At the moment the explosion sounded, the entire castle was enveloped in silence.
Players, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the Benevolent Automaton and Malevolent Automaton, as well as the lurking rules, created the initial chaos at midnight. However, by the later hours of the night, players with some skill gradually adapted and found their rhythm, most choosing to conserve their energy and devise plans, with few moving about the castle’s corridors.
This should have been the last calm before the daytime slaughter, but the explosion came so suddenly that when it first occurred, the castle remained eerily quiet, with only the faint footsteps of the Malevolent Automaton echoing in the hallways.
But just a few minutes later, as sunlight began to filter into the castle, all players gradually realized what the explosion meant.
—The lights beneath their feet had gone out.
The Number Lamps that had accompanied each player were now completely invisible, and the entire floor of the castle had turned into an ordinary yet eerie black.
Someone stomped their feet repeatedly, confirming that the Number Lamp light had indeed vanished, and gritted their teeth, saying, “Damn it, we only needed to walk towards the areas with more numbers, catch a player when we saw one, and now how do we judge…”
“Could it be a new challenge from the instance? Destroying the lights is no good for anyone.”
“…It’s also possible that it’s those players who aren’t confident about surviving?”
“Impossible,” the person said to his teammate, “The numbers of the Puppets are so important; anyone would think of the power box. Don’t forget, even we, who only want to score a little and leave, have thought about waiting by the power box for those low-level players who want to destroy the power. It’s just that we lacked the confidence to go. The competition has been going on for a while now; I don’t believe there aren’t informed players waiting by the power box, but wouldn’t it be counterproductive for skilled players to do that…”
“We should go out first—daylight is here, and everyone has rested. Some players… have started hunting.”
On the first floor of the castle, in front of the power box.
The ground was covered in blood.
In the hours after midnight, more and more players of lower skill realized they were no different from the Benevolent Automaton; as game time passed, they would only become prey for other players. But those who could survive to the thirtieth or fortieth floor mostly had some experience—some would think of destroying the power box to hinder the hunting.
But those who thought of coming to destroy the power line, Xu Miaomiao naturally thought of leaving someone here to wait for prey.
Those players who thought themselves clever had already become Points for the other side.
But at this moment, after a pool of blood, the power box that had originally sat quietly in the corner was now completely charred, and the air was thick with the stench of blood mixed with the smell of burning.
A player from the other side, with a serious expression, stuffed a miniature walkie-talkie Item into his ear and said, “Miaomiao, it’s me.”
Instantly, two identical female voices came through the walkie-talkie: “The light power has been destroyed.”
The player looked at the smoking power box, his expression grim. Clearly speaking to his teammate, his tone was filled with more fear than surprise, and his voice trembled slightly as he said, “I’ve been watching it the whole time, from the moment we started going downstairs until now, I haven’t left even half a step…”
On the other end of the walkie-talkie, Xu Miaomiao’s words made him breathe a sigh of relief: “It’s not your fault.”
But the next sentence made him freeze, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Although you’re not that great, you’re more than enough to deal with those useless players, just not while you’re guarding. Before we arrived, someone had already set this up.”
The man was shocked: “How is that possible!? This is faster than you, faster than everyone in this instance to grasp all the hidden rules…”
And to set everything up while quickly deducing all of this, to numb them before, and now catch them off guard.
On the other end of the walkie-talkie, Xu Miaomiao seemed to chuckle softly.
She said, “Xue Wan wouldn’t want to waste that effort playing this kind of indirect deduction with me… So, which hidden master has entered?”
At the top of the castle, on the Stargazing Platform.
Xue Wan leaned against the corner wall with a serrated long knife, half-closing his eyes, his expression indifferent.
He heard the explosion but didn’t move, merely lifting his eyelids slightly to glance down—The Number Lamp had indeed disappeared.
Then, he scoffed and continued to close his eyes, pretending to doze.
As the angle of sunlight gradually rose with the passage of time, the first night of the game was about to pass, and the footsteps in the corridors grew denser—The sudden explosion of the power box nearly awakened everyone, and players began to act early.
But Yan Wei, who caused all of this, did not wake up.
Since entering Tower World, Yan Wei’s sleep had hardly been good. He was born with little sense of security, filled instead with vigilance; if Yan Mingguang wasn’t by his side, he usually only slept lightly, waking at the slightest sound.
But this time, when the explosion sounded, Yan Wei merely turned restlessly in bed, his eyes tightly shut, his brow furrowed.
He couldn’t hear the deafening noise; he only felt as if he were on a sea of blood.
It was a true sea of blood. The surrounding air was thick with an inescapable stench of blood, making it hard to breathe. Many large, rusted ships floated on the sea, carrying the scent of decay intertwined with the smell of blood.
On each ship stood some people.
Yan Wei instinctively felt those people were also players.
He stood on the deck of one of the ships, the swaying sea crashing against the rusted iron vessel, releasing a nauseating aura. The entire ship rocked violently, and he leaned against the railing, looking out, noticing that the surrounding players seemed to glance over, their gazes unfriendly.
But he paid no mind to those looks; he simply found the bloody colors uncomfortable and turned back inside the ship.
