare me.¡± I didn¡¯t answer her. My focus was elsewhere. Instead, I turned to Elliot Vance and said in a low, steady voice, ¡°Hold onto me.¡± Without waiting for a response, I leaned halfway out of the wooden window beside me, my upper body dangling precariously over the edge while my lower legs remained inside. The night air rushed against my face as I gripped the frame with one hand. Elliot didn¡¯t hesitate. He understood instantly, his fingers locking tightly around my ankle to keep me from slipping. The world outside the window felt eerily different¡ªquieter, detached from the chaotic murmurs and stifled breaths inside. The layered eaves of the ancient building loomed above me, stacked like dark, undulating waves. And beyond them, the moon. Huge. Luminous. So close it seemed I could reach out and pluck it from the sky. With most of the noise muffled behind me, I could hear the rhythmic thudding from above more clearly. The sound had been a steady, methodical pulse. Now, it came to an abrupt halt. On the ninth floor. I scanned the dark expanse beyond the building. The water stretched endlessly on both sides, an obsidian mirror reflecting the frozen glow of the moon. Along the eaves, small wind chimes swayed in the faint breeze, their fragile tinkling swallowed by the weight of the silence. I tensed. ¡°If you feel like you can¡¯t hold on, let me know,¡± I warned. Elliot gave a quick nod, his grip unwavering. Then¡ª Something cold and wet landed on my cheek. A raindrop? I lifted a hand instinctively to wipe it away, but before I could glance up, my peripheral vision caught a flash of movement¡ªsomething plummeting from above at terrifying speed. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. My body reacted before my mind could process it. I twisted sharply, yanking myself sideways just in time. The object rushed past me, barely missing my head. My breath caught in my throat. It was a body. For the briefest moment, my gaze locked onto a human face contorted in death. The neck was twisted a full 180 degrees, the once-prominent spiderweb tattoo on the skin now faded, almost erased. Then came the impact. A deafening crash shattered the stillness as the corpse hit the water below. Ripples exploded outward in a perfect web, disturbing the moon¡¯s reflection with violent, jagged fractures. At the center of that spreading distortion lay the broken body, limbs askew in an unnatural sprawl. Blood surged outward in slow, curling tendrils, blooming like a crimson flower on the water¡¯s surface. Under the pale moonlight¡ªcold and unfeeling as frost¡ªthe corpse began to dissolve. The reflection, however, remained. A lonely, ghostly red flower lingering in the liquid mirror. Then¡ª The song began again. The first time I heard it, it had been unsettling. Now, it carried something worse. A weight. A meaning that felt deeper, more ominous. A lullaby for the dead. ¡°My distant lover has died; I have preserved his skin as a keepsake¡­ The moon is like white frost, while floral drums resound in bursts¡­ Oh, restless ghost of a troubled soul, when will you finally be laid to rest? I whisper softly, fearing it might take forever¡­ Perhaps we are waiting for an illusion as fleeting as moonlight on water¡­ Oh, my restless, burning anger¡ªwhen will it finally dissipate? I speak slowly, afraid it will end with everyone scattered, leaving nothing behind¡­ Scattered and empty¡­¡± The melody drifted down from above, seeping into my bones. And in that moment, I knew¡ª Whatever was waiting on the ninth floor, it wasn¡¯t human. Chapter 019 - Moonlit Mirage 06 Chapter 019 - Moonlit Mirage 06 Elliot and No. 137 barely had a second to react before yanking me back inside. My boots scraped against the wooden floor as I landed, breath coming in sharp bursts. The echo of the body¡¯s impact still rang in my ears. By the time they leaned out again, the water below had already returned to its eerie stillness. The ripples had faded, leaving behind only faint red streaks dissolving into the dark surface, as if nothing had ever disturbed it. No. 137 hesitated, her fingers gripping the window frame. There was a tremor in her voice when she spoke. ¡°Bro, I think¡­ I think I just saw a figure fall past the window.¡± Her uncertainty mirrored my own unease. I had seen it, too. But had it really been a fall? Or had something thrown him down? Before I could answer, movement from behind drew my attention. The hushed murmurs of the others had grown louder, their curiosity piqued by the commotion. More eyes turned toward me, narrowing in suspicion. A man¡¯s voice cut through the murmuring. ¡°Hey, suit guy! What did you see?¡± I ignored him. The crowd parted slightly, and an older man stepped forward. He carried himself with an air of quiet authority, his well-tailored clothes immaculate despite their grim surroundings. Silver hair framed a face lined with experience, his sharp gaze assessing me with practiced ease. Stolen story; please report. He offered a polite nod before extending a hand. ¡°If it¡¯s not too much trouble, could you share what you saw with everyone?¡± His voice was smooth, measured, as if he were used to negotiation. ¡°Oh, and nice to meet you¡ªI¡¯m No. 9. Probably the oldest one here.¡± I hesitated for only a moment before clasping his hand. His grip was firm but not overbearing. ¡°Hello,¡± I replied, my tone neutral but direct. ¡°I¡¯m No. 32. I saw the man Yangjin dragged up. He fell from the ninth floor.¡± A murmur rippled through the group. I let my gaze sweep across the room, gauging their reactions before delivering the part that mattered most. ¡°And his skin was gone.¡± A collective intake of breath¡ªsome stifled, others sharp and audible. Fear crawled through the crowd like an unseen current. I didn¡¯t let the silence linger. ¡°But the body is gone now. The only thing left is a fracture on the surface¡ªlike ice breaking rather than water rippling. A fall from the fifth floor or higher would¡¯ve been fatal.¡± I let my words settle before delivering the final, pressing truth. ¡°Right now, Yangjin is still on the ninth floor.¡± Tension coiled tighter in the room. I met their gazes one by one, making sure they understood. ¡°My suggestion? Before she comes again, we should form teams and search for clues on floors one through eight.¡± A brief pause. Then, No. 9 caught on immediately. His expression remained calm, but there was a quiet weight to his voice as he nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s work together and clear this stage as soon as possible.¡± His words carried the steadiness of experience. A command without being forceful. A reason for them to move. And right now, movement was survival. Chapter 020 - Moonlit Mirage 07 Chapter 020 - Moonlit Mirage 07 Under Nine¡¯s and my leadership, the remaining players split into teams of three to five, cautiously combing through the floors in search of clues. No. 9 studied me with an unreadable gaze, his expression measured. I feigned reluctance, exhaling as if I were making a difficult concession. ¡°You¡¯re older, and your legs aren¡¯t as strong. Stay on the third floor and rest. There are plenty of people here, so it¡¯s safe. We¡¯ll come back for you later.¡± His sharp eyes flickered, but after a brief pause, he let out a sigh and nodded in apparent agreement. As the crowd dispersed, their footsteps muffled by the old wooden floors, I reached into the shadows and casually pulled down three hidden Thangkas, rolling them up with practiced ease. Without another word, I motioned for Elliot and No. 137 to follow, leading them toward the staircase. Once we were alone on the second floor, No. 137 turned to me, puzzled. ¡°Why didn¡¯t we let the old man join our group?¡± I scoffed. ¡°That old man? He¡¯s not as harmless as he looks.¡± Elliot adjusted his glasses, glancing at the rolled Thangkas in my hand. ¡°Because he kept staring at these three?¡± I nodded. ¡°The guy with the raspy voice¡ªthe one who just died¡ªhe was standing next to No. 9 when Yangjin came up. He was talking to him. No. 9 definitely instigated him to speak up.¡± It was too convenient. No. 9 had been the first to step in and calm the crowd when I barely so much as raised an eyebrow. That kind of reflex? That came from experience. He was a scheming old fox, and if I¡¯d learned anything, it was that people like him always had their own game running in the background. ¡°And he wasn¡¯t just looking at the Thangkas,¡± I added. ¡°He was eyeing these Thangkas.¡± No. 137 tilted her head. ¡°Wait, are you saying these are¡ª¡± ¡°Human-skin Thangkas,¡± I confirmed. She stared at the rolled-up fabrics in my hands, her previous fear momentarily forgotten¡ªuntil full realization struck. Her eyes widened. ¡°Wait¡­ bro, how did these suddenly become ours?¡± I shrugged. ¡°I took them, so they¡¯re mine.¡± Elliot: ¡°¡­¡± No. 137: ¡°¡­¡± The second floor was structured much like the third, only larger. Towering mahogany bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling, their surfaces coated in thick layers of dust. Ancient scrolls, tomes, and relics sat undisturbed, exuding an oppressive stillness. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Scattered throughout the vast space, other players were already searching. As we wove between the bookshelves, I muttered under my breath, ¡°Judging by the texture, it¡¯s skin. Whether it¡¯s sheepskin, cowhide, or human¡ªI can¡¯t say for sure. But let¡¯s hold onto them for now. If Yangjin shows up, we hide. If we can¡¯t hide, we hand over whatever leather items we find.¡± They both nodded in understanding. Our search continued. Among the artifacts, we uncovered a small rattle drum, a shawl made of an unidentifiable material, and a book so unnaturally smooth that it sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. Despite the thirty or so people combing through the space, the second floor still felt eerily vast, as if it stretched beyond physical limits. Then, without warning¡ª An earsplitting drumbeat shattered the silence. The sound exploded through the air, deafening and disorienting. It wasn¡¯t just noise¡ªit was felt. The vibrations crawled under my skin, shaking my ribs, forcing my heartbeat into unnatural rhythm with the pulsing sound. My breath hitched, my chest tightening. Even the wooden structure itself seemed to groan in response, as if something ancient had just been stirred awake. Across the room, Elliot, who had been flipping through a book near the window, suddenly froze. His hands trembled as he lifted his head. His voice came out in a breathless whisper. ¡°Sylas¡­ the moon.¡± No. 137 and I rushed to his side. Outside, the night was an abyss¡ªblack as ink, void of stars. Only the moon remained, hanging in the sky like a single, solitary eye. But something was wrong. It wasn¡¯t full anymore. Something had taken a bite out of it. A slow, creeping realization coiled around my thoughts. This game¡­ it wasn¡¯t just about surviving Yangjin. There was a time limit. If the moon vanished completely¡ª Would we all die, even without her hand? I didn¡¯t know how long we stood there, transfixed, but then¡ª Silence. A weighted, suffocating silence. We barely had time to exhale before it came again. A sound. A rhythm. A dull, steady thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of something¡ªor someone¡ªjumping. It echoed down like a death knell, hammering into the walls, into our bones. This time¡ª It came from the top floor. Chapter 021 - Moonlit Mirage 08 Chapter 021 - Moonlit Mirage 08 I pressed my lips together and said, ¡°Let¡¯s head back to the third floor.¡± Elliot frowned, adjusting his glasses. ¡°Why? The third floor is higher than the second, meaning we¡¯ll be the first to encounter danger. Besides, the second floor is probably the most crowded right now. Blending in would be safer.¡± ¡°Then stay here,¡± I replied coolly. ¡°I just need to drop something off. I¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡± I grabbed the small hand drum we had found earlier and started up the stairs. When I glanced back, both of them were still following me. I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s for the old man,¡± I explained. Elliot raised an eyebrow. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care about him.¡± No. 137, ever the sentimental one, smiled, her voice brimming with admiration. ¡°I knew it, bro¡ªyou¡¯re the best¡­¡± I blinked at her. ¡°¡­¡± Keeping my voice low, I said, ¡°Like I told you before, this isn¡¯t a zero-sum game. The more of us there are, the higher our chances of winning. As long as the three of us survive, of course I want him to make it too.¡± When we reached No. 9, he was leaning against his cane, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings as if he had expected something¡ªor someone. I stepped forward and placed the small drum into his hands. His gaze flicked from me to the object, momentary surprise flashing across his face. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I tapped the drumhead lightly. ¡°It¡¯s made of skin. Not sure if it¡¯ll save your life, but it¡¯s better than nothing.¡± The old man¡¯s fingers traced the drum¡¯s surface, his brows furrowing. Just as he opened his mouth to speak¡ª THUD. The sound echoed from the staircase leading down from the fourth floor. A foot appeared at the top of the stairs. I barely had time to process what I was seeing before the figure began to descend. Not walking¡ªhopping. Step by step, a slow, rhythmic motion, like a marionette being pulled downward by an unseen hand. I stiffened. ¡°So fast?¡± Before I could finish my thought, Yangjin suddenly leapt. Skipping a dozen steps at once, she landed gracefully in the middle of the third floor, her presence exuding something cold and unnatural. My pulse pounded. *So it¡¯s easier to go down than up, huh?* Something about her seemed¡­ different. Not that she had ever looked *normal* to begin with. She existed in a space between life and death¡ªher movements too fluid, her form too eerie, something inhuman lurking beneath the surface. But it wasn¡¯t until she took a single step forward, tilting her head toward the nearest person and grinning, that I realized what had changed. Her voice, soft and lilting, carried across the tense silence. ¡°Has anyone found my skin?