Chapter 40: Sunlight |
The scene before him was veiled in a faint crimson haze. Colors bled together into sullied masses, spilling across a murky backdrop.
Qi Si felt as if he had been split in two. One half of him was gently coaxing, whispering for him to abandon all resistance, to sink into oblivion and obey his instincts.
The other half ascended above him as if his soul had left his body, freezing in the heavens to gaze down upon his physical form. With cold, mocking detachment, it described the scene objectively.
‘You are now in a nightmarish illusion,’ it told him. ‘The savory aroma of meat you smell is born of rot. The delectable stew you crave is the festering pus of a corpse.’
So spoke the part of him high above, its tone cryptic and profound, like a deity delivering a divine decree.
The [Humanoid Evil] identity card hovered overhead, its red-and-black phantom image swirling and pouring back into his spiritual form.
In that instant, Qi Si’s gaze pierced through the layers of phantoms and demons to lock with a pair of scarlet eyes, and his memories came flooding back.
In last night’s dream, a voice had solemnly proclaimed: “You are the fruit cultivated by the world’s greatest malice, burdened with the deepest sin bestowed by fate...”
“For my sake, and for your own, you must kill all who blaspheme the gods. You will continue to win, until you die upon the stage where the final act is played...”
Qi Si remembered. For a long time now, he had been immune to all forms of hypnosis and illusion, and he could always remain lucid in his dreams—so long as he chose to.
He had built palaces and towers in his dreams and conjured the forms of dead acquaintances, yet he always knew it was all unreal. He could always stand aside and dissect his own psyche with that same cold, mocking detachment...
For a very long time, he hadn’t liked it.
[Identity Card Hidden Effect “Lucid Dream” has been triggered. This effect cannot be activated again in this dungeon.]
[Note: The wicked do not dream. You are not human, so how could you escape suffering in a human way?]
The chaotic darkness in the depths of his consciousness was cleaved apart by a flash of blood-red light, and reason once again took control.
The fear that had just begun to bloom vanished before he even had a chance to savor it.
Hunched over, Qi Si let out a low chuckle. “If I’d actually put that stuff in my mouth, I probably would have killed myself out of sheer disgust... All things considered, I think I prefer being alive.”
An acrid stench assaulted his nostrils—the true smell of the slime covering the floor. Qi Si felt a surge of relief that he had regained his senses in time, before taking a bite out of the tumorous mass that was once the village chief.
The savory aroma was long gone, replaced by the sickening reek of pus. Nausea rolled through him, and under the barrage of stimuli, his consciousness sharpened as the chaotic images began to settle.
The identity card in the upper right of his vision had faded considerably, its once-vibrant colors now dull and dim.
Qi Si leaned against the doorframe. A wave of exhaustion made it difficult to stand, forcing him to rely on the wooden structure for support.
The other players were in a far worse state. Yang Yundong, Zhao Feng, and Zhu Ling were sprawled on the floor, limp and disoriented. Thankfully, they were still conscious. Drool from their phantom hunger trickled from the corners of their mouths, but at least they hadn’t actually eaten any of the slime.
The tattooed woman and Zhang Licai, however, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching for the slime on the ground. Their hands moved toward their mouths, then pulled back in a tormented struggle, clearly wrestling with their own willpower.
Allen was already flat on the floor, his tongue greedily lapping at the slime. He shoveled the ooze into his mouth, his throat working as he swallowed it down in great gulps.
Qi Si watched as flesh-colored pus began to seep from the man’s skin, identical to the surface of the tumor in the main room. His limbs deflated as if they were melting, their original shape blurring until they merged with the slime on the floor.
Soon, only his upper body and head remained, still prostrate on the ground, his mouth still swallowing with rapturous abandon.
Sensing Qi Si’s gaze, he looked up, his eyes filled with utter confusion. “Why aren’t you eating? Aren’t you hungry?”
As he spoke, he began to flow slowly in Qi Si’s direction.
“I’m not hungry. If you are, feel free to eat in peace,” Qi Si said, taking a step back and making an ill-timed joke. “Though given your cultural background, I doubt your parents ever taught you that one shouldn’t speak while eating.”
It was unclear how much Allen understood. He just persisted, urging, “But this stuff is so good. We should share it...”
Qi Si pretended not to hear, his eyes still scanning the surroundings. “Haven’t you noticed that something is wrong?”
Allen’s head giggled. “Wrong? What could be wrong? It’s delicious...”