He felt as if he were experiencing all of this, yet also felt like a spectator.
He walked back into the dim corridor of the ship. It seemed he had someone with him; as he walked, he didn’t hesitate at all, heading straight towards the person he was looking for.
That vague feeling deepened, and his sensations became increasingly real.
The person he was looking for was… Yan Mingguang.
He thought, at the end of the corridor, he saw a person leaning against the wall corner, slightly bowing his head, seemingly holding a cigarette. The smoke curled around this person, adding a touch of haziness. In the dim light, Yan Wei couldn’t see the person’s face clearly, but he still instinctively recognized—this was Yan Mingguang.
He almost instinctively walked forward and called out, “Yan Mingguang!”
The person paused, looking up at him.
Yan Wei quickened his pace.
In an instant, he reached this person’s side, and as expected, he saw the person’s cold yet not distant expression.
“There are roughly four players who have failed to pass the ninety-ninth floor in this instance; the others are not worth worrying about. As for the situation in the instance, I have a rough guess; this is likely a long and torturous instance—”
The man suddenly interrupted his words: “Yan Wei.”
Yan Wei paused: “Hmm?”
Yan Mingguang walked slowly in front of him.
The faint smell of smoke surrounding this person had always been an exception for the cleanliness-obsessed Yan Wei; he never minded it. But at this moment, as the person approached, he suddenly found the smell of smoke somewhat pungent, the other’s aura quite oppressive.
Those pure black eyes looked at him through the lenses, and deep within those eyes was an emotion Yan Wei couldn’t grasp.
Deep and eerie, unsettling.
…Yan Wei always felt something was off.
But the scene before him wasn’t clear; he could only see Yan Mingguang’s face, while everything else was blurred.
This person said to him: “It’s difficult.”
Yan Wei was taken aback, chuckling lightly: “When have I ever been afraid of difficulty?”
“You will die.”
“I’m not afraid of death either. Besides, you’re still by my side; whether I live or die doesn’t really matter, as long as we’re together.” Yan Wei said, but inwardly he was quite surprised—when did he become this open-hearted?
The man didn’t sense his sincerity at all: “Let’s go find the descent passage; there’s still time. I’m afraid something will happen to you; we need to leave.”
Yan Wei found it hard to understand: “What’s wrong with you? What are you talking about? Aren’t we climbing the tower… to completely end this ninety-ninth floor instance? Why are you suddenly telling me to give up—”
“Yan Wei.”
Once again, his name was called, interrupting him.
Again, it was the man’s cold voice.
But this time, the voice came from behind Yan Wei.
He instinctively turned around, caught off guard, and saw Yan Mingguang standing behind him, looking at him with a serious expression.
“You’re not…”
Yan Wei turned back, only to see Yan Mingguang still standing in front of him.
His breath caught, and he instinctively took a step back, glancing between the two Yan Mingguangs, suddenly feeling a bit lost.
He heard the Yan Mingguang who had just appeared behind him say: “Come here, that’s not me; he’s lying to you.”
Yan Wei was about to speak when the entire ship suddenly shook violently. The blurred world spun around him, and as he swayed, Yan Wei abruptly opened his eyes!
—It was a dream.
Yan Wei sat up suddenly, gripping the blanket tightly, gasping for air. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, and his light brown eyes still held a lingering confusion.
Another dream featuring Yan Mingguang, in a strange instance.
Was that the instance he had visited before losing his memory? The ninety-ninth… the ninety-ninth floor instance!?
Had he and Yan Mingguang ever encountered dangerous situations where they couldn’t distinguish between reality and illusion? Why were there two—
“Yan Wei.”
Another short call, the voice cool yet not distant at all.
The same voice as in the dream.
Yan Wei jolted, instinctively turning his head, only to see Yan Mingguang half-squatting by the bed, his brow slightly furrowed, looking at him with concern.
Yan Wei didn’t have time to think; he braced himself against the bed and stepped back a little, instantly pulling out a short blade from the Black Ring.
“—Who are you!?” he shouted, “Are you a Benevolent Automaton or Yan Mingguang?”
The man’s expression paused for a moment, still looking at him unguarded, his eyes flashing with a hint of confusion and slight surprise. Yan Mingguang asked him: “What’s wrong? What just happened?”
Yan Wei was taken aback.
He slowly lowered the short blade in his hand.
He had always thought that the difficulty of this instance for him lay in the struggle and identification between his true self and the Benevolent Automaton; once he understood the key, the distinction between his true self and the Benevolent Automaton would blur, and he would have passed this unique psychological hurdle.
But after that vague yet terrifying dream—or rather, memory—appeared in his mind, he realized that the psychological hurdle of this instance for him was not himself.
But Yan Mingguang.
He didn’t know what the dream buried deep in his memory symbolized about the past he and Yan Mingguang had experienced. But he could feel the fear from the fluctuations of his emotions at this moment.
Not the fear of the unpredictable Puppet or Ghost/Monster, not the fear of the players in the instance who were hard to guard against, and not even the fear of life and death.
He seemed… very, very, very much afraid of misidentifying Yan Mingguang.
