012
1503 Words
[The tension is stretched tight, damn it!]
[One hundred people, ten safe houses, only eighty can survive. This is just asking people to kill each other.]
[It’s only the first night and someone already has to die. Call the fire brigade, jpgpg.]
[The sun is going down!]
[What’s this? No. 3 is teaming up with that newbie?]
[Did I miss something, gentlemen? Since when were Beatrix and the Newbie a team?]
[Oh, let’s get gay, jpg.]
[Mr. Beatrix can’t get rid of the beauty. I knew it—there’s no way he’d give up his face so easily.]
The poor mountain village had no electric lights. The only source of illumination was the lanterns hanging in the yard.
Darkness was spreading, swallowing everything. In just a few minutes, the sun would disappear completely behind the mountain, and the terrifying demon the village chief warned about would arrive. Anyone still lingering in the yard would lose their life.
People glanced nervously at one another. The staring lasted more than a minute before someone, unable to bear the anxiety, blurted out, “Should we all just go in together?”
Someone else immediately retorted, “Go in together? Didn’t you hear what the NPC said? There’s a limit to the number of people in each safe house. If you go over, the protection is lost and everyone inside dies!”
“So…” The speaker’s eyes darted around, his legs shaking.
“The NPC’s words and actions follow the game’s scenario. The NPC just told us the way to survive—I think we can trust that,” said a girl with flashy makeup. Ciara frowned.
“That old man looks frightening. Who knows if what he’s saying is true? What if he just wants us to turn on each other?” another person argued.
Ciara grinned, “If you don’t believe it, don’t go in tonight. Sleep outside in the yard.”
The fat man flushed. “You—”
A tall young man in Isidore jeans cut him off, “Shut up.”
He swept his eyes across the crowd. “Where’s No. 3?”
Click.
An extremely soft sound in the quiet yard immediately caught everyone’s attention.
All eyes turned toward the source of the sound.
Everyone’s gaze landed on the faint candlelight coming from the half-open door, voices coming from inside. The golden sheen from the lamp glinted off Beatrix Henry’s shoulder. No. 3 stood upright, clutching a giant sword, cold as ice, and spoke in a detached voice, “Three spots.”
Everyone’s eyes widened.
Beatrix Henry repeated, “This house can only take three more people.”
The rest of the crowd’s eyes lit up.
Someone finally made a move. With No. 3 as the opposition, what was the point of waiting?
Immediately, everyone dropped their pretenses and rushed toward the house.
All the other doors locked. People started pounding and begging to be let in.
Nine safe houses were crammed full of people pushing and shoving, while only Beatrix Henry’s house remained guarded—no one dared approach.
After Phedra Henry used the Universal Key to enter the house, he clutched the dagger Beatrix Henry gave him, relying on the dim oil lamp light to assess the inside.
The walls were stained, with water marks from rain leaking through. The floor was wooden, and every step made it creak.
The light in this house was dim—there seemed to be only one oil lamp in the whole place.
Phedra Henry hurried to the kitchen, startling a couple who were eating dinner. “Who are you?” they asked.
Phedra Henry quickly explained. When they heard the village chief had sent him, the couple looked less wary.
“If the village chief agreed to let you stay, then sleep here tonight,” the wife said. The couple, both in their forties, were quiet. The husband just bowed his head to eat after hearing Phedra Henry’s explanation and paid him no more attention.
The wife walked with him out to the living room and asked, “Did all your classmates come in? If not, hurry them up. The village chief must have warned you.”
When Phedra Henry returned, three more players had joined Beatrix Henry.
Two of them recognized Phedra Henry as the one who had dared to talk back to No. 3 earlier. Now, seeing the two together, they assumed he and No. 3 were friends and quickly introduced themselves.
They were both men: one, a thirty-year-old named Dante; the other, a freshman named Baldwin.
The third person to come in was a werewolf from Pandora.
The werewolf’s gaze made Phedra Henry uncomfortable, as if being marked.
