"The penalty area is actually Chelsea?!"
"I don't understand. Where is that place?"
"It's not surprising that today's younger generation doesn't know. There was a nuclear explosion in Chernobyl many years ago. The radiation from that disaster was especially severe, which is why the place became a restricted zone."
"I don't know when the timeline of this dungeon was set, but since it's still marked as a restricted area, then the nuclear radiation must still be present."
"The game designers probably added some bizarre, paranormal elements to spice things up. Come on, people don't grow out of trees because of radiation!"
"So now, this death-mode dungeon involves not just the threat from other players… but also the environmental hazards of a restricted zone?"
"This is brutal… I doubt even a handful of players will make it out alive."
"It's terrifying. Please, let me avoid this dungeon forever!"
The short red-haired man, realizing his earlier panic had made him look a bit foolish, quickly straightened his expression. He forced a bright grin back onto his face, then waved at the others.
"Hey! Let's take a photo here to commemorate this. Otherwise, people are going to say we're exaggerating!"
The others laughed and quickly agreed. For the background, they picked a haunting, moss-covered forest that seemed like it had grown straight out of a nightmare. The four of them lined up beside each other.
The photo was snapped quickly, and they piled back into the car.
The red-haired man scrolled through the pictures on his phone, smiling with satisfaction—until suddenly, his smile froze.
His brow furrowed. His hands trembled.
"Look…!" he shouted, holding up his phone.
The other two teammates leaned in instantly.
Lucas, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned around to look.
On the screen… was the photo they'd just taken.
But Lucas didn't look like himself at all.
It was him, sure. Same stance. Same clothes. But the face in the photo—the face looked like a stranger.
And more disturbing…
The three people next to him were vanishing.
One by one, their figures faded.
Until only Lucas remained.
Standing alone beside the road.
Behind him: the woods. Twisting. Watching. Whispering.
The red-haired man stared at the image of himself disappearing from the picture and didn't scream or panic. Instead, he let out a shout of glee.
"I knew it! Something freaky was going to happen in the restricted area! I just knew it! Dang it, I should've snapped a shot when it first happened!"
He groaned in frustration but continued reviewing the photos excitedly, flipping through them with fanatical interest.
The other two were just as obsessed. Fascinated. Unsettled—but drawn in.
"Could this be a recurring phenomenon in these zones?" one of them murmured.
Meanwhile, Lucas sat quietly, one hand resting on his lap.
When he had first entered the dungeon, his kitchen knife—his trusted weapon—had been forcibly returned to his inventory by the system.
Apparently, it was to prevent players from disrupting immersion and to better align with the characters of the dungeon.
"Not even allowed a proper weapon…" he muttered.
Soon, the car rolled deeper into the misty heart of Chernobyl.
Suddenly, a digital panel popped up in front of Lucas.
[System Notice: Player Lucas exposed to nuclear radiation. Health -1. Stamina -1. Strength -1...]
His eyes narrowed.
"So, the effects are real. Great."
He glanced around at the three NPCs with him—none of them showed any sign of feeling unwell. No symptoms. No changes.
Lucas sighed.
"At least the debuffs happen slowly… and they recover over time."
Overhead, the sky above the forest darkened rapidly. Shadows grew long and the light slipped away as though it were being swallowed.
"Let's find a place to camp," the red-haired man said with urgency.
From somewhere inside his coat, he pulled out a crumpled, water-stained map. He pointed at a nearby building.
"Over here."
Minutes later, the vehicle came to a halt outside a five-story residential building that looked like it hadn't seen life in decades.
"God bless," the red-haired man muttered. "Let there be a bed in there. Just one would be fine."
He entered first.
Lucas deliberately stayed back, walking slowly and scanning the area. He was the last to go inside.
It didn't take long to learn that prayers were pointless.
Not even a bed frame was left on the first floor—just rust, dust, and rot.
"Seriously? This luck is cursed," the red-haired man complained, completely dejected.
He didn't even bother looking upstairs.
Instead, he picked a room with a mostly intact floor and gestured for everyone to get comfortable.
The only girl on the team shivered slightly.
"I'm going back to the car," she said softly. "It's warmer there."
Before she could move, the red-haired man turned suddenly.
His cheerful face had vanished.
In its place: stone-cold seriousness.
"No. In restricted areas, you must stay indoors at night."
The girl froze. Her face paled.
She returned to the room without another word.
Lucas found a spot in the corner. From there, he had full view of the entire room.
He glanced at the shattered window frame.
"You must stay indoors at night…"
He repeated the words silently in his mind.
Then closed his eyes.
The silence of the night wrapped around them like a second skin.
Only the sound of the red-haired man's snoring broke the stillness.
Until—
BOOM!
Something heavy fell.
Loud. Sudden. Unnatural.
Everyone jolted awake.
"The sound came from upstairs," someone whispered.
The red-haired man rubbed his eyes. "Is… is someone else in the building?"
They looked at one another uneasily.
Together, they climbed to the second floor.
Stopping in front of a room.
The red-haired man held up three fingers.
Three. Two. One—
CRASH! He kicked the door open.
His two companions rushed in immediately.
Screams.
Shouts.
The beams of their flashlights bounced wildly off the walls.
Lucas stood in the hallway.
Watching.
Inside the room, on a wooden bed, sat a woman.
She wore a white coat.
Her face was pale, framed by jet-black hair.
Her sky-blue eyes blinked slowly.
She looked serene. Peaceful.
But something about her felt wrong.
[Analyzing Threat: Host Risk Assessment = 5.6...]
[Status: Danger level nearing Intermediate Rank]
"She's a player," Lucas murmured.
His fingers twitched.
The kitchen knife silently materialized in his hand.
He didn't move yet.
He watched.
The woman's right palm was wrapped in a white cloth bandage.
"That's probably where her player number is…"
The system placed identifying numbers on players.
On their palms. Their arms. Sometimes foreheads.
Was she an enemy? A target? Or someone like him?
Lucas couldn't be sure.
But a strange sensation crawled up his spine.
Something was definitely off.
He gripped the kitchen knife tighter.
Tension crackled through the air.
Even now, even after all he'd seen—
This dungeon still found new ways to disturb him.
-------------------------------------
Visit our Patreon for more:
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31
-----------------------------------------------------