¡± A slow dread curled in my gut. I could see her mouth now. Her long, dark hair still veiled everything above her lips, but her mouth and chin were fully visible. Deathly pale skin. A fragment of a spiderweb tattoo curled around her throat. Chapter 022 - Moonlit Mirage 09 Chapter 022 - Moonlit Mirage 09 I knew exactly what this meant. Yangjin had flayed part of someone¡¯s skin and draped it over herself like a grotesque trophy. It also meant that any one of us¡ª127 people in total¡ªcould be next. The first person she approached was a short-haired girl in a sports jacket. Despite the suffocating tension in the air, she remained unnervingly calm. Without hesitation, she picked up a few items from her belongings and held them out. ¡°Will these do?¡± In her hands were an assortment of objects¡ªa small rattle drum, a tanned leather rope, a long, worn blanket, and a flag darkened with age. Yangjin¡¯s bony fingers ghosted over them, pausing on the black flag. Her nails, sharp and yellowed, scraped lightly against the fabric as she examined it. A slow, thoughtful hum rattled in her throat. ¡°This isn¡¯t my skin,¡± she murmured, her voice as brittle as dried leaves. ¡°But it¡¯s close enough. I¡¯ll take it. Hahaha!¡± The moment the words left her lips, the black flag crumbled into nothing, vanishing as if it had never existed. Without another word, she hopped past the short-haired girl and landed in front of her next target. The girl exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging in relief. The next unfortunate soul was a broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut, gripping a small, leather-sheathed knife. His knuckles turned white around the handle as he swallowed hard. ¡°I... I only found this¡­¡± he stammered. Yangjin tilted her head, her hair shifting slightly, but never enough to reveal the eyes hidden behind the dark curtain of strands. She studied him for a beat before a raspy giggle clawed its way from her throat. ¡°Not my skin,¡± she mused. ¡°But since you tried so hard, I¡¯ll spare you.¡± With a playful bounce, she leaped forward once more. The next person was not as lucky. A middle-aged woman in a pristine business suit crumpled to the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Hands trembling, she turned to the person beside her and pleaded, desperation thick in her voice. ¡°Please! Give me your extra map! We can find more after this round, I swear!¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Her supposed companion recoiled, clutching their belongings tightly as if warding off death itself. With a shake of the head, they took a slow step backward¡ªthen another. Distancing themselves from the doomed woman. A flicker of realization passed over her face. A silent acceptance. Still, she looked up at Yangjin with one last flicker of hope. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m sorry¡­ I have nothing¡­¡± Yangjin¡¯s lips curled. ¡°What a shame.¡± The grin stretched wider. And wider. Until it reached her ears. ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to take you instead.¡± Before the woman could so much as scream, Yangjin¡¯s entire form expanded. Her mouth stretched impossibly wide, the pale flesh of her cheeks splitting, revealing row after row of jagged, blackened teeth. Her jaw unhinged like a snake¡¯s, a gaping maw swallowing all the light around it. And then, in one swift motion¡ªshe devoured the woman whole. The only thing left outside was a single leg, twitching, kicking weakly in the air. For a brief, sickening moment, it dangled there, as if refusing to accept its fate. Then Yangjin slurped it up, lips closing around the flesh with a wet crunch. A satisfied sigh slipped past her blood-red lips. Had her mouth looked that full before? Had the color of her lips always been so rich, so alive? The air grew heavy with silence. No one moved. No one spoke. The only sounds were the hushed, trembling voices of those still being questioned, their fates hanging by a thread. Yangjin¡¯s game continued. She moved swiftly, her gaze flicking from one person to the next. By now, I had confirmed her pattern. If you had a leather object, you lived. If you didn¡¯t, you died. The air grew thick with the scent of fear. More and more people screamed, their voices cut short as Yangjin made her selections. The living averted their gazes, unable to bear the sight of what happened to the unlucky ones. After making a full circuit around the third floor, Yangjin paused, as if admiring her handiwork. She stretched lazily, satisfied. And then¡ªshe bounced down to the second floor. Moments later, another wave of screams erupted, echoing through the wooden corridors. Then silence. And just as the tension began to settle¡ª That eerie, grating song started up once more. Yangjin had leaped down to the first floor. Chapter 023 - Moonlit Mirage 10 Chapter 023 - Moonlit Mirage 10 "Thank you." The old man¡ªNo. 9¡ªmurmured, his voice trembling as his weary eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn¡¯t quite place. "It¡¯s nothing," I replied, though my gaze lingered on the blood-soaked wreckage around us. The scent of iron clung thick in the air, and my mind churned over the implications of what had just unfolded. "That mechanical voice¡ªthe system, let¡¯s call it that¡ªgave us a task: help Yangjin retrieve her skin. But skin¡­ No one¡¯s found the real thing yet. Still, substitutes seem to suffice, at least for now." Elliot shifted his attention to the first girl Yangjin had questioned. She was the one in the high-collared sports jacket. There was an edge to her tone as she spoke, voice slightly raised. "When Yangjin first picked up the black flag, she said it wasn¡¯t her skin, but it looked a lot like it. Doesn¡¯t that mean her actual skin must share at least some resemblance to that flag? Maybe in color, maybe in texture." The girl caught our eyes, one brow lifting slightly. As she stepped toward us, she said, "Exactly. I have reason to believe her skin is black. This round, we should prioritize searching for black leather items." A pause, then a quick introduction. "I¡¯m No. 25. You can call me that, or ¡®Wind¡¯ if you prefer." I watched her closely, noting the way she moved¡ªsilent, calculated, her balance impeccable. She had the quiet agility of someone used to slipping through the world unnoticed. After a round of introductions, No. 25 slid seamlessly into our group, as if she had always belonged. I cast a sidelong glance at Elliot, faintly amused. Apparently, he was better at drawing people in than I¡¯d thought. The upper floors¡ªfive through eight¡ªremained untouched, abandoned out of fear. They were too close to Yangjin. No one dared venture that high. Instead, everyone clustered on floors two through four. The second floor had claimed two lives. The third, four. The fourth, six. No. 25 absently touched the tip of her nose, then leaned against a nearby pillar, arms folded. "I started searching the upper floors first, but something felt off. There were barely any leather items up there¡ªjust some old hemp ropes, ceremonial banners, and offering tables. Didn¡¯t seem useful, so I headed down to the second floor instead." If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Her gaze flicked to the pile of miscellaneous junk I¡¯d gathered. A flicker of exasperation crossed her face. "The second floor had the most of this kind of stuff. You guys got lucky. Next round, though¡­ I doubt only twelve people will die." I exhaled slowly, running my fingers over the leather scraps in my hands. "The attic has a limited number of leather objects. If we can¡¯t find the real skin¡­ everyone dies." I hesitated, a thought creeping in. "Wait. The attic¡­" I turned, eyes narrowing as I stared beyond the broken window frame. "What if the real skin isn¡¯t inside at all? What if it¡¯s outside?" No. 25 tilted her head slightly, intrigued. A small, almost approving smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Then, without a word, she sprang up, landing effortlessly on the windowsill. "Look for yourself." She gestured outward. "It¡¯s nothing but blackness. A void stretching endlessly in every direction. There¡¯s no sign of anything out there. And the lake? Who¡¯s to say if it¡¯s even crossable?" I frowned. "Didn¡¯t it freeze over?" I pointed to the fractured spot where the deep-voiced man had fallen through earlier. The cracks still marred the surface. No. 25 scoffed. "Frozen?" She hopped down from the sill, grabbed a wooden plank from the floor, and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed it outside. "Watch carefully." The plank plunged downward¡ªexcept it didn¡¯t shatter ice. Instead, it vanished, swallowed by the inky waters below. No splash. No ripples. No sign it had ever existed. But the cracks? They were still there, webbed across the surface beside where it had disappeared. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. I drummed my fingers against the windowsill, my mind racing. "Thanks for the demonstration. That man was already dead when he fell, so we can rule out any difference between how dead and living things interact with the lake. That leaves two possibilities." I held up one finger. "First, objects thrown from different floors might trigger different reactions in the water." A second finger. "Second, the result changes depending on who throws it. When Yangjin dropped something, the ice cracked. When we did, it just¡­ disappeared." No. 25 nodded, picking up where I left off. "I tested it from the fourth floor too. Same thing¡ªit acted like water. The second floor has no windows, so there¡¯s no way to test from there. As for the first floor¡­" She trailed off, her expression unreadable. "I haven¡¯t dared to try yet. But I figure, next round, when Yangjin makes her move to the top floor¡­ we¡¯ll get our answer." Chapter 024 - Moonlit Mirage 11 Chapter 024 - Moonlit Mirage 11 No. 9 joined us this time as we pressed upward, the air growing colder, heavier. As expected, beyond the third floor, there were no leather artifacts to be found. Instead, the space was dominated by ancient shrines, their wooden altars draped in dust, forgotten by time. I ran my fingers over the rough surfaces of the statues, feeling the grit of neglect. They were all made of clay or porcelain¡ªlifeless, brittle things. Not a single one bore the grotesque wrapping of skin. White ropes hung in eerie loops, swaying gently as if disturbed by an unseen breeze. Wind chimes dangled from them, their glassy whispers barely audible, accompanied by strips of white cloth that fluttered like lost prayers. This pattern repeated from the fourth floor up to the eighth. And yet, there was something else. When we tossed objects from these floors, they didn¡¯t shatter the lake¡¯s surface like a broken mirror. Instead, the water swallowed them whole, as if it were not water at all, but something hungrier. Yangjin¡¯s chant echoed in my mind, an omen wrapped in riddles. "Illusions as fleeting as moonlight on water¡­" Was it a warning? A clue? If the lake was truly a mirror, then what was it reflecting? And more importantly¡ªwhat were we supposed to do? Could someone walk across it? The higher we climbed, the smaller the floors became, our search growing quicker, more methodical. By the time we reached the ninth floor, we all hesitated at the threshold. Five of us, standing still. Not out of exhaustion. Not out of fear. But because we knew¡ªYangjin had spent a long time up here. And somehow, that fact alone made the space feel¡­ tainted. Brushing off the unease, I stepped forward. "I¡¯ll go first." The door groaned open, revealing a room smaller than expected¡ªalmost unnervingly pristine. Tall windows lined the walls, their panes streaked with time. Against one, perched on an old wooden stand, was an ancient brass telescope, its surface oxidized with age, a patina of green eating into the metal. I picked it up, rolling its weight in my hands. "So, Yangjin sat here, watching the horizon¡­ waiting for her lost lover to return?" No. 137 stiffened. "Bro, don¡¯t just touch her stuff! What if she knows?" I smirked. "Relax. With that one-legged snail-hop of hers, it''ll take her a while to get up here." No. 137¡¯s expression darkened, lips pressed tight. Beside me, No. 25 crouched by the window and flicked a brass candleholder into the void. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. We counted. One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ The crash came four seconds later, an impact so jarring it sent a tremor through my chest. I leaned over, peering down. The lake¡¯s surface, once eerily smooth, was now splintered with cracks¡ªfractured veins spreading like a web of frost. "So, it¡¯s the floor level that makes the difference," I mused, raising the telescope to my eye. At first, all I saw was the shattered candleholder sprawled on the rocks below. Beyond that, the lake stretched out, its surface an uncanny reflection of the moon¡¯s pale light, smooth as glass, cold as death. And farther still¡ª Darkness. An abyss without stars, an emptiness that stretched infinitely outward, as if the sky itself had been hollowed out. Finally, I turned my gaze to the moon. The crescent hung low, glowing with an ethereal brilliance, impossibly white. And then¡ª A bolt of cold shot through my spine. My breath hitched. My grip on the telescope tightened, fingers locking so hard my knuckles paled. Something was wrong. Elliot¡¯s voice cut through the silence. "It really is the floor level¡­ Do you think the first floor is frozen too? If it is, maybe we could actually walk across." He hesitated, sensing the shift in my posture. "Sylas? What¡¯s wrong? Sylas!" His hands were on my shoulders, shaking me, snapping me back. I let out a shuddering breath and lowered the telescope, steadying myself against the window frame. Elliot¡¯s gaze sharpened. "What did you see?" I wiped the cold sweat from my temple, swallowing hard. The others waited, their anticipation thick enough to taste. I forced the words out. "I saw the edge of the moon," I said slowly. "Not a smooth curve¡­ but jagged. Uneven. As if something had been cut from it." Silence. I kept going. "And beneath that glow¡­ I saw veins. Flesh. Tissue." My pulse hammered against my ribs. "I saw the fine, intricate weave of muscle fibers¡­ and a tattoo. A spider tattoo. It had been stitched into place¡ªpatched into the missing part of the moon." My voice faltered. "No. That¡¯s not the moon at all. That¡¯s a hollowed-out circle, being rebuilt, piece by piece." Elliot¡¯s grip tightened, his fingers digging into my arm. No. 25 narrowed her eyes. "That¡¯s insane." No. 9 frowned, deep in thought. "Could it be¡­?" Only No. 137 remained clueless, blinking. "Uh¡­ what? What does that mean?" I exhaled, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "Yangjin¡¯s skin," I said. "It¡¯s up there." The others stiffened. I turned my gaze back to the sky, to the vast, depthless blackness stretching above. And in that moment, I knew¡ª That wasn¡¯t the night sky at all. It was a drum. A massive, cosmic drum, its surface trembling with a sound so low, so deep, it resonated in my bones. And its hide¡ª Was the skin Yangjin had lost. Chapter 025 - Moonlit Mirage 12 Chapter 025 - Moonlit Mirage 12 The drumbeats came again, thunderous and relentless. The wooden structure shuddered, the tremors more violent than before. The entire building groaned as if on the verge of collapse, and the five of us were thrown to the floor. I barely managed to brace myself, reaching out to steady No. 9, who had toppled beside me. His frail frame felt weightless as I helped him up, his breath coming in shallow pants. Steadying myself against the wall, I lifted the binoculars, locking my gaze onto the luminous ¡°moon¡± overhead. The sight that greeted me made my skin crawl. The edges of that eerie celestial body were shifting, convulsing. Fine, thread-like filaments wove and stitched, gradually sealing the crescent-shaped void as if an unseen hand were carefully mending a gaping wound. It was as though someone was trying to subdue a soul teetering on the brink of madness. A chill settled in my bones as the realization solidified in my mind. The sky above us was a seamless expanse of human skin¡ªmissing only its head. Then, the cacophonous rumbling faded, leaving only the distant echo of the last drumbeat reverberating in my skull. The silence didn¡¯t last long. The rhythmic thudding of footsteps soon followed. Yangjin was climbing again, ascending from the first floor, collecting her ¡°rent.