There was another buzz—low, metallic, and almost insect-like.
Ethan Walker's vision flickered, as though his eyes were momentarily trapped between two realities. His sense of smell returned in an overwhelming rush, flooding his nose with the copper tang of blood, sweat, and the faint mold that clung to the air of Verne's underground chambers. Then the strength left him entirely. He collapsed heavily onto the cold stone ground, every bone rattling from the impact.
[System Prompt: Player Ethan Walker has suffered heavy damage. Life -351. Physical Strength -236. Mental Value -67…]
Ethan's interface sprang open before his fading eyes. For the spectators in the real world watching through the stream, the glowing panel looked almost cruel in its honesty:
[Player: Ethan Walker]
Health: 111 (Your health has dropped below 50%. Automatic recovery speed is slow.)
Stamina: 1 (You currently have no physical strength to perform any actions. Only a long period of rest can restore stamina.)
Strength: 12 (Even raising your arm is difficult. Recovery speed is extremely slow.)
Luck: 80 (At times, you may gamble and succeed; your luck can bring you unexpected reversals.)
Brainpower: 85 (Barely in the intelligent category. Be careful—think more before acting.)
Mental Value: 33 (Mental weakness. Temporarily unable to recover. Please find a safe place quickly.)
Skills: None.
Comprehensive Attribute Evaluation: A-
Note: Your growth rate is faster than 90% of other players.
The numbers were brilliant on paper, but they could not hide reality.
There wasn't a single open wound visible on Ethan's skin, but the damage ran far deeper. Blood was seeping from beneath the surface of his flesh, rising in dark patches. His exposed arms and face were densely covered with purple-red bleeding spots, as if he had been burned from the inside out. His body shuddered with each shallow breath, his chest rattling like a broken engine.
It was a fate more terrifying than death itself.
For the other three players who stood nearby, it was nothing short of a death sentence.
They stared at Ethan with wide, horrified eyes. None of them had seen what had struck him down. None of them had sensed movement, an attack, or even a whisper of danger. He had simply collapsed, his stats gutted as if some invisible hand had squeezed the life from him.
"Who… who did that?" one player muttered.
"Did she move?" another whispered, voice trembling.
No one answered. No one could.
If even Ethan—the strongest among them—had been reduced to this pitiful state without lifting a finger in retaliation, what chance did they have? Fear silenced them more effectively than chains.
At the center of the square, the woman in the red dress lifted a delicate microphone to her lips. The sound of her palm tapping the mic echoed across the stone walls, drawing every terrified gaze.
She was beautiful, commanding, and utterly lethal.
"Catch all these infected people," she said softly, her voice amplified and floating over the crowd like silk soaked in poison.
The hook-nosed man—leader of the prison guard detail—stepped forward immediately. He used a long white control stick to prod and capture the three remaining players, who were too shaken to resist. Ethan's limp body was dragged across the ground, his boots scraping helplessly as crimson droplets patterned the floor in his wake.
The woman in the red dress smiled as if the display were a performance staged for her amusement. She turned gracefully to face the mass of villagers gathered in Verne's central square.
"Today's Episode Zero meeting ends here," she announced. "Dear villagers of Verne, the safety and stability of our town require everyone's cooperation. Whether it is an intruder hiding among us or an infected villager who endangers their neighbors, we must confront the danger together. Report it. Do not hesitate."
She paused, letting her words sink in, her gaze sweeping across faces pale with fear.
"At this time tomorrow, a meeting will be held as usual. I sincerely hope that by then, we can eliminate the virus uniformly—together."
Her tone was honeyed, but every villager understood the threat. The ultimatum had been given. By tomorrow, those labeled as "infected" or "intruders" would be publicly executed.
The woman in the red dress stepped back and lowered her mic, ending her speech. As she walked away, the click of her high heels echoed sharply, punctuating the silence like a metronome of doom.
She glanced sideways at Daniel, who lay half-dead on the stage, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her elegant face twisted in faint disgust.
"What's wrong with this one?" she asked.
A prison guard stammered an answer. "Originally… prepared for execution."
She waved a manicured hand, covering her nose. "Then hurry it up."
A moment later, the thin control stick pierced through Daniel's body, silencing him forever.