Beatrix Henry narrowed his eyes at the two, then patted the werewolf’s shoulder: “Don’t stare at people like that. Didn’t I teach you better?”
Me? What?
Beatrix Henry glanced at him with a gentle, handsome expression, explaining, “This guy is Bridget’s brother.”
Phedra Henry thought the description didn’t fit such a giant, intimidating creature, but he wisely kept silent.
No wonder, when he first saw the werewolf, the facial features seemed strangely familiar.
Beatrix Henry pointed to the werewolf and told Phedra Henry, “Ika Bridget.”
Then he pointed at Phedra Henry and told the werewolf, “Call him Mr. Phedra.”
Ika was extremely quiet, gold letters slowly appearing as he said, “Mr. Phedra.”
“Mr. Phedra,” Ika repeated, glancing at Beatrix Henry. “There are only two people in the house. I’ve already checked upstairs.”
Ika stared at Phedra Henry, unblinking.
Phedra Henry calmly returned the searching gaze, then glanced at the hostess. A giant gray wolf was standing in the room, but she didn’t look surprised or alarmed.
Beatrix Henry, seeing the woman come out, realized she was an NPC and politely greeted her.
The wife smiled kindly at Beatrix Henry, perhaps because he was so handsome, and asked, “Young man, are you married?”
Beatrix Henry gave a forced smile.
The wife eagerly took his arm and asked several more questions. Beatrix Henry answered helplessly, his eyes drifting to Phedra Henry.
No one knew what Phedra Henry was thinking—his gaze was fixed on the window.
The noise in the yard was growing louder.
The sun had set, and the whirling wind in the wild mountain forest, like the scream of ghosts, made every player’s feet feel like they were on fire—everyone wanted to get into a safe house immediately.
“There’s no time! The demon’s coming! Move!” No one knew who shouted it first, but soon dozens more joined in.
The panicked crowd shoved anyone in their way, risking their lives to get into a safe house.
After a bout of pushing and shoving, all the safe houses were filled—but nearly thirty people were left outside.
Darkness nipped at their heels, the wind howling for their souls.
Nearly thirty terrified people pounded desperately on the doors, screaming, “Open up! Please! We don’t want to die! Please!”
Baldwin, recalling the chaos outside, was still trembling. He said to Dante, “Good thing you pulled me in.”
Dante said, “Thank No. 3 for getting us inside.”
Baldwin swallowed hard. “What about the others? They can’t come in? Will they really be killed by demons tonight?”
Dante fell silent.
Baldwin looked up. “Mister?”
Dante didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Beatrix Henry, Phedra Henry, and the werewolf, then finally sighed.
“This game is cruel.”
The sun had completely set behind the mountains. Outside, only darkness remained.
The wind rattled the door like someone sobbing; the desperate scratching at the wood seemed to scrape at Phedra Henry’s heart, making it ache.
He didn’t know why, but a nameless sadness welled up inside him.
The candlelight flickered; the house was dead silent.
No one spoke—all eyes were fixed on the door.
In the dim light, Beatrix Henry noticed Phedra Henry’s face suddenly become extremely dark.
One wrong move, and opening that door meant dying with the others.
Beatrix Henry asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
Phedra Henry was dazed for a moment, then half-joking, half-serious, said, “Don’t you ever want to be the good guy?”
Beatrix Henry asked, “Isn’t that what you want?” After a pause, he said, “I’ve never tried.”
Beatrix Henry frowned, about to ask what he meant by never trying—never tried to be good, or never tried at all? But Phedra Henry, reading his mind, calmly turned around, meeting Beatrix Henry’s gaze. For once, his expression was cold.
“Don’t worry. I won’t open the door.”
Beatrix Henry reached out, gently lifting Phedra’s chin with a finger. “I get what you’re thinking. It’s useless pity. If you survive, I’ll teach you how to grow up.”
Dante and Baldwin exchanged looks. Fear was clear in their eyes.
- Writer