¡± Another round of death was about to begin. The moment the others heard her approach, panic took hold. The crowd surged upward like a tide, scrambling for safety. By the time we reached the seventh floor, the space had become a tempest of frantic voices and desperation. Nearly a hundred people had packed into the vast attic-like expanse, their faces slick with sweat and eyes brimming with terror. Some were pleading, their voices raw with fear. Others turned away, indifferent. It only took a glance to understand why. A handful of people¡ªperhaps a dozen or so¡ªhad failed to secure a leather item. And without one, they had no means of survival. I turned to No. 9, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He had always carried an air of gentle wisdom, his slow, measured speech making him seem more trustworthy than the rest of us. Compared to my casual demeanor or Elliot Vance¡¯s striking presence, No. 9 was the kind of man people instinctively gravitated toward. Lowering my voice, I said, ¡°Sir, I told you before¡ªthis isn¡¯t a zero-sum game. Even with limited resources, it doesn¡¯t have to be a fight for survival. We can¡¯t turn on each other. As long as one of us clears the round, everyone has a chance. We need to help each other. Do you understand what I¡¯m saying?¡± A knowing smile creased No. 9¡¯s face. ¡°You want me to deliver the message?¡± I nodded. ¡°Our group has extra supplies. We can share.¡± He tapped his cane lightly against the floor and raised his voice. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen!¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. The restless murmuring dulled as heads turned in his direction. His gaze swept over the crowd, voice steady and clear. ¡°There¡¯s no need to panic. I¡¯ll keep this brief. We found a telescope on the ninth floor, and through it, we saw the truth. The sky above us is not what you think¡ªit¡¯s human skin. Most likely Yangjin¡¯s.¡± Silence settled over the room, the weight of his words sinking in. People exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale with uncertainty. No. 9 continued, his voice firm. ¡°But that skin is far out of reach. Unless one of you has arms long enough to pluck the moon from the sky?¡± He let the rhetorical question linger. ¡°Right now, we are trapped. The more of us who work together, the better our chances. If we let fear divide us, we will all die here, one by one.¡± He shot me a glance. I stepped forward, adding, ¡°I have extra leather items¡ªabout twenty. If you don¡¯t have one, come get it.¡± A dozen hands shot up instantly. ¡°Me! Over here!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have one!¡± Without hesitation, I handed out the extras. Gratitude flashed in their eyes as they clutched the life-saving pieces of leather. A dry chuckle came from No. 137, who muttered under his breath, ¡°Damn¡­ When did you stockpile so much? Thinking of opening a general store?¡± I shot him a flat look. ¡°¡­¡­¡± Elliot sighed. ¡°¡­¡­¡± No. 25 rubbed his temples. ¡°¡­¡­¡± As the last of the items were distributed, a skeptical voice cut through the hushed room. ¡°So you say the sky is made of human skin, and we¡¯re just supposed to believe it? You wanna play hero, fine. But don¡¯t drag the rest of us into your delusions.¡± I met his gaze, my tone even. ¡°You can see for yourself. If someone finds Yangjin¡¯s skin this round, then I¡¯m wrong. But tell me¡ªwhere do you think her skin is now? We¡¯ve already taken most of the leather goods from this attic. The only ones left are downstairs.¡± I let the implication settle. ¡°And Yangjin is coming up from the first floor. What do you think the chances are that her skin is still down there?¡± The man fell silent, his jaw tightening. I continued, ¡°We¡¯re all in this together. Even if I hoarded leather for myself, at best, I¡¯d survive one more round. But with fewer of us left, our odds of figuring this place out drop. I have no reason to lie to you.¡± He hesitated, wrestling with the logic. Finally, he exhaled sharply. ¡°You make a good point.¡± He stood, running a hand through his unkempt beard. ¡°I have ten extras. Anyone who needs one next round, come find me.¡± One by one, others followed. ¡°I have seven.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got four.¡± ¡°There are five more here¡­¡± No. 137 let out a low whistle. ¡°Well, damn. Guess I¡¯m the only one who¡¯s been freeloading off you guys.¡± I gave him a pointed look. ¡°¡­¡­¡± Then, the moment of reckoning arrived. Yangjin¡¯s footsteps echoed up the stairwell. The room went still, the air thick with anticipation. She appeared, her twisted smile stretching unnaturally wide as she posed her usual question. And for the first time since we arrived¡ª No one had to die. Everyone made it through the round. Chapter 026 - Moonlit Mirage 13 Chapter 026 - Moonlit Mirage 13 As Yangjin vanished up the stairs toward the eighth floor, I raised my voice over the murmuring crowd. ¡°Anyone strong enough¡ªcome with me to the first floor! We¡¯re going to try running across the lake and see if there¡¯s a way out!¡± The moment the words left my mouth, I took off down the stairwell, my footsteps pounding against the wooden planks. The group that followed moved with determined urgency, their breaths heavy with anticipation. As we descended, I spoke quickly. ¡°Listen¡ªanything thrown from the third to the eighth floor sinks into the water. But from the ninth floor, it lands on something solid. We don¡¯t know what happens on the first.¡± The logic was simple. Yangjin¡¯s skin stretched across the sky, sealing the world above us. If that was the case, then the horizon had to be where the heavens and the earth met¡ªan edge where that grotesque covering could be reached. If the ninth floor¡¯s exit led to solid ground, then perhaps the first floor did, too. After all, Yangjin had been lingering there. By the time I finished explaining, the scruffy man with the goatee¡ªone of the skeptics from earlier¡ªrubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy. ¡°You¡¯re really just betting everything on this theory?¡± I shot him a look. ¡°What other choice do we have? We can¡¯t go back to the ninth floor¡ªYangjin¡¯s already there. And even if we could, what¡¯s your plan? Jump from the ninth straight to the first?¡± Goatee Man hesitated. ¡°...Fair point.¡± At last, we reached the first floor. It was cavernous and eerily empty, the air thick with an unshakable stillness. The only thing that stood out was a single ornate wooden door. I strode toward it and pushed it open. A few stone steps led down to the lake¡¯s surface¡ªa vast, undisturbed expanse of black water stretching endlessly under the moon¡¯s cold gaze. I turned to Elliot Vance. ¡°Hold onto me.¡± Before anyone could protest, I leaped forward. The moment my feet hit the water, I braced for the chill of submersion¡ªbut instead, I landed on something firm. The surface didn¡¯t give way. It was solid. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The lake had turned to glass. A vast mirror stretched beneath me, its polished sheen distorting the reflection of the sky. Light wavered and danced across it, scattering into cold, sterile beams. The glow was blinding, yet it held an unnatural iciness¡ªlike moonlight reflecting off a frozen wasteland. I swallowed against the unease creeping up my spine. I knew what that ¡°moon¡± truly was. I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on it. ¡°Move!¡± I barked, taking off into a sprint. ¡°Ten of you, follow! The rest, stay back and conserve your strength!¡± Behind me, footsteps pounded against the mirrored lake as Elliot and the others rushed to keep up. The expanse was endless, the surface pristine and unbroken, stretching toward the horizon in a sickly white glow. It felt like running across a vast, empty void. Elliot ran beside me, his strides longer, his pace effortless. We pushed forward, covering a kilometer in what felt like seconds. But when I finally glanced back, my stomach twisted. The wooden tower had shrunk in the distance, swallowed by the haze of white light¡ªbut the horizon ahead remained unchanged. Still distant. Still unreachable. I slowed, panting, my hands braced against my knees. Sweat dripped from my chin onto the mirrored surface, each drop gleaming like a convex lens, reflecting the "moon¡¯s" ever-watchful, malicious stare. I crouched, pressing my palm against the glassy ground. It was solid, cold¡ªyet beneath it, the moon¡¯s reflection loomed. Close enough to see. Close enough to feel its presence. But utterly untouchable. Elliot, noticing my ragged breathing, grabbed my arm to steady me. ¡°Sylas? You good?¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t right¡­¡± I murmured. ¡°We¡¯ve been running for too long, but nothing¡¯s changed.¡± Then¡ª A thunderous, bone-rattling boom shattered the silence. The drumbeats returned. The mirrored lake trembled beneath our feet, the vibrations deep and violent, as if the very fabric of this world was cracking apart. Above us, the enormous "moon" twisted. Its surface contorted, shifting into something grotesque¡ªsomething that almost resembled a grin. Mocking us. My pulse slammed against my ribs. ¡°Back to the tower!¡± I roared. ¡°NOW!¡± Chapter 027 - Moonlit Mirage 14 Chapter 027 - Moonlit Mirage 14 We raced back to the second floor, barely making it in time. The others were already gathered, their tense expressions betraying a fragile hope that we had found a way out. Then¡ªYangjin came bounding down from the third floor. The exertion nearly broke me. My lungs burned, and my legs threatened to give out beneath me. No. 137 caught me just in time, gripping my arm with concern. ¡°Sylas, are you alright? You¡¯re soaked in sweat. Did you find anything?¡± I didn¡¯t have the luxury of answering. Instead, I snatched a leather object from No. 25, steeling myself against Yangjin¡¯s impending sweep. The others did the same, taking whatever they could from their companions. For now, we had bought ourselves a sliver of time. Yangjin, satisfied for the moment, bounced away toward the first floor. But her voice never left. That ghostly, mournful melody weaved through the air, curling around us like an unseen noose. I muttered the lyrics under my breath, my mind racing, grasping at the fragments of meaning hidden within her song. This was our last chance. The leather skins wouldn¡¯t last another round. Some of us were already nearing the brink¡ªsilent, wide-eyed, their gazes hollow. The will to fight was slipping away. Then the words came again. ¡°My distant lover has died; I have preserved his skin as a keepsake¡­¡± Skin. Was she referring to her own? ¡°The moon is like white frost, while floral drums resound in bursts¡­¡± The flower drum¡ªcould it be human skin? The grotesque thing hanging above us? ¡°Oh, restless ghost of a troubled soul, when will you finally be laid to rest?¡± ¡°I whisper softly, fearing it might take forever¡­¡± ¡°Perhaps we are waiting for an illusion as fleeting as moonlight on water¡­¡± A moon in water¡­ an illusion¡­ Wait£¡ A moon in water. A MOON IN WATER. If the moon in the sky was too far to reach¡­ if the horizon was always out of grasp¡­ if the flower in the mirror was forever untouchable¡­ Then what about the moon reflected in the lake? Could it be retrieved? A realization struck me like lightning, surging through my veins, electrifying my every thought. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I spun toward the others, my voice sharp and commanding. ¡°Everyone¡ªup to the third floor! There are no windows here, but from the third, we can jump straight into the lake. We also need a team to gather every rope we can find. Strip them down, tie them together¡ªwe need one long, sturdy lifeline!¡± People hesitated, glancing at one another with uncertainty. Someone muttered, ¡°You can¡¯t be serious¡­ You¡¯re not actually thinking of diving in, are you?¡± I met their eyes, my expression leaving no room for doubt. ¡°Try, and we might survive. Do nothing, and we die for sure.¡± No more questions. No more hesitation. I turned and bolted up the stairs. No. 25 and No. 9 understood instantly¡ªone followed me to collect the ropes, the other stayed behind to rally the rest. In minutes, the cloth ropes from the hanging white bells above were torn down. Hands worked feverishly, tying them together, knot after knot, forging a single, unbroken lifeline. It was ready. Now, the real question¡ªwho would go in? No. 25, clearly the athletic type, looked ready to volunteer. I put a firm hand on her shoulder. ¡°You stay.