The red-dressed woman turned without another glance, her smile returning as she departed with her entourage.
---
Lucas, blending into the crowd, slipped away from the square. He kept his head low, eyes scanning the press of bodies around him. But as he reached the edge of the square, he dared one last glance back.
Ethan and the others were dragged away, unconscious and powerless. The woman's words replayed in his mind like a curse:
"Tomorrow's episode—uniform elimination of intruders and infected villagers."
Lucas exhaled slowly, his lips twisting into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Great. At least they get to live one more day…"
It was grim comfort, but in this nightmare world, survival—even by another twenty-four hours—was a rare blessing.
The spectators outside the game were no less shaken. Comments exploded across the live stream.
"Are these NPC settings broken???"
"What the hell did she do to Ethan Walker? That wasn't even visible! That's not an attack—it's a death sentence!"
"This feels more extreme than the Rainy Night Butcher from The Orphanage! At least the Butcher had physical stats you could measure. This woman… she just crushes everyone!"
"Did you see the other players? They didn't even try to fight back. They know it's pointless."
"And Lucas? Man, he better keep his head down. Otherwise, one NPC is going to wipe the board clean!"
The fear was contagious—spilling from the players inside the dungeon to the audience beyond.
---
The villagers of Verne, whipped into paranoia by the woman's ultimatum, quickly formed search teams. Their fear of genetic infection outweighed everything else. They scoured alleys and courtyards, not for intruders but for their own neighbors who showed the slightest symptom.
One of the names whispered among them was familiar to Lucas: Victor.
Once loud and brash, Victor now carried himself like a broken man. Since the day of his confessional interrogation, the gangster's fiery arrogance had drained away, leaving only a hollow shell. His eyes were sunken, his steps heavy.
"No," Victor pleaded as the villagers surrounded him. "I haven't been in contact with intruders. I'm not infected!"
But no one listened.
"You wanted to move to another town two days ago," one villager spat. "Your symptoms are obvious!"
They bound him with coarse rope, ignoring his protests. His shouts dwindled into hoarse whispers as he was dragged toward the town office.
Lucas watched from the side, his expression unreadable.
Quiet conversations drifted to his ears:
"Do you think there's something wrong with that one too?"
"Maybe… maybe we shouldn't have killed the prison guard on the farmland that day…"
The search team pulled Victor away, his voice echoing faintly until it vanished into the town's stone corridors.
---
Later that evening, Lucas returned to his small courtyard house.
The wooden gate creaked as he pushed it open.
He frowned. The lock dangled loose, unlatched.
"Someone broke in again…?" he muttered.
Tired and annoyed, he rubbed at his temple. Then he drew the kitchen knife he kept hidden beneath his jacket.
With slow, deliberate steps, he entered.
Immediately, his risk assessment overlay flickered to life.
[Coffee Table: No Danger]
[Chandelier: No Danger]
[Vase: Low-Level Danger]
Lucas's grip tightened around the knife. He stepped silently toward the tall porcelain vase standing in the corner of the room. The assessment never lied. Something—or someone—was inside.
He lifted the blade and pressed it gently against the mouth of the vase.
Clink.
The vase trembled.
Lucas tilted it slightly and peered inside.
What he saw made him pause.
A thin, dirt-smudged girl had squeezed herself into the vase, knees tucked tightly against her chest. She trembled violently, her wide eyes fixed on the blade at her throat.
[Villager of Tongqu Town: Low-Level Danger]
Not an intruder. Not an enemy. Just a child.
Lucas exhaled through his nose, lowering the blade. He took a deep breath, forcing down the cold pragmatism that whispered to him.
"…Damn it. Can I really bring myself to kill children now?"
He sheathed the knife, rubbing the back of his neck.
The girl whimpered but did not move.
Lucas looked around his ransacked house, his expression torn between irritation and weariness.
"Are these villagers… using my home as a refuge now?" he muttered bitterly. "Eat my food, hide in my vases… what next?"
He shook his head. One more problem on top of everything else. And tomorrow—the real storm would begin.
The ultimatum hung over Verne like a noose.
------------------------------------------
Visit our Patreon for more:
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31
----------------------------------------------------- .