Chapter 256 – Wraith (3): A Land Littered with the Bones of the Violently Slain

Led by Tang Yu, the players carried lanterns and walked toward the Residence.

Judging from Tang Yu’s moves, he had definitely trained in real life—most likely fought and even killed—making him a ruthless character who didn’t match his mild looks.

Someone like that would normally make everyone uneasy, yet for some reason the ever-rule-abiding Luo Haihua couple asked nothing.

Qi Si preferred not to draw unnecessary attention and pretended to notice nothing.

Though stunned by Tang Yu’s clean kill, Lin Chen swallowed hard and stayed silent when he saw Qi Si give no reaction.

Trailing at the rear, Qi Si tucked his lantern under an arm, slipped the Underworld Record from his sleeve and inconspicuously tore out the blood-stained pages.

He had started ripping pages the moment he got the book, seizing every chance; now he had finally removed almost every trace of blood.

“Brother Qi, I saw something on the forums—about the Hopeless Sea and Red Maple Boarding School instances. You and Chang Xu…”

Walking in the middle of the group, Lin Chen toyed with the ring on his little finger, silently asking a question yet hesitating to speak aloud.

Practice makes perfect; he was used to talking to Qi Si through thought and assumed it was a perk of the Team Ring.

“Yes, Chang Xu and I ran into each other twice,” Qi Si answered vaguely, scattering the scraps of paper. “There were some misunderstandings; they’ve been cleared up.”

“Misunderstandings?” What misunderstanding ends in life-or-death, huh?

Lin Chen felt too many retorts choke him; the reply sounded like pure perfunctory brush-off.

The next second Qi Si’s calm voice echoed in the depths of his mind: “Have you heard of the Gods Gamble?”

The term “Gods Gamble” wasn’t new to Lin Chen, who often browsed forums and hoarded information.

“I’ve heard a little,” he said hesitantly. “It was a popular theory twenty years ago, claiming the Eerie Game is a giant chessboard and all players are pieces the gods move…”

“Exactly.” Qi Si spoke coolly. “It’s a gamble spanning past, present and future. The evil gods who fell during Twilight of the Gods staked everything, and both Chang Xu and I are pieces they’ve bet on.

“For the game to end, the gods naturally want us at each other’s throats. At their level, manipulating fate to force a deadly showdown isn’t hard.

“But I refuse to be their pawn, and I believe he feels the same. Strictly speaking, we’re now in the same boat.”

The young man’s solemn tone stirred Lin Chen; the Identity Card in the upper right of his vision even seemed to quiver, as though shuddering at the secret.

After binding his Identity Card, Lin Chen had studied its lore and knew the card, tied closely to the gods, would naturally resonate with weighty secrets.

The card’s tremor didn’t surprise him; what shocked him was—

Qi Si trusted him enough to share something at this level?

His mind crashed into silence; he slowed his steps without a word.

Qi Si had no intention of exploiting the moment to plant further suggestions in his useful tool.

He actually wasn’t used to playing as a Ghost.

Without vivid light or warmth, emotions didn’t arise naturally; intuition about others’ attitudes dulled. Sensations and expressions he once took for granted now required complex steps and precise analysis.

Even though he already knew Lin Chen’s mental model, he could barely read: “Lin doubts the false intel I gave,” “he hopes for clarification,” and “he wants to feel trusted”—then craft a roughly suitable reply.

Troublesome, really.

“We’re here—this should be the Residence. Doesn’t look safe,” Tang Yu at the front halted, raising his blade.

The monster-like black mass they’d seen from afar now loomed close: rooms squashed shoulder-to-shoulder, casting cold shadows over the players in the dusk.

Broken tiles and window frames lay under thick dust; walls, eaves and stair-timbers were dull, rotten and mottled with mildew.

Several doors had long since lost locks and panels, clearly abandoned and uninhabited for ages.

“If we have to sleep in this dump tonight, I’ll die,” Qiu Xin muttered listlessly. “A couple of knocks and these doors’ll pop open; even if no Wraith is inside, the ones outside can stroll right in.”

“No choice. Let’s pick rooms with intact doors and windows, and while it’s still light check if anything else is hiding inside.”

Luo Haihua suggested, then looked at the bunch of keys in Tang Yu’s hand. “Xiao Tang, can you tell which key fits which room?”

Glancing at the identical, equally decrepit rooms and then at the mass-produced keys, Tang Yu shook his head. “No way—even if Fu Jue were here he couldn’t tell them apart…”

“Try them one by one, we’ve time,” Luo Jianhua said.

While they spoke the sky had darkened another shade; distant buildings melted into blackness, showing only jagged silhouettes.

The players’ lanterns burned tirelessly, light seeping through paper shades and flickering with the flame, serving as their only illumination.

Objects swayed in the restless light, yet no human shadows could be seen—like lantern-carrying Ghosts out of a horror tale.

The midnight deadline when Wraiths roamed was still some way off, yet the night was more than enough to breed dread in these outsiders.

“Let’s move fast; finding six habitable rooms can’t be hard,” Tang Yu said.

He strode to the leftmost cabin, keys jangling.