¡± Elliot stepped forward. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You have more stamina than me. Rest while you can. I¡¯ll go first¡ªif I fail, then you try. But if you go first and fail, and I have to follow after, our chances shrink even more.¡± He hesitated, then gave a short nod. I wrapped one end of the rope tightly around my waist, double-checking the knot. Then, glancing at the others, I gave clear instructions. ¡°One hard tug means release. Three tugs mean pull me back up.¡± They nodded, grim and resolute. No more thinking. No more second-guessing. I climbed onto the window ledge¡ª And jumped. A deafening splash. The water swallowed me whole. Cold. A searing, bone-deep cold. The kind that didn¡¯t just shock the body but sank into the soul. My limbs locked up. My lungs squeezed, refusing to cooperate. My teeth clenched so tightly I swore I heard them crack. Still, I forced my eyes open. And there¡ªbeneath the surface¡ª I saw it. The moon. It shouldn¡¯t have been possible. If I were above the water, I could have dismissed it as a simple reflection, a trick of light. But I wasn¡¯t above. I was underneath. Yet still, the moon shone. A perfect, glowing orb, suspended within the depths. A moon within the water. So this¡­ this was what it truly meant. Chapter 028 - Moonlit Mirage 15 Chapter 028 - Moonlit Mirage 15 I forced myself deeper into the abyss, every muscle burning with the effort. The water pressed against me like a living thing, heavy and unrelenting. My lungs screamed for air, but I ignored them, reaching further into the darkness. Then¡ªsomething brushed against my fingertips. Smooth. Delicate. Yet unyielding. The surface was impossibly slick, as if coated in oil, and ice-cold to the touch. It nearly slipped from my grasp, but I fought against the resistance, my fingers clawing for purchase. I was heading straight for the moon. Or what remained of it. Where a face should have been, there was only a gaping void¡ªa hollow edge where the skin had been torn away. My pulse pounded in my ears as I latched onto the ragged perimeter of the human hide. I yanked hard. This time, I didn¡¯t let go. A thunderous boom reverberated through the water. The sound was visceral, shaking me to my core. Yangjin was moving again. A cold shudder rippled through me. I clenched my fingers around the grotesque, leather-like flesh and yanked the rope tied around my waist¡ªthree sharp tugs. The signal was clear. Above, they responded instantly. They pulled. One hundred and fifteen people, dragging one man toward the light. All one hundred and sixteen of us, bound by a singular will, locked in a battle against an unseen force. The twin moons¡ªone above, one below¡ªremained our only beacons in the abyss. The water churned as the tension mounted, the shifting currents twisting in an unseen struggle. And then¡ªsomething changed. The glow in the depths began to spread. It was as if the heavens had split open. A brilliance unlike anything I had ever known burst forth, flooding the water with piercing light. The rope bit into my waist, cutting into my flesh, but I barely registered the pain. Because something else was pulling back. At this point, I was no longer the one dragging the skin upward. The skin was dragging me. Exhaustion crashed over me like a tidal wave. My limbs felt leaden, my chest burning for breath. Worse still, the force resisting us was growing stronger. An invisible grip held firm, pitting itself against the might of one hundred and fifteen souls pulling from above. For a terrifying moment, the abyss held me captive, yanking me downward with merciless strength. The water thickened, tightening around me like an unholy embrace. Then, at last, the balance tipped. Slowly, agonizingly, the tide turned in our favor. The skin peeled away. Like an ancient mural crumbling from a forgotten wall, it unfurled, revealing its grotesque form. As I ascended, the mass of flesh shrank, curling in on itself, its edges folding inward like withered parchment. By the time I reached the surface, it was no larger than an ordinary human hide. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A single piece of skin. Waterlogged and blackened, covered in fragmented, cryptic symbols. There was no time to decipher its meaning. The moment I broke through the surface, a chilling realization struck me. If we hadn¡¯t distributed the leather skins in the second round¡­ There wouldn¡¯t have been enough hands left to pull me out. The thought barely had time to settle before a familiar sound echoed through the night. Thud. Thud. Yangjin¡¯s footsteps. Shouts erupted from above. ¡°Hurry! Faster! He¡¯s almost up!¡± ¡°Just a little more¡ªpull him in!¡± I was nearly there. Just a breath away from the window¡ª And then. Yangjin stopped. Her voice slithered through the air, soft and sickly sweet. ¡°You all¡­ wouldn¡¯t happen to have seen my skin, would you?¡± I was so close. Just a few more seconds, and I would be safe. But some of them¡ªstartled by her voice¡ªhesitated. The rope slackened. I lurched forward, reaching desperately for the window¡¯s ledge, ready to claw my way inside. Then¡ªa hand shot out from within the building. Without hesitation, I seized it. With one swift, powerful pull, I was yanked through the window. I landed hard, my knees buckling beneath me. The scent of damp wood and dust filled my lungs as I steadied myself. A firm clap on my shoulder. Elliot Vance. I exhaled sharply. ¡°Appreciate it, man.¡± Then, I turned. Holding up the dripping, blackened human skin, I locked eyes with Yangjin. Her hollow gaze flickered with something unreadable. ¡°Is this what you¡¯re looking for?¡± I asked. She went utterly still. Then, with a single fluid motion, she leapt forward, landing right in front of me. Her head tilted ever so slightly. A silent question. She reached out, her fingers skimming over the wet, inky surface. Then, without hesitation, she took the skin from my hands. And before our very eyes¡ª She draped it over her body. The hide molded to her form, sealing itself seamlessly against her flesh. Perfectly. Her lips parted, and a languid, satisfied hum escaped her. ¡°Yes¡ª¡± Outside, the world ignited. A blinding radiance tore through the darkness, as if the heavens themselves had opened. A sun¡ªimpossibly brilliant¡ªrose high above. I turned toward the window. Sunlight streamed in, golden and pure, flooding the room with its warmth. The moment it touched Yangjin¡ª She shattered. Her body fractured like glass, crumbling into countless fragments. Each piece dissolved, vanishing into nothingness, carried away by the light. A chime rang out¡ª Clear. Resounding. Beautiful. And this time, it was the sweetest sound in the world. ¡°Congratulations. All one hundred and sixteen contestants have successfully cleared Round Two.¡± ¡ª Moonlit Mirage: The End. Chapter 029 - Eerie Night Fair 01 Chapter 029 - Eerie Night Fair 01 The moment the second round ended, I barely had time to react before I was pulled¡ªno, yanked¡ªback into that vast, empty space. I staggered, regaining my balance, and looked around. White. A seamless, unbroken void of stark, unblemished white. No walls. No ceiling. No horizon. Just an infinite emptiness stretching in all directions, swallowing everything in its sterile silence. I took a breath. It felt hollow, as if even the air lacked substance. Then I called out. My voice cut through the silence like a blade. No echo. No response. No way of knowing if there were boundaries or if this void went on forever. A sealed-off world. I forced myself to move. With no landmarks to guide me, I picked a random direction and started walking, my mind automatically dissecting the game, sorting through the fragments of logic I had left. First¡ª**I had watched myself die.** I had felt death, had succumbed to it. And yet, I was here. Alive. That meant the game¡¯s creator wielded a power that defied science, logic¡ªreality itself. Second¡ªthe system¡¯s messages had been clear. The first round was a qualifier, cutting the contestants down to 128 survivors, each assigned a number. By the second round, we all understood one thing: this was a game. We were players, whether we liked it or not. It was nothing like the first round¡ªthe endless train where we had been surrounded by those empty-eyed, NPC-like passengers. Those people had been trapped in a stupor, moving like ghosts through a cycle that had no end. Here, everyone knew the stakes. And lastly¡ªthis game gave us no time to think, no time to communicate. Every round was relentless. There was no pause to exchange information, no chance to strategize. Even when a round ended, there was no respite¡ªno moment of analysis, no opportunity to piece together the rules of this so-called Nirvana Game. The game wasn¡¯t just about survival. It was about control. Lost in thought, I kept walking. I don¡¯t know how long I wandered before¡ª I hit something. A wall. Except¡ªI couldn¡¯t see it. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. My fingers met smooth, cool resistance. A solid, invisible barrier. And the instant I touched it¡ª The white void erupted in blinding red light. ERROR! ERROR! The mechanical voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once, cold, metallic, and deafening. ¡°CROSSING THE BOUNDARY IS PROHIBITED. CROSSING THE BOUNDARY IS PROHIBITED.¡± A chill raced down my spine. My muscles locked. I took an instinctive step back. Then¡ª A barrage of laser beams rained down from above, slicing through the space where I had just been standing. No warning. No hesitation. If I had reacted a second too late, I would have been cut to pieces. The mechanical voice repeated, its tone utterly devoid of emotion: ¡°CROSSING IS PROHIBITED. NETWORK ACCESS IS PROHIBITED. CROSSING IS PROHIBITED. NETWORK ACCESS IS PROHIBITED.¡± I stood motionless, staring at the now-empty space in front of me, my face unreadable. The flashing red lights pulsed wildly for a few more seconds before they finally faded. The voice went silent. I exhaled slowly. Then, without a word, I turned and began tracing the perimeter of the invisible wall. Testing its limits. I stayed dangerously close, my fingers brushing the unseen surface. A few times, the red lights flared up again, and the lasers fired without mercy. One even grazed my arm, leaving a sharp, searing pain. I ignored it. Instead, I ripped off a cufflink, dropped it at my starting point, and began measuring. Step by step, I mapped out the boundary of this unseen cage. The space was massive. I hadn¡¯t even completed a full lap when¡ª A voice rang out. A child¡¯s voice. Soft. Clear. Singing. A song. Let¡¯s paddle our oars¡ª As the little boat glides through the waves¡ª The sea reflects the beautiful white tower¡ª Surrounded by green trees and red walls¡ª The melody floated through the air, light and carefree¡ªa jarring contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of this place. Then, as if responding to the song, the mechanical voice spoke again, crisp and unwavering¡ª ¡°Congratulations, Contestant No. 32. You have cleared Round Two. Would you like to continue?¡± I lifted an eyelid lazily. ¡°Continue.¡± The voice responded without hesitation¡ª ¡°Acknowledged. Contestant No. 32, initiating Round Three.¡± Chapter 030 - Eerie Night Fair 02 Chapter 030 - Eerie Night Fair 02 Night. A night so black it felt bottomless. No stars. No moon. Just an endless void stretching in every direction. The only break in the darkness came from the amusement park ahead. A riot of flashing lights and neon glow pulsed within, painting the illusion of life and excitement. But the entrance told another story. The iron gates stood rusted and crooked, their once-sturdy bars wrapped in strings of flickering, half-dead bulbs. A gust of wind sent them buzzing erratically, casting jagged shadows over the pavement. To the right of the gate, a giant doll loomed. A mascot of some kind¡ªits shape unmistakably reminiscent of a certain cartoon mouse, the female one with the pink polka-dotted bow. But something about it was... wrong. Its eyelashes¡ªespecially one¡ªwere grotesquely long, curling outward in an unnatural, exaggerated way. A spotlight from below bathed its face in a sickly glow, stretching its smile into something that wasn¡¯t cheerful at all. The grin, meant to be friendly, now looked eerily wide. Unsettling. Like it knew something I didn¡¯t. Its hands were frozen in an odd pose¡ªone with a single finger raised, the other stretched wide open, as if halfway through some cryptic gesture. Below it, a weathered sign hung crookedly from rusted chains, swaying gently with the breeze. The paint was chipped, the letters barely legible. Three words: LOST PARADISE. I stared at the doll for a long moment. A prickling unease crawled up my spine. Then¡ª A sudden tap on my shoulder. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you going in?¡± I turned sharply. The speaker was a girl¡ªContestant No. 25. She had the easy confidence of an athlete, her stance relaxed yet ready to move at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°Wind?¡± I raised an eyebrow. She mirrored my expression. ¡°Huh. So you actually remembered? I was joking when I said it before.¡± A grin spread across her face. ¡°Guess I should introduce myself properly. Just call me ¡®Gale.¡¯ No clue why the system assigned me that name, but I like to think it¡¯s because I was meant to ride the storm, not get swept away by it.¡± I nodded. ¡°Sylas.¡± She tilted her head, considering. ¡°Sounds like something out of an old legend.¡± I smirked. ¡°More like the kind of name that belongs in a tragedy.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure why I said that. It just slipped out. Gale didn¡¯t seem to notice my hesitation. Instead, she clapped a hand on my shoulder in a casual, almost brotherly way. ¡°Come on. I saw a few familiar faces inside. Look¡ªNo. 33, No. 34, and that old guy¡¯s with them too.¡± Together, we stepped past the rusted gates and into the park¡¯s dazzling glow. To my surprise, the interior was pristine. The wide, straight roads were spotless¡ªnot a single scrap of litter. The rides¡ªcarousel, surf simulators, bumper cars, pirate ship, roller coaster¡ªstood gleaming as if they¡¯d been built yesterday. The contrast between the ruinous entrance and the near-immaculate park was jarring. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. As we wandered deeper, I noticed a small group gathered around a machine. A vending machine? No. A cotton candy stand. No. 137 was among them. So was Elliot. At first, I thought he was just drawing a crowd¡ªwouldn¡¯t be surprising, considering his face¡ªbut as I got closer, I realized the truth. Elliot wasn¡¯t flirting. He was making cotton candy. Methodically. Patiently twirling the stick as wisps of sugar wrapped around it, forming a soft, fluffy cloud of blue. I blinked. ¡°¡­?¡± Elliot caught my stare and smirked. ¡°Sylas, want one?¡± He lifted a freshly spun cotton candy, its airy strands still warm. Before I could respond, No. 137¡¯s eyes lit up. She darted forward, snatched the candy, and bounded over to me, pressing it into my hands. ¡°It¡¯s really sweet!¡± she chirped. ¡°This one was supposed to be mine, but I¡¯m giving it to you. Aren¡¯t I the best?¡± I stared at her. Then at the candy. ¡°Thanks.¡± I huffed a quiet laugh, taking a bite. It melted instantly on my tongue¡ªsoft, airy, sweet. For a brief moment, I glanced toward the void beyond the park, where darkness stretched endlessly. Then back at the lights, the movement, the warmth of the people around me. I sighed. ¡°Yeah. Really sweet.¡± No. 137, satisfied, scurried back to hover over the machine, eyes full of anticipation for her next turn. The moment felt strangely still. Like the last breath before a storm. A fragile truce, unspoken but understood. The game hadn¡¯t truly begun yet. Then¡ª Footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Muffled. I turned. A massive stuffed bear was climbing down from a high tower. It was enormous¡ªits plush body absurdly oversized, its movements awkward and clumsy, almost cartoonishly exaggerated. Large, round ears bobbed with every step, its fluffy arms swinging slightly out of sync with its body. As it walked, a cheerful, robotic voice rang out: ¡°Happy! Happy! Are you happy?!¡± No. 137¡¯s face lit up with pure excitement. She looked seconds away from running straight toward it. I instinctively grabbed her arm, holding her back. The bear drew closer, still chanting its phrase, still smiling. Then it stopped. And curtsied. A deep, elegant bow, like a princess at a ball. But the moment it straightened¡ª Something snapped. Its head dropped. Just like that. A clean, unnatural severance. For a split second, the body stood motionless, headless. Then¡ª Blood. A dark, wet eruption from its exposed neck. The plush fabric soaked through instantly, turning a deep, glistening red. The detached head tumbled forward, rolling across the pavement¡ªleaving a smeared, bloodied trail in its wake. It stopped less than a meter from our feet. The face¡ªstill grinning¡ªtwitched. And then, with a mouth full of blood, it spoke. ¡°Happy! Happy! Are you happy?!¡± The flickering lights of its eyes dimmed, but the voice kept going¡ªsofter now. Lower. Darker. ¡°My dear¡­¡± A whisper, seeping into my bones. ¡°Are you happy?¡± Chapter 031 - Eerie Night Fair 03 Chapter 031 - Eerie Night Fair 03 The ones standing at the front bore the brunt of it. Blood¡ªhot, thick¡ªsplattered across No. 137¡¯s face. She stiffened, breath hitching as she slowly raised a trembling hand, fingertips grazing the warm, sticky streaks on her cheek. She didn¡¯t scream. She didn¡¯t even flinch. Even as the severed bear¡¯s head tumbled toward her, its gaping mouth bristling with jagged teeth, she stood rooted to the spot¡ªstaring. Frozen. A split second before it could clamp down on her, I grabbed her arm and yanked her backward. The bear¡¯s head hit the ground with a sickening thud, rolling to a stop at our feet. Its glassy black eyes oozed fresh blood, streaks of red trickling from the corners like grotesque tears. Then it grinned. The smile was wide. Too wide. Stretched across its plush face like something stitched on by cruel hands. And then¡ª It spoke. A shrill, high-pitched voice, both playful and sinister, laced with a singsong rhythm, like a broken toy trapped in an endless loop. "Dear, dear, dearing!" "Happy, happy, so happy!" The words sent a chill crawling down my spine. Beside me, No. 25 let out a sharp breath, her fingers twitching into a fist. ¡°Happy?¡± she snarled, voice dripping with fury. ¡°You think this is funny, you goddamn freakshow?!¡± Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest object¡ªa pastel pink brick, the kind used to build fairy-tale castles¡ªstill tethered to a limp balloon string. And then she swung. A sickening crack. The impact sent the bear¡¯s head lurching to the side before it stilled, the gaping wound at its neck gushing something unnatural. Tufts of blood-soaked stuffing erupted from the severed edge, caught in the air like grotesque snowflakes. For a moment, silence. Then¡ª The mouth moved again. The voice was different now. Lower. Rougher. Crawling beneath my skin like nails against raw bone. "Kill, kill, killing!" The word echoed, rippling outward, each repetition growing sharper, more jagged¡ªlike it was burrowing into my mind. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The air around us shifted. The floating crimson stuffing shimmered¡ªwarped¡ªthen fell in a slow, unnatural descent, no longer fabric, no longer mere cotton. Instead, cards. Dark gold, with jagged blood-red borders. One landed at my feet. Then another. And then¡ª That voice. The mechanical, soulless voice that had dictated our fate since the beginning. But this time, it carried an unsettling cheerfulness, like a child¡¯s toy preloaded with a dozen scripted phrases. "A total of 116 contestants remain in the second round. Six have forfeited. The remaining 110 players are now present. Proceeding to Round Three." A pause. "Welcome to Fairy Tale Land. Please pick up your admission ticket." A few people hesitated. Others crouched, fingers curling around the dark golden cards, their edges glinting under the neon lights. The voice chimed again, bright and unyielding: "Please collect your tickets. Failure to do so within 30 seconds will be considered forfeiture of the game." A handful of players hesitated for only a breath longer before caving¡ªgrimacing as they reached down and picked up their tickets. I stared at mine. The card was thick. Stiff. A plasticky texture beneath my fingertips. In the upper left corner sat my photo, next to a bold, white-stamped 32. Below that¡ªa sprawling amusement park map, cluttered with winding paths and towering rides. Each attraction had a small black circle beside it, waiting to be punched¡ªa record of completion. The voice, unbothered by the blood, the bodies, the eerie stillness, continued in its chipper cadence: "You have six hours to complete at least three amusement park attractions. Any contestant who fails to do so before dawn will be disqualified." The words had barely settled before¡ª BOOM. A sudden, ear-shattering explosion ripped through the air. The bear¡¯s discarded body¡ªmotionless just moments ago¡ªdetonated. From the plush carcass, fireworks shot up, streaking through the sky in dazzling bursts of color. Bright. Brilliant. A cruel mockery of celebration. The light flared¡ªburned¡ªthen faded, shifting into something else. A countdown timer. It loomed above us, glowing in ominous red against the dark, endless night. 05:59:59 The game had begun. Chapter 032 - Eerie Night Fair 04 Chapter 032 - Eerie Night Fair 04 No. 137 lingered off to the side, still holding the cotton candy she had completely forgotten to eat, too overwhelmed by anxiety to even consider enjoying it. She sniffled, her gaze shifting nervously from her ticket to the room around her, making sure no one was watching. Satisfied with her covert inspection, she cautiously took a bite of the candy, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, "So... which game should we play?" The rest of us exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond. No. 25¡¯s lips curled in frustration. With a quick motion, she slapped the top of No. 137¡¯s head, hitting the tuft of hair sticking out. "Hold up, don¡¯t rush to pick a game. Did any of you catch what the system just said?" I nodded, my voice steady but serious. "¡®Failure of the game¡¯." Elliot''s face darkened. "If we don¡¯t complete three games, we fail the round... and die. But finishing three games doesn¡¯t necessarily mean we¡¯re out of danger. Worst-case scenario..." Her voice trailed off, the unspoken dread hanging in the air. I pressed my lips together, my eyes narrowing. "We might survive one more round, but that¡¯s far from the end." I took in the group¡ªOld Man No. 9, No. 25, No. 137, Elliot, and a few others who had stayed to hear us out¡ªand continued, "In the first and second rounds, there were multiple stages, each with its own restrictions. But just completing them didn¡¯t guarantee we¡¯d clear the game." I raised my voice slightly, ensuring everyone was paying attention. "So here¡¯s my suggestion: for these three games, we go for the easy ones¡ªthe ones that are simple and safe. We¡¯ll figure the rest out as we go." Everyone nodded in agreement. For the first game, we ended up in front of a claw machine. There were no elaborate mechanical contraptions or hovering platforms. It was simple enough for a toddler to play. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. The booth was manned by a puppet with a stiff, unsettling smile. As we approached, it suddenly perked up, almost too eagerly. "Do you want to play?" it asked, its voice strained, forced with unnerving enthusiasm. I couldn''t shake the feeling that No. 137 wasn¡¯t fully grasping the situation. Her eager steps forward made it clear she was all too ready to jump in. I quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Let me go first." I handed my ticket to the puppet, which took it with its cold, wooden hand and punched a hole through it, marking me for the "Clawing for Dolls" game. Then, with an exaggerated bow, it gestured for me to begin. The area around me was lined with rows of small, delicate toys¡ªmostly plush dolls, but there were a few wooden puppets scattered about as well. Each one was crafted with such care that they almost seemed alive, neatly arranged in perfect rows, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Next to each toy were four or five rings, scattered about as if previous players had failed to catch anything. I turned to the puppet attendant, my confusion mounting. "How many rings do I get?" The puppet¡¯s voice was flat and emotionless as it responded, "Rings? There are no rings for the players." I frowned, perplexed. "Then what are all those rings for?" I pointed to the iron poles supporting the tent, tapping one with my finger, and gestured to the rings beside each toy. To my surprise, the puppet¡¯s dark eyes shifted, locking onto mine with an unsettling, unreadable gaze. It didn¡¯t speak, its silence hanging heavy in the air. Instead, it simply motioned for me to enter the area where the toys were arranged. I hesitated, a strange unease creeping up my spine. But something¡ªcuriosity, perhaps¡ªor maybe the oppressive sense of being watched, compelled me to step forward. As I walked into the space, an awful realization hit me like a ton of bricks. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Sweat beaded on my forehead as an overwhelming sense of dread settled over me. Something was wrong¡ªdeeply, unnervingly wrong. Chapter 033 - Eerie Night Fair 05 Chapter 033 - Eerie Night Fair 05 The players couldn¡¯t throw the rings. The players weren¡¯t allowed to use the rings. But who had scattered them around the venue? As I stepped into the arena, the puppet efficiently closed the iron gate behind me. It was waist-high, and I could easily leap over it, but I couldn¡¯t risk breaking the rules of the game. So, I leaned carefully against the edge, treading cautiously. Outside, those who were still stuck behind the gate could see everything unfolding inside. No. 137 let out a sharp cry. "Bro!!!" "Be careful!!" The others shouted in unison. I held my breath, my lips tightly pressed together, every muscle in my body tensed. Because I saw it too. Those plush dolls and delicate wooden puppets, which had once hung limply, seemingly lifeless, were now swelling, growing larger. Slowly, they lifted their heads. Then, one by one, they began to stand. They were massive, easily three or four meters tall, their heads nearly brushing the ceiling. The grinding of wooden gears and the soft rustling of cotton filled the air. They moved in perfect synchronization, reaching down to pick up the rings that had also grown in size. With unnerving precision, they began to march toward me. I was the one who had been "caught." I was the... prey. The towering dolls loomed over me, so enormous that even at nearly 1.9 meters tall, I barely reached their waists. Their gigantic heads turned slowly, one by one, as if calculating their target. In unison, their mouths released an eerie, echoing chorus: "Little friend, where do you think you''re going?" Finally, the first one attacked. It was a nutcracker soldier, clutching several rings in its hands. With a high-pitched, sinister laugh, it hurled the first blue steel ring toward me. The ring crackled with static, lightning flashing within its circle. The moment it made contact with anything inside, it would deliver an electric shock. