Chapter 443: The Curtain Falls, the Show Ends |
The Prisoner was certain someone else still existed within this hall, because that very "someone" had ripped away his [Silence] camouflage!
Rewinding a little— back to the moment the Prisoner had made a fool of Yu Mu and strode laughing toward the exit.
The instant his hand closed around the door handle, a flash of inspiration struck. A far more brilliant idea bloomed in his mind.
He realized he didn't actually need to leave.
The one who should leave was the loathsome Zhen Yi— not the universally beloved Prisoner.
So he changed his mind.
He wanted to stay and observe— to see what kind of changes this so-called Mediocre Person Society would undergo once it lost its master of atmosphere, and how much more intelligence would trickle out.
Besides, he had a vague feeling that these weren't the only people in this venue.
He and Cheng Shi had reached the same conclusion: something was wrong with this hall!
So everyone had been thinking the same thing. What none of them expected was that "Zhen Yi" would strike first!
Returning to the Prisoner: at the very instant he pulled the door open and was about to step through, he used [Silence]'s talent to "silence" every line of sight in the venue, erasing himself from everyone's perception.
Then he quietly shut the door, slipped into the nearby rubble, and became a silent intelligence-gathering device.
[Silence] players excelled at precisely this, and he walked farther along [Silence]'s path than anyone else alive.
In that single instant, the Prisoner had fabricated the illusion of his departure— shifting from the spotlight to the shadows. From the loudest "cicada" who'd already left the Mediocre Person Society's stage, he became a silent "mantis" who'd circled back for an encore!
When he overheard Qin Xin and the Blind One's conversation, he realized the secrets buried beneath this Mediocre Person Society ran far deeper than he'd imagined!
He'd "accidentally" learned that Qin Xin commanded an organization dedicated to protecting goodness. He'd "accidentally" discovered his brother-in-law really was his brother-in-law. He'd "accidentally" found out said brother-in-law was apparently formidable beyond measure. And he'd obtained the best possible confirmation of [Prosperity]'s fall.
Beyond all that, he'd also detected that after Qin Xin and the Blind One left, something else in the hall still hadn't departed!
After all, he "understood" [Silence] best— and right now, it wasn't "silent" enough!
So he didn't rush to leave. He waited patiently. What he hadn't expected was that this wait would produce yet another unexpected acquaintance.
Another mantis, just like himself, quietly materialized in the hall under the Prisoner's gleeful observation.
Lao Deng!
The Chosen One of [Time]— Lao Deng!
This "friend" whom he'd nearly led down [Silence]'s path once upon a time was now muttering his "award acceptance speech," blissfully unaware that the Prisoner had been recording every word of those somewhat cringeworthy declarations from beneath the rubble.
The Prisoner was having the time of his life. He was confident that the next time he encountered Lao Deng, he could push him even further down [Silence]'s road. But at the peak of his delight, the unexpected happened.
Some inexplicable force suddenly tore away his [Silence] cloak, abruptly exposing his presence to the other's senses.
Lao Deng was a Chosen One— an assassin, no less, the class most attuned to environmental awareness. He detected the presence immediately and snapped into combat mode.
What he hadn't anticipated was that this "fellow mantis" hiding even deeper than himself was the Prisoner!
That Prisoner who silenced everyone he touched!
In that instant, Lao Deng's face looked like he'd been chronically constipated.
And the moment the Prisoner called out "give me a hand," Lao Deng decisively chose to exit the stage, because fighting the Prisoner was utterly pointless.
It was like the frustration of being conned by Zhen Yi— brawling with the Prisoner only made things worse.
At least after being swindled, you could comfort yourself that the fraudster's technique was simply too sophisticated and you hadn't been careful enough. But against the Prisoner?
You couldn't exactly blame yourself for not talking fast enough.
What tormented people was never the Prisoner's fists— it was the Prisoner's tongue!
The man was terminally chatty. The verbal fabric he wove was so dense and airtight it could suffocate you!
And so the Chosen One of [Time] opted for a tactical retreat.
After Lao Deng departed, the Prisoner's expression turned uncharacteristically solemn.
He knew the moment had finally come to confront the true mastermind behind this Mediocre Person Society.
But no matter how he "called out" to the hidden figure within the hall, the venue remained utterly silent. Apart from the echoes of his own voice, there was not a single response.
Silence and noise reflected off each other in that moment.
The Prisoner shouted until his voice went hoarse. Still, no one acknowledged him.
He decided the other party probably didn't want to see him. And so the thoroughly bored Prisoner shook his head with a sigh and ultimately chose to leave.
This time, he truly left.
Because even without a direct response, between his own observations and the conversations he'd overheard, he'd already formed a guess about the hidden figure's identity.
What he wanted was an answer, not an actual exchange. And so, satisfied that he had his answer, the Prisoner made his exit.
Shortly after his departure, yet another change swept through the mediocre hall.
A drastic change.
Gold faded from gilt. Jade lost its luster. Chairs crumbled to rot.
Everything that had been resplendent within the hall began to distort and warp once every last attendee had truly vanished.
It was as if an invisible hand had peeled a high-saturation filter from the space. Before long, the entire venue lay in desolation.
Glory dimmed. Splendor could not endure. Beneath the gold and jade, it seemed, had always been nothing but rubbish.
Now, looking around the hall, beyond the demolished stage and passageway, all that remained were weather-eaten, rotting chairs, weed-choked stairways, and the mottled, faded dome above the stage.
And then, from atop that rust-streaked dome above the stage ruins, a crimson curtain unfurled downward.
The instant that blood-red fabric descended, it transformed into a rolling wave of cloth that surged outward in every direction. Before long, it had wrapped the entire hall in its embrace.
Then...
With a sharp whoosh, the entire venue vanished from the Void.
At the same time, on a stage somewhere in reality, a man in formal attire cradled a glass ball— mottled and decayed— and carried it to the stage's edge. With great care, he placed it on a shelf already crowded with glass spheres.
He polished the dust from its surface with an exquisite silk handkerchief, replaying scene after scene of the brilliant performance that had just unfolded on this stage. A satisfied smile crept across his face.
"Behold— the performances of the mediocre are always so magnificent."
He set the glass ball down precisely, then retreated step by step to center stage. Facing the empty audience seats below, he bowed deeply and murmured:
"The curtain falls. The show ends."
The moment those words faded, the stage's red curtain descended, enfolding his entire figure behind it.
But a golden card clattered out from behind the curtain, landing squarely at center stage.
The spotlight dimmed ever so softly. But before the light vanished entirely, its faint glow still revealed the detail inscribed upon the card's surface.
At its center were three small characters: "Mediocre Person Society." And the card's number read precisely...
No. 11.
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