Luo Haihua followed, smiling back at the others. “Right, one person per room once it’s open—no pushing or picking. Old Luo and I can bring up the rear or lead, no problem.”

The atmosphere eased; Lin Chen and Qiu Xin followed Tang Yu, with Qi Si trailing far behind as usual.

At the cabin door Tang Yu stopped, blade raised defensively in his right hand, left hand inserting a key into the lock.

A soft click—and the door drifted open on its own.

Even Tang Yu’s face flickered with surprise as he instinctively stepped back.

“Who wants this room…”

Halfway through his question the words jammed in his throat.

The door, untouched, swung wider, its groan like a monster crunching bones.

Inside, a pea-sized lamp burned on a low table; closer look revealed not a candle but a net of fireflies.

Their tail-lights cast a dim yellow glow across the cramped space, projecting a small shadow on the floor.

A hat-wearing, black-robed old man greeted them with yellowed teeth: “Guests, two per room tonight; come, let me assign your quarters.”

In looks, build and voice he mirrored the old man Tang Yu had killed moments earlier, yet bore no wound and moved without the slightest oddity.

He seemed entirely unaware of his own death, his shadow wavering human-shaped in the lamplight.

What was going on? Was he a lingering ghost, or the dead man’s brother?

Even brothers couldn’t be this identical, could they?

The players stood frozen, the hush so thick a falling needle would have echoed.

Unperturbed, the old man turned back inside, re-emerging with a bunch of keys—the very set Tang Yu had held.

In that instant the keys in Tang Yu’s hand became white stones strung with grass, glinting coldly.

Snapping awake, Tang Yu hurled the stones away and swung his blade at the old man.

With a soft “shua,” the old man’s head flew off, leaving a corpse with a bowl-sized neck wound kneeling on the ground, blood and wisps of black smoke gushing out.

He seemed perfectly human—one clean cut could kill him, hardly a major threat.

But appearing in an Eerie Game instance, the players couldn’t afford to underestimate him.

Tang Yu kicked the body out of the room and stabbed it several more times before bending to pick up the key ring and looking back at everyone. “Someone died in here—do you still want it?”

No one answered; it wasn’t fear of a death-haunted room, but the old man’s revival was too bizarre.

In the silence, the wooden building’s door creaked open, followed by the jangle of keys.

The players turned as one.

The perfectly intact little old man stepped out with his key ring, grinning. “Evening, guests. Two per room tonight—come, let me assign them.”

The freshly-killed corpse lay at his feet, still gushing blood.

The old man stared straight at the players, sunken eyes like needles: “If they won’t take you, I will. If I don’t, you’ll end up in Mountain God’s belly.”

Clearly, there was no room for negotiation.

Tonight, the players had to pair up and stay in the inn, obeying the townsfolk’s rules.

In the frozen air, Qi Si curved a smile. “Fine, three rooms then—thanks, old man.”

He tilted his head. “How do we split up? Do we decide who pairs with whom, or do you?”

By custom, guests should choose their own rooms.

The old man chuckled. “Two per room, that’s all. Once you decide, I’ll show you the rooms.”

No one replied; they still couldn’t fathom the resurrection, and each weighed the pairings.

Tradition said Qiu Xin should room with Luo Haihua, but Luo Haihua and Luo Jianhua were married… “Players with the same main quest share a room—three quests, two per quest, perfect.”

Qi Si glanced at the others, smile fading to cold neutrality.

“By the rules, deaths come in pairs. If only two die but hold different quests, four survivors juggling three quests becomes a nightmare.”

“Luckily, roommates live or die together, so let the quest die with the dead.”

“Whether you’re a Wraith or human, empty your inventory before death; the rest of us will return the items to your guild or friends.”

“Better to boost our odds than let gear vanish. If you doubt, my skill is tied to ‘oaths’—we can swear by the rules.”

Qi Si’s proposal was ruthlessly logical, the most efficient choice.

When death is inevitable, maximizing individual worth and minimizing loss keeps the group alive.

Yet not everyone can choose by pure reason; in the end, no one spoke of posthumous items again.

Still, compared with the outrageous idea of bequeathing gear, “let same-quest players die together” sounded almost acceptable.

Luo Haihua and Luo Jianhua shared a room, Qi Si with Lin Chen, Tang Yu with Qiu Xin—late-stage Eerie Game cared little for gender.

The old man watched with a grin; when they finished, he turned into the wooden building.

The players followed, entering a reek of mildew and rancid fat, climbing creaking stairs to the second floor.

Under lantern light, rows of doors stood like tombstones.

The old man unlocked three; behind each lay a crypt-like room.

Qi Si entered the middle one; Lin Chen hesitated, then stepped inside and closed the door.

A click—the lock trapped them for the night, until sunrise cleared them of being Wraiths.

They were imprisoned until dawn.

The room was bare: two wooden beds with cotton-stuffed quilts, a chipped, wobbling nightstand.

Light here was dimmer; even the lantern only outlined shapes, as if some force declared nightfall the end of day.

Sunset, all things rest; mortals dream, Ghosts roam.

Qi Si set the lantern on the table and sat on a bed.

Since Qi Si’s