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Without hesitation, I crouched and rolled to the side, preparing to count how many more of these rings were coming my way when Elliot¡¯s sharp voice rang out: "Thirteen humanoid puppets, twelve plush dolls. The humanoid puppets each hold two rings, the plush dolls each hold three. Watch out, 10 o''clock to the left!" I barely dodged another red ring thrown by a Pinocchio puppet, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. There were a total of... "62 rings!" Old Man No. 9¡¯s voice echoed across the arena. He slammed his cane against the ground and shouted, "Hold your ground!" "Thanks!" I yelled back, just as a fresh wave of rings came flying at me. With nowhere to go, I gritted my teeth and dashed forward, sliding past a pig plush¡¯s hooves. Gasping for air, I crouched as the dolls circled around me. It felt absurd. This twisted game of ring toss had turned us from hunters into the hunted. We were the prey, and the rings were the predators. I didn¡¯t have to imagine what would happen if one of those rings caught me. Because the limp, soft pig plush had a small apron, and beneath it, a pile of bloodied, shredded flesh had slipped out. The faint outline of a human form was visible in the remains... torn apart, mutilated¡ªjust like a ragged doll. A broken ragdoll. But avoiding them wasn¡¯t a solution. These dolls were stationary, but they stood so closely packed that they nearly filled the entire venue. Whether I stayed hidden among them or stood outside their formation, I was within the precise throwing range of many of the dolls. In other words, anyone could land a ring on me. Isn¡¯t that the rule of the game? Whoever can land a ring on a doll claims that doll. Wait a minute! What if the doll can¡¯t be caught? What if I lie down¡ªcould I use my height to keep the ring from fully capturing me? The thought flickered through my mind as I quickly glanced up at the massive blue steel rings the dolls were holding. And then, I dismissed the idea. Because these steel rings were over two meters in diameter. Whether I was lying down or standing, they would still be able to catch me completely. Chapter 034 - Eerie Night Fair 06 Chapter 034 - Eerie Night Fair 06 I could only steal quick glances around the arena, desperate for any escape as I gasped for air, my lungs burning with the effort. This place was an ordinary game venue, though something felt off. Perhaps it was the dolls¡¯ grotesquely swollen size, but the arena felt vast¡ªlike a small indoor ice rink. It was nearly square. The floor was smooth and clean, empty except for the dolls, the rings clutched in their hands, and¡ªof course¡ªme. Three of the walls were solid concrete, painted in a soft pastel blue. The walls were decorated with whimsical drawings of blue skies, white clouds, soaring birds, and a distant ocean. The fourth wall was a metal fence, with an open gate that offered a potential way out. In the midst of all this, I dodged yet another ring, my eyes flicking over the rows of dolls standing ominously in place. For a moment, I considered trying to climb on top of them to avoid the rings. But the next second, I dismissed the idea entirely. It wasn¡¯t worth the risk¡ªany place within reach of their sharp claws was as good as a death sentence. "Fuck it!" I muttered under my breath, barely managing to dodge three more rings that came at me in quick succession. That was when I heard No. 137 shout from behind, "Bro, keep it up! You¡¯ve dodged 17 rings, but there are still 44 to go!" I froze for a moment. Seriously? Little No. 137¡¯s math was off again¡­ Shouldn¡¯t there be 45 rings left? I lost my focus for just a split second, and in that instant, a blue ring zipped past me. I felt the faint crackle of electricity as it grazed my face, and a sharp, burning sensation spread across my skin. In the nick of time, I dropped to the ground, twisting and rolling to the side. The iron ring flew past, tumbling and rolling across the floor, eventually coming to a stop in the corner with a dull clink. I glanced at the ring, and then, an idea struck me. I shouted to the others, my voice cutting through the tension in the air, "Hey! Can you estimate this for me? Do you think I can stand in the corner?" No. 25 seemed to catch on to what I was thinking, but instinctively she shot back, "That tiny curved gap won¡¯t be big enough for you to stand in..." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "Maybe," I replied, my mind racing, "Damn it, they made the rings so big to trap the dolls, and now the rings are so massive I might actually fit in that corner. If I stand there, the ring might get stuck where the walls meet and it won¡¯t be able to reach me!" No. 25 was about to argue again, but Elliot cut her off. "There are still 44 rings to go. It¡¯s not realistic to expect Sylas to dodge them all. By the time we¡¯re down to the last ten, he¡¯ll be completely wiped out." No. 25 seemed to chew on her lip, calculating something in her head. She spoke aloud, "If Sylas stands in the corner, the distance between his body and the gap is about 40 cm, which is the square root of 2R minus R¡ªaround 0.414R. That means r is about..." She paused for a moment, and Elliot quickly continued, "Greater than 0.95 meters, but less than one meter. The steel ring¡¯s diameter is two meters¡ª" That left more than enough space for me. Definitely more than 40 cm. "That¡¯s plenty of space!!" I shouted to them, relief flooding my chest. "Thanks, guys!" Without another second of hesitation, I bolted toward the corner. I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears, louder than any drum. The adrenaline was a constant roar. And then, I could hear the steel rings flying past me, crackling with electricity, their sharp clangs as they collided with the floor. Some of the rings brushed against me, skimming by so close they seemed to brush my skin, only to crash into the walls and ricochet back. But I didn¡¯t care. I was focused, my eyes locked on the corner. Once I reached it, I pressed my back against the wall, positioning myself as close as I could, standing at a 45-degree angle, my body angled just right. Maybe my sudden movement triggered something in the dolls. They froze, all of them, their stillness eerie as they let out a sharp, piercing scream. The sound was deafening, accompanied by a screeching melody that felt like it would shatter my eardrums. Then, in the blink of an eye, countless steel rings flew from their hands, one after another, raining down on me with terrifying speed. One, two, three... But I didn¡¯t flinch. I didn¡¯t move. I watched as the first steel ring hit the corner, its force sending it sliding down the wall, uselessly falling to the floor. It didn¡¯t even come close to grazing my shirt collar. And in that instant, I knew: I was safe. Chapter 035 - Eerie Night Fair 07 Chapter 035 - Eerie Night Fair 07 I stepped out of the game arena, the air thick with tension. Elliot and No. 25 followed close behind, both having successfully cleared the "Ring the Doll" challenge just as I had. No. 137, on the other hand, barely made it. He had stumbled and nearly gotten caught in the relentless downpour of steel rings but managed, at the last second, to dive into the safety of a corner. That left only No. 9¡ªthe elderly man, his movements slow and deliberate. He hesitated at the entrance of the arena, his brows furrowed with concern as he surveyed the field. ¡°We don¡¯t have to rush this,¡± I said. ¡°Now that we know how the game works, we can come back later. Let¡¯s check out the rest of the park first.¡± I glanced up at the sky¡ªa vast, unbroken stretch of pitch-black darkness. Suspended above us, a massive digital timer loomed, its eerie glow casting ghostly shadows over the ground. **45:00**. No. 9 considered my words for a moment, then nodded with his usual gentle demeanor. ¡°Alright.¡± With that, we moved on, weaving through the park¡¯s twisted attractions, keeping a wary eye on the other players. We hadn¡¯t gone far when the sharp crack of gunfire split the air. Screams followed. I whipped my head around. The game arenas lined up next to ¡°Ring the Doll¡± were just as nightmarish¡ªone involved dodging flying daggers, another was a seemingly harmless balloon-popping game. No. 137 stiffened beside me, his face pale. I turned in time to see a man crumple to the ground, his body convulsing before going completely still. His forehead was riddled with bullet holes. Blood oozed freely from the wounds, pooling beneath him. Elliot exhaled sharply. ¡°At this rate, this round alone is going to wipe out a good chunk of people.¡± He shot me a glance, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry. I nodded. Taking the cue, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, his voice carrying across the chaotic park: "Game Arena No. 4¡ª¡®Ring the Doll¡¯! If you run to the corner, the rings won¡¯t hit you! And if you clear a game, **share your strategy!** The more we know, the better our chances!" Players who had been running aimlessly froze at his words. Some shouted hurried thanks before making a break for the arena. Meanwhile, the five of us split up, spreading the message and gathering whatever intel we could on the other games. By the time we regrouped, the timer had shifted to **04:55:56**. Elliot was the first to act, pulling out a first-aid kit. Without a word, he handed out supplies¡ªbottles of iodine, cotton swabs, bandages. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Aside from No. 25, all of us took some hits in the last round," he said. "Patch yourselves up." I glanced at what he placed in my hand and felt my expression flatten. The bandages were¡­ ridiculous. Bright pink. Covered in tiny cartoon princesses. Hearts scattered across the edges like something out of a child¡¯s playroom. Elliot let out a sheepish chuckle. ¡°These were the only ones available.¡± I stared at him, then wordlessly shoved the bandages into No. 137¡¯s hands before dabbing iodine onto the burn beneath my right eye. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I muttered. My knee was scraped too, but I didn¡¯t bother with it. Instead, I got straight to business. ¡°The roller coaster stops midair, then drops,¡± I reported. ¡°Instant death. The carousel? It speeds up until it tests your grip strength, but even if you¡¯re thrown off, the injuries won¡¯t be fatal. That one¡¯s worth trying.¡± I paused. ¡°Avoid the bumper cars. The game forces at least two people to fight to the death. Only one makes it out.¡± Elliot frowned. ¡°Did anyone survive?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I exhaled. ¡°Five players went in. Only No. 44 walked out. That guy with the goatee from the last round? He¡¯s a mess. Looks like his mind¡¯s already halfway gone.¡± Not surprising. Slaughtering four people just to stay alive¡ªwho could walk away from that unscathed? After exchanging intel, we decided on our next move: **the carousel**. It was located in Zone B, across an artificial lake. The water was dotted with oversized plastic lotus leaves and flowers, their glossy surfaces reflecting the dim light. Occasionally, the water would ripple, and a sleek, silver shape would leap out¡ªa piranha. They weren¡¯t just for show. As we descended onto the bridge leading to the other side, a figure stepped into our path. A clown. He **looked** human. But the moment I saw him, I knew he wasn¡¯t. His exaggerated costume¡ªstriped suspenders, an oversized ruffled collar¡ªwas unsettling enough. But it was his **face** that sent an instinctive chill through me. Deathly white. Stretched into an impossibly wide grin. His lips, painted a garish red, moved animatedly as he spoke: "Hey there, my dears! Would you like to buy a balloon? Freshly made, just for you~~~" No one answered. None of us moved. In his free hand¡ªthe one not holding the bundle of balloons¡ªhe was dragging something. Someone. A woman. She was barely conscious, her body limp as she struggled weakly against the thin ribbon wound around her throat. It was a balloon string¡ªembedded so deep into her flesh that it had nearly **severed** her neck. She made a few desperate choking sounds. Then went completely still. The pink balloon tied around her neck swayed gently. Like a flower. **Blooming from her bloodied flesh.** The clown beamed at us. "Come now, my lovelies!" he crooned. "Won¡¯t you buy a balloon? It¡¯s a limited-time offer~~~" Chapter 036 - Eerie Night Fair 08 Chapter 036 - Eerie Night Fair 08 I hesitated for a moment before offering a small smile. "Tell me, how do you sell your balloons?" The clown¡¯s grin stretched impossibly wide, his painted lips curling at the edges. "Oh, it¡¯s simple. You trade me the thing that matters most to you." A cold chill rippled through the group. None of us had any money¡ªso what else could we offer except our lives? "Oh! Almost forgot to mention," the clown added, his tone light and teasing, as if we were discussing carnival prizes instead of a twisted bargain. "My balloons are part of the amusement park¡¯s attractions~" With an effortless flick of his wrist, he cast aside the lifeless woman he had been holding, letting her crumple to the ground like a discarded puppet. Then, from within his oversized coat, he produced a punch card machine, the kind you''d expect at a casual arcade¡ªutterly out of place in this nightmare. His voice lifted into a singsong lilt. "Buy a balloon, and you get a game~~~ Hee hee hee~" I scanned my surroundings, taking stock of the situation. Unlike the silent, mechanical marionettes we¡¯d encountered before, this clown was different¡ªmore animated, more aware. He was one of the few entities in this twisted amusement park that could actually communicate with us. That alone made him dangerous. So instead of answering his offer, I turned the tables. "What are the conditions for clearing this stage?" The clown¡¯s exaggerated red eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. He tilted his head, as if no one had ever dared to ask him that before. Then, with a delighted giggle, he began to bounce on the balls of his feet, twirling playfully around us. "When night falls, when the park returns to what it was meant to be... When innocence fades, when wicked desires consume what was once a pure land... This amusement park will vanish." He stopped suddenly, fixing me with an unsettling stare before adopting the overly enthusiastic demeanor of a carnival barker. "So! Before that happens, how about a few balloons to celebrate? Limited-time offer!" Elliot and the others remained stiff with caution, their silence heavy with distrust. No. 137 visibly recoiled, his eyes flicking between the clown¡¯s painted face and the limp woman at his feet. I felt my patience thinning. With a sharp frown, I said, "No, thanks." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. To my surprise, the clown didn¡¯t push further. He simply shrugged, grabbed the lifeless woman by the arm, and dragged her away, his voice trailing off in a sing-song murmur. "Such a shame, such a shame¡­" We moved on, clearing the carousel together. By the time we stepped off, the countdown timer had dwindled to a mere three hours. I took the lead, guiding the group toward the last attraction that seemed remotely safe¡ª**the seesaw**. Yet even as I walked, my mind kept circling back to the clown¡¯s words. What was this amusement park originally meant to be? The park was divided into two zones¡ªA and B¡ªperhaps to separate the difficulty levels of the attractions. In Zone A, a grand statue of a prince stood tall, a longsword gripped firmly in his hands. Meanwhile, in Zone B, a statue of a princess held a delicate bouquet of flowers. Compared to the ominous air of Zone A, Zone B was undeniably safer. "Still thinking about what the clown said?" Elliot¡¯s voice pulled me from my thoughts. At some point, he had walked up beside me. I nodded. "Yeah. He said, ¡®When wicked desires consume what was once a pure land.