He lowered his head again and went back to consuming the slime.
At the same time, as if sensing that Qi Si was unaffected, clumps of the flesh-colored slime began to converge toward the main room, creeping up his heels and climbing his legs.
The main gate to the courtyard had closed at some point, its seams sealed with the semi-solid ooze. A thin, flesh-colored membrane now covered every visible inch of the ground, pulsing fluidly and blocking every conceivable escape route. Qi Si remained almost unnervingly calm. He scanned his surroundings in silence as fragmented images and scenes flashed before his eyes like photographic silhouettes.
—The canopy blocking the sun, the papered-over windows of the main house, the tumorous mass curled on the bed...
—The villagers only appearing at night...
The clues lined up, one by one. The answer was already clear.
Qi Si noticed a large, south-facing window in the main house. It was sealed airtight with paper, but a strong blow to the center would easily break it open.
And the south... faced the sun.
The moment the deduction clicked into place, his body reacted. In a swift motion, Qi Si snatched the broadsword from the hand of the collapsed Yang Yundong and hurled it at the south-facing window behind the tumor.
He threw it with all his strength. The broadsword became a gray blur as it shot toward the window frame. A sharp *crack* echoed as the paper tore, followed by the *crash* of shattering glass.
Pale sunlight streamed in from outside. It was faint and weak, but it was light nonetheless.
The once dim and chilling main room was illuminated. The cold, impartial sunlight touched every corner, bathing all things—the dark, the pristine, the mottled, the pure—in its soft glow.
A piercing shriek tore through the air, its high-pitched wail audibly weakening until it faded into a feeble moan.
The tumorous village chief collapsed like a deflating balloon, its flesh-colored surface rapidly turning transparent. Its half-melted face twisted into a grotesque series of expressions—anger, then fear. A mouth that was nearly fused with its body opened and closed, muttering something under its breath.
Qi Si leaned in, straining to hear, and caught a single phrase: “The gods cursed us...”
He tried to listen for more of its final words, but the chief’s tumor had already melted completely into a translucent fluid. It glistened in the sunlight, appearing like a white gel in the shadows—looking exactly like the basin of “divine meat” Su Po had served them last night.
As if he’d just thought of a novel joke, the corners of Qi Si’s lips curled into an irrepressible smile.
He stepped forward, pulled the broadsword free from the south-facing window, and casually dragged its tip through the gel that had been the village chief. As expected, a golden liquid oozed from the cut.
It was now certain: the village chief had completely transformed into the divine meat the players needed—harmless, uncontaminated, and edible.
It was impossible to say whether this outcome was good or bad, but it was undeniably filled with drama and a dark sense of humor.
Still smiling, Qi Si carried the broadsword back to the doorway of the main room and looked down at Yang Yundong, who was still slumped on the ground.
The moment sunlight entered the courtyard, the mental confusion caused by the tumor and the slime had abruptly ceased. The players’ minds were slowly clearing, but it would be a while before they regained full control of their bodies.
In the entire, sprawling courtyard, only Qi Si was left standing.
In other words, he now held the power of life and death over every player here.
Realizing this, Qi Si lowered his gaze to the broadsword in his right hand. His left hand rested on his thigh, tapping out an idle rhythm.
He began to ponder the situation, feigning deep contemplation.
If he killed everyone here, then returned to Su Po’s house and killed Zhou Yilin, he could undoubtedly complete his deal with the god-tier NPC. At the same time, he would trigger the minimum death count mechanism and clear the dungeon instantly.
But that would mean sacrificing the dungeon completion rate and the full story.
After all, as the sole survivor, the dungeon would guide him toward a muddled Normal End, and he would miss out on the many death triggers that held vital clues.
The dungeon wouldn’t end for another four days, and there were still many mechanics that needed to be tested with human lives. Killing them all here would be far too wasteful.
Besides, he didn’t know what tricks the veteran players—on their third run of this dungeon—might have up their sleeves. Forcing them into a desperate, all-or-nothing fight wouldn’t be worth the risk.
It took him only a second to weigh all the details. Qi Si half-closed his eyes, masking the malice brewing within them, and casually tossed the broadsword back to Yang Yundong.
In the sunlight, his previous gloom vanished, replaced by a bright smile. “Thanks for the loan, Brother Yang. It’s a fine blade.”
Yang Yundong caught the broadsword and let out a heavy breath, cold sweat soaking his back.
He looked up into Qi Si’s eyes and hesitated for a long moment, but in the end, said nothing.