¡¯ I don¡¯t understand what that means." Elliot, dressed in his usual neat yet effortless student attire, had left his collar unbuttoned, giving him an air of casual confidence. He thought for a moment before replying, "This place was never a ¡®pure land¡¯ to begin with. There¡¯s danger everywhere. But when he mentioned ¡®wicked desires¡¯¡­ I think he meant something that directly contradicts childhood innocence." "Innocence is pure and harmless. Violence and bloodshed are its opposite." "But beyond that?" He furrowed his brows in thought. "In Catholicism, the Seven Deadly Sins are pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, and lust. If we were to strip away everything that makes this place ¡®pure¡¯ for children, which of these would be the first to go?" "You can¡¯t single out just one," I admitted. "Any of them could be the answer." Our conversation was cut short when No. 9, the elderly man, lost his balance on the seesaw and fell. It wasn¡¯t a fatal drop, but he had clearly hurt himself, gripping his cane tightly as he struggled to stand. I stepped past Elliot to help him up. As I did, my gaze landed on the stuffed bear dolls lined up around us, their glassy eyes staring blankly ahead. Something about them stirred a memory, and then it hit me¡ª**the Mickey Mouse figure I had seen at the park entrance.** I stopped in my tracks, my pulse quickening. Turning sharply to the others, I asked, "When you entered the amusement park, did you notice the sign above the gate? And that mouse¡¯s head?" Chapter 037 - Eerie Night Fair 09 Chapter 037 - Eerie Night Fair 09 No. 25 responded without hesitation. ¡°I remember. No. 32, you stood there staring at it for quite a while. Wasn¡¯t it just a Minnie Mouse with that eerie, unsettling grin? Oh, and there was that tattered sign¡­ What did it say again? I forgot.¡± ¡°*Paradise Lost*,¡± I answered firmly. And the moment the words left my mouth, something clicked. I finally understood why that mouse¡¯s head had felt so disturbingly wrong. ¡°The mouse had only one eyelash¡ªjust one, but it was unusually long. Below its head, instead of paws, there were two hands. Human hands. The right one had its index finger raised, while the left was open. At first, I thought it was just a strange pose, but now that I think about it¡­¡± I lifted my own hands, mimicking the gesture. ¡°Isn¡¯t this a 1 and a 5? And the mouse¡¯s two long eyelashes, combined with its eyes¡­ they form two sixes. So that gives us 1665. Does that number mean anything special to anyone?¡± A tense silence fell over the group. They exchanged uncertain looks, some scratching their heads as they tried to place the number. Even Elliot, usually the most well-read among us, furrowed his brows before admitting, ¡°I have no clue.¡± Then No. 9, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly spoke. His voice, though aged, carried a weight that made us all turn to listen. ¡°You said the sign read what again?¡± ¡°*Paradise Lost*,¡± I repeated. ¡°*Paradise Lost*¡­¡± No. 9 tapped his cane rhythmically against the ground, his expression pensive. ¡°John Milton¡¯s *Paradise Lost* was written in the 17th century. I can¡¯t recall the exact year off the top of my head, but I¡¯d wager it was 1665. When you regroup with the other players later, you should ask around and confirm it.¡± He paused, eyes glinting with thought. ¡°*Paradise Lost* is one of the cornerstones of Western literature, standing alongside *The Iliad* and Dante¡¯s *Divine Comedy*. Anyone well-versed in literary circles would recognize it, but I wouldn¡¯t fault those unfamiliar with it. Its story, however, has been passed down through the centuries. A simple summary should make it clear to you all.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. With my help, No. 9 carefully lowered himself onto a nearby bench. The worn wood creaked beneath him, but his posture remained upright, dignified. Around us, the group fell silent, eyes fixed on the old man, waiting for the tale to unfold. He cleared his throat and began. ¡°In the simplest terms, *Paradise Lost* tells the story of Adam and Eve, the first humans, who lived in the Garden of Eden. But they were deceived¡ªtempted by Satan, who took the form of a serpent. He lured them into eating the forbidden fruit, and in doing so, they brought about their own downfall. They were cast out of paradise, forced to wander the world burdened by sin.¡± He let the words hang in the air for a moment, as if allowing them to settle in. ¡°If you¡¯re familiar with *Genesis* in the Bible, then you should already know the story.¡± He fell into brief contemplation before speaking again, shifting seamlessly back to our previous discussion. His tone was almost grave. ¡°So, Elliot,¡± he mused, ¡°in a child¡¯s world, if one of the Seven Deadly Sins were to be erased first, it would undoubtedly be *lust*.¡± He tapped his cane against the ground once more, his gaze sweeping over the eerie amusement park that surrounded us. His words seemed to linger in the dim air, heavy with meaning. ¡°And now,¡± he continued, his voice quieter but no less intense, ¡°this so-called paradise is demanding that we bring it back.¡± He exhaled slowly, his eyes dark with understanding. ¡°To turn this amusement park into a true *Paradise Lost*.¡± Chapter 038 - Eerie Night Fair 10 Chapter 038 - Eerie Night Fair 10 This round of the game¡ªthree trials¡ªhad been more brutal than any of us had imagined. Out of 110 players, only 67 remained. The survivors gathered in the central plaza between Zones A and B, the weight of exhaustion and fear pressing down on them like a thick fog. Even in the dim, artificial glow of the amusement park¡¯s flickering lights, their haunted expressions were unmistakable. A young girl, no older than No. 137, had collapsed onto the ground, her body racked with violent sobs. "It was horrible¡­ like a slow, torturous execution. I¡¯d rather have just quit and been killed outright¡­" She wasn¡¯t wrong. Every person standing here had endured all three trials, each more grueling than the last. But even now, there had been no notification, no signal indicating we had cleared the round. The game hadn¡¯t ended¡ªit was simply dragging us deeper into its abyss, stretching the torment to its absolute limits. By the time I had circled the amusement park once more, the timer hovering in the sky had nearly run out. Only ten minutes remained. Murmurs rippled through the crowd¡ªwhispers of speculation, fragments of desperate strategies, but no clear answers. Everyone was waiting, bracing for whatever fresh horror the game had in store next. Then, the final ten seconds began to count down. When the floating numbers hit zero, a deafening explosion shattered the silence. Fireworks erupted overhead, their dazzling colors bursting across the ink-black sky. For a fleeting moment, it almost looked like a celebration¡ªuntil the horizon began to shift in an unnatural way. The darkness fractured. Dawn bled through the edges, pale and golden at first, but then surging forward with an eerie, unnatural speed. The sky brightened too fast, the shadows dissolving as if reality itself was being rewound. And then¡ª Someone gasped. ¡°Look! There are two suns!¡± All heads snapped upward. There, blazing in the sky, were two suns¡ªone rising from the east, the other from the west. They climbed in opposite directions, their paths defying the natural order, moving as if time itself had been thrown into chaos. A robotic voice crackled over the loudspeakers, disturbingly cheerful. A saccharine children¡¯s song played in the background, making the announcement even more unsettling. ¡°Welcome to *Daylight*! The anti-addiction system and minor protection laws are now in effect! Kids are not allowed to play games after 6:00 AM. We¡¯ll see you again tonight at 8:00 PM~~~¡± ¡°Shit,¡± someone cursed. ¡°So it¡¯s not over after all.¡± ¡°This goddamn game¡ªI quit!¡± another voice snarled in frustration. The murmurs grew into a low rumble of discontent. I pressed my lips into a thin line, leaning against the Cupid fountain, feeling the cold stone against my back. My voice was steady, but the weight of exhaustion was undeniable. ¡°Well, looks like we¡¯re in for another round. At least this intermission is long¡ªfourteen whole hours. We should use this time to explore.¡± ¡°I doubt we actually have fourteen hours.¡± Elliot lifted his gaze skyward, eyes narrowing as he tracked the rapid ascent of the suns. ¡°Look at the speed of the sunrise. It¡¯s already climbed four or five degrees in just a few minutes. If it keeps this pace, a full 180-degree cycle would take¡­ maybe an hour?¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. I studied the unnaturally brightening landscape, then smirked, shrugging. ¡°Alright, then. Let¡¯s try to clear this round in an hour.¡± No. 137 hesitated. ¡°Are you serious?¡± ¡°Of course¡ª¡± His eyes lit up with hope. ¡°¡ªNot.¡± No. 137: ¡°?¡± No. 137: ¡°¡­¡­¡± I turned my attention to the gathered players and raised my voice. ¡°Can everyone hear me? I¡¯ll keep this short. Do you all remember the sign at the entrance? The one with the giant, messy writing?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± someone replied. ¡°It was old and falling apart. The letters looked almost like scribbles, like a spider had scrawled them on.¡± I nodded. ¡°Right. It said *Paradise Lost*. And next to it, there was a Minnie Mouse head. You all remember that too, don¡¯t you?¡± Some nodded hesitantly, others exchanged uncertain glances. ¡°The head wasn¡¯t just floating there,¡± I continued, guiding their memories. ¡°Below it, there were two hands¡ªhuman hands. One had its index finger raised, the other had all five fingers extended.¡± ¡°I¡ªI was too scared to really look¡­¡± someone admitted, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°I saw it!¡± Another player, braver, spoke up. ¡°At first, I thought they were props. I stared for a long time, wondering why they didn¡¯t look like Mickey Mouse¡¯s gloves. Then, when I got closer, I realized¡ªthose weren¡¯t fake hands. They were real. Severed human hands.¡± A ripple of unease spread through the crowd. ¡°And those two hands¡­ they weren¡¯t identical, were they?¡± he went on, eyes widening as realization dawned. ¡°One was bigger, more muscular¡ªlike a man¡¯s. The other was slender and delicate¡ªlike a woman¡¯s. Oh! And I remember something else!¡± His hands clapped together in excitement. He turned to me. ¡°No. 32, I just remembered! Both hands had rings on their ring fingers. Do you think that means something? Like, I don¡¯t know¡­ a man and a woman? Or maybe something about love?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a strong possibility.¡± I nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve all heard the story of Adam and Eve, right? The first humans, tempted by the devil, who ate the forbidden fruit and were cast out of paradise. In the 17th century, a writer penned a book about that very tale. The title of that book was *Paradise Lost*. Now, does anyone here know the year it was written?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The response came from a soft-spoken woman wearing round glasses. She raised a hand slightly. ¡°John Milton wrote *Paradise Lost* in 1665. On the surface, it¡¯s a tribute to God, but beneath that, it critiques feudal tyranny. At the time, feudal and capitalist systems were clashing violently, and the poet channeled his revolutionary passion into his work. But at its core, the book is about one thing¡ªdesire. It explores human sin and temptation.¡± She hesitated. ¡°But¡­ just because we saw the words *Paradise Lost* doesn¡¯t necessarily mean¡ª¡± I crossed my arms. ¡°Alone, no. But when you add in the wedding rings and the year 1665, the pieces start coming together. Two hands forming a ¡®1¡¯ and a ¡®5.¡¯ Minnie¡¯s eyes and lashes making up two sixes. The number *1665* is no coincidence.¡± I stepped forward, scanning the anxious faces before me. ¡°And then there¡¯s something else¡ªthe clown told us something very interesting. He said that when this amusement park becomes its true self¡­ it will disappear.¡± A cold hush fell over the group. ¡°So,¡± I asked, my voice slow and deliberate, ¡°how do we make it return to its true form?¡± Chapter 039 - Eerie Night Fair 11 Chapter 039 - Eerie Night Fair 11 Everyone was searching for an apple¡­ Or, failing that, something¡ªanything¡ªthat might resemble an illicit attraction. All efforts ended in failure. With only half an hour left, I retraced every path I had yet to explore, my steps measured, my eyes sharp. I checked every nook, every shadow, ensuring that no hidden statues, carvings, or objects resembling snakes or apples had escaped my notice. Only once I was certain did I turn back toward the fountain, thoughts swirling in my mind like the water cascading over its marble edges. Before I could even steady myself, a blur of movement shot toward me. A pair of hands grasped my shoulders, and before I could react, soft lips landed briefly against my cheek. The moment passed in an instant. The next thing I knew, the culprit had leaped away, her expression riddled with guilt, her gaze darting in every direction except mine. I blinked. ¡°¡­???¡± My body tensed instinctively. I wasn¡¯t fond of people invading my personal space, and my first instinct was to let my irritation show. But since it was someone familiar, I forced my temper down and exhaled through my nose. ¡°No. 137,¡± I said coolly, ¡°what the hell was that?¡± She fidgeted, pressing her index fingers together, eyes downcast. ¡°I just¡­ thought it might work,¡± she mumbled. ¡°What if this was the key to passing the trial? I had to try, right? Don¡¯t be mad¡ªI was wrong, I was wrong. But¡­¡± She hesitated, then glanced up with an almost hopeful look. ¡°Can I try again? I don¡¯t think I actually landed it properly just now¡­¡± I let out a slow, unimpressed sigh and flicked her forehead. ¡°Go bother Elliot instead.¡± Elliot chuckled, shaking his head as he raised a hand in mock refusal. ¡°I¡¯ll pass, thanks.¡± No. 137 pouted and slumped down against the fountain¡¯s edge beside me, looking thoroughly dejected. Her interpretation of ¡°lust¡± was¡­ surprisingly innocent. A simple kiss, an act of closeness between a man and a woman¡ªperhaps, in her mind, a pure enough gesture to count as something greater. It was an interesting thought. My gaze drifted toward the statues standing in Zones A and B. A possibility surfaced in my mind, and I murmured, ¡°I wonder if there¡¯s a way to bring those two statues together¡­¡± ¡°Hm? What did you say?¡± Elliot turned to me, his voice nearly drowned out by the constant trickle of the fountain. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. I repeated, ¡°Zone A has a prince statue, and Zone B has a princess statue. I wonder if there¡¯s a way to merge them.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go check it out!¡± No. 25 perked up, her interest immediate. Before we could even discuss further, she had already taken off at a sprint, her excitement evident in her hurried steps. Elliot, however, was far less enthusiastic. ¡°They¡¯re at least 200 meters apart in a straight line,¡± he pointed out. ¡°Each statue is ten meters tall¡ªsolid stone, probably weighing several tons. Moving them manually isn¡¯t happening.¡± He tilted his head up, his gaze shifting to the sky, where the two suns hovered perilously close to merging. ¡°Damn, those things are bright.¡± Time was running out. Thirty minutes left. Once both suns dipped below the horizon, the next round would begin. A heavy silence settled over the group. The initial frenzy of problem-solving had faded into a dull exhaustion. After all the effort, all the frantic searching, we had nothing. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stand. ¡°I¡¯ll check a few of the attractions we haven¡¯t visited yet,¡± I said. ¡°Might as well prepare for whatever comes next.¡± Before I could take a step, No. 25 came racing back, her windbreaker billowing behind her. ¡°Sylas!¡± she called, breathless but buzzing with energy. ¡°I got a close look at both statues, and you won¡¯t believe it! Their hands¡ªboth of them¡ªare wearing wedding rings! The prince¡¯s is on his left hand, and the princess¡¯s is on her right. What if merging them really is the answer?¡± Her excitement was palpable, but Elliot and I remained unmoved. Even the elderly No. 9 let out a weary sigh and shook his head. ¡°Not possible,¡± he said flatly. ¡°Ten meters tall. That¡¯s three, maybe four stories high. In reality, you¡¯d need a crane to lift them. No amount of manpower could move them. If they fell, they¡¯d crush anyone in the way.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± No. 25 deflated like a punctured balloon. ¡°So what do we do? Just sit here and wait to die?¡± ¡°Or,¡± I murmured, rolling up the sleeves of my white shirt, ¡°we keep searching for more clues related to love.¡± I crouched by the fountain, dipping my fingers into the cool water. The ripples distorted the reflections of the twin suns above. Slowly, I retrieved a handful of coins from the fountain¡¯s basin, letting the excess water slide through my fingers. Something caught my eye. I turned the coins over in my palm, inspecting the details. Each one bore the unmistakable cherubic face of Cupid, round and grinning. ¡°Cupid,¡± I mused aloud, the pieces beginning to click together in my mind. ¡°He¡¯s tied to love as well. And this fountain¡ªit¡¯s at the very center of everything. What if this is the key we¡¯ve been looking for?¡± Chapter 040 - Eerie Night Fair 12 Chapter 040 - Eerie Night Fair 12 We had already examined the fountain from every angle. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Even the statue of Cupid, standing with his bow poised, appeared perfectly mundane. Still, just to be certain, I turned to No. 25¡ªthe fastest and most agile among us. "Wind, think you can jump up there and check the Cupid statue?" "See if there''s anything unusual?" I nodded. No. 25 smirked and pointed a confident thumb at herself. "Leave it to me." Without hesitation, she bent her knees and sprang onto the fountain''s edge. With a fluid motion, she leaped over the three-meter-wide basin, her right hand latching onto Cupid¡¯s left foot. Using both hands and feet, she climbed onto a protruding base of the statue and began feeling around for anything amiss. Then, suddenly¡ª "Guys!" she shouted. "The arrow in Cupid¡¯s hand is loose! Should I try pulling it out?" In this game, every alteration¡ªno matter how small¡ªhad the potential to be catastrophic. That was a hard-learned lesson from our very first trial. Which was why, before taking any action, it was always best to consult the group. Her voice rang out loud enough for players in adjacent zones to hear. A chorus of responses echoed back. "Go for it¡ª!" So she did. With a firm tug, she wrenched the golden arrow free. The ground beneath us rumbled. It wasn''t a subtle vibration but a deep, visceral tremor. The entire floor shuddered, then, almost imperceptibly, began to rotate in a slow, deliberate clockwise motion. The only reason we knew it was moving at all was the shifting of our overlapping shadows. The ground¡­ was turning. Even No. 25, normally unfazed by chaos, was momentarily stunned. "Whoa¡ªwhat the hell?! Is this some kind of ''heaven is round, earth is square'' nonsense? Holy crap, the ground actually moves? That¡¯s insane." "Watch yourself," I warned. "Don¡¯t fall." "Relax, I got this!" she called back, steadying herself. "So? Should I turn it again? Or put it back the way it was?" "Try turning it the other way," I said. "See if it resets." She adjusted her grip and yanked in the opposite direction. Sure enough, the floor shifted counterclockwise. Above us, the twin suns in the sky inched closer to the horizon. Their fiery glow stretched our shadows longer and longer, the ground¡¯s rotation making the shift even more pronounced. "Does this actually do anything?" No. 25 frowned, clearly unimpressed. "All this dramatic movement, and for what? Just some weird gimmick?" I stared at our shadows. A realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. My head snapped up. "Turn it ninety degrees¡ªnow! Align the trajectory of the twin suns with the line connecting the prince and princess statues!" Stolen novel; please report. The prince¡¯s statue stood at the precise center of Zone A. The princess¡¯s statue mirrored it in the heart of Zone B. The two zones were nearly symmetrical, an invisible axis running between them. Before, the suns had moved along this axis¡ªone traveling east to west, the other west to east. The shadows they cast had never intersected. But if their paths could be made parallel to the statues¡¯ alignment¡­ Then, when the suns finally set and the shadows stretched to their fullest¡ª No. 25¡¯s eyes sparkled with understanding. "Ohhh, I get it¡ª" "Shadows," Elliot murmured, catching on. "Sylas is talking about their shadows." The light above us was blinding, but our silhouettes were distinct. Black and white. Clear and sharp. "If the statues themselves can¡¯t meet¡­" No. 25 grinned. "Then we make their shadows meet? Damn, that¡¯s actually kinda romantic! Alright, let¡¯s do it!" She yanked the arrow once more. The ground groaned as it rotated, grinding into place at a precise ninety-degree shift. At the same moment, the suns dipped lower. Their scorching glow stretched every shadow impossibly long¡ªincluding those of the two massive, ten-meter-high statues. We held our breath, watching. The two elongated figures drew closer. Then, finally¡ª They touched. The prince and princess, forever apart in stone, found each other in darkness. A whisper rose on the wind, ethereal and haunting. A trickle of crimson tears dripped from Cupid¡¯s eyes. With a sudden clang, the sword in his grip tumbled, striking the ground where the shadows intertwined. The moment it touched, flames erupted¡ªtwisting, writhing, alive. The fire devoured the space between them, its heat warping the air. The last light of the suns faded, swallowed by the encroaching night. And yet¡ª The two shadows remained. Interwoven. Embracing. As if locked in an eternal dance of longing and reunion. The entire amusement park trembled. Fractures spiderwebbed across the ground, spreading like veins of lightning. The earth groaned, shuddering beneath us. Then it cracked. Deep and wide, the ground splintered, breaking apart like shattered glass. And we¡ª We fell. The world crumbled around us, chunks of land plunging into the abyss. The amusement park, once a stage for our trial, disintegrated into nothingness. We tumbled downward, deeper and deeper, swallowed by darkness¡ª Until, at last, we were engulfed by blinding white light. ¡ª "Congratulations, all sixty-seven players. You have cleared the third trial." Sprawled on my back, limbs loose and weightless, I glanced toward my companions, still catching their breath mid-fall. Grinning, I called out¡ª "See you in the next level." ¡ª The End of **Eerie Night Fair** ¡ª Chapter 041 - Skyscraper 01 Chapter 041 - Skyscraper 01 I found myself once again in that blank, bewildering white void. It was the kind of emptiness that erased your sense of self¡ªno sound, no shape, no texture, not even a whisper of movement. Just me and an endless white that stretched in all directions, smothering time itself. I must have sat there for two days, maybe more. There was no sun to rise or fall, no clock to tick away the hours¡ªonly the ache of boredom gnawing at the edge of my mind like a slow, dull blade. Eventually, I stood. My legs were stiff, reluctant, but they moved. I began to walk, aiming for the border¡ªor whatever passed for it in this infinite nothingness. Even finding the edge was a trial. Only the sudden flare of laser warnings¡ªthin red lines slicing down from nowhere¡ªlet me know I was nearing it. I pressed a cautious hand against the invisible perimeter, cold and unyielding. From my pocket, I pulled out a small token: a steel coin with Cupid¡¯s face etched into it. A souvenir from the last round, stolen in secret. I placed it on the ground as a marker and began walking along the border, each step counted aloud in my head. At 135,000 steps, I caught a glint of light on the ground. My heart jumped¡ªI thought I¡¯d come full circle. But as I bent to examine it, I saw it was just a button I¡¯d torn from my shirt during my first circuit. I picked it up slowly, disappointment weighing down my fingers. This place was far bigger than I¡¯d thought. So I kept walking. Hours, days¡ªwho could tell? The act of moving became automatic, a rhythm etched into my bones. Then, at last, I saw it again: that same Cupid coin gleaming faintly on the ground. I bent down, picked it up, and checked my count. Seven hundred ninety-three thousand steps. A week of endless walking. No sleep. No rest. No destination. I stood there for a long time, unmoving, as if I¡¯d become part of the void itself. During our brief stay in the plaza after the last trial, I¡¯d spoken with the others¡ªplayers like me, scattered souls thrust into this strange game. We¡¯d asked each other the same desperate questions: "Do you remember anything? Your name? Your past? Anything at all?" No one remembered. Not a face, not a home, not even a birthday. The only names we had were numbers the system gave us. Where had we come from? We were like duckweed floating rootless on a pond, like rivers without sources, trees growing from air¡ªadrift, disconnected, unknowable. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. No past. No future. Just fragments of instinct, knowledge etched into our minds without memory of learning. Muscle memory without context. A hollow sort of wisdom. Were we still human? I let out a bitter laugh and slumped down near the border, flipping the coin between my fingers. Probably not. But if not human, then what? Ghosts haunting a machine? Puppets dancing for unseen hands? I sat there in silence for an unknowable span of time. Then, without warning, a familiar sound broke through the void¡ªa mechanical chime, sharp and sterile, followed by the roar of artificial life. This time, the "music" was different. Less melody, more noise: honking car horns, garbled subway announcements, the murmur of passing conversations. The clatter of cups in a caf¨¦, the rustle of newspapers, the scratch of pencils on paper, the crinkle of plastic being torn open. It was city noise¡ªa collage of urban chaos. Then came the voice. Cold. Monotone. Mechanical. ¡°Congratulations, Player No. 32. You have cleared the third round. You may now choose whether to proceed to the next level.¡± I didn¡¯t respond. It repeated the message, exactly the same. This time, I spoke. ¡°Who are you?¡± I stood, voice rising as the questions spilled out. ¡°Who¡¯s behind this? Is someone running the game? Why don¡¯t we have any memories? Were they taken from us? Who *are* we? What the hell do you want from us?¡± The system paused. Whether it was processing or simply ignoring me, I couldn''t tell. Then, in the same lifeless tone, it said: ¡°You have thirty seconds remaining to decide whether to continue the game.¡± I let out a sharp laugh¡ªdry, sharp, and humorless. Then I threw the coin. Not gently, not symbolically¡ªI hurled it with everything I had, watched it spin through the air in a shining arc toward the invisible edge of the world. The moment it touched the boundary, the lasers came alive. Red beams tore down in formation¡ªfour, five layers of slicing light aimed at a single steel coin. The coin was struck, pierced clean through, but it didn¡¯t stop. It kept going, tumbling past the lasers, past the limits of the world I knew¡ªvanishing into the blank beyond. I didn¡¯t know where it had gone. I didn¡¯t care. The act itself¡ªthe rebellion of it¡ªleft a warmth in my chest I hadn¡¯t felt in... maybe ever. I turned toward the source of the voice, expression unreadable. ¡°Fine,¡± I said, voice cool and unbothered. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going.¡± The alarm system wailed in protest, sirens blaring, red lights bathing the white space in an eerie, almost apocalyptic glow. The mechanical voice cut through the chaos, barely audible: ¡°Understood. Player No. 32¡ªinitiating Round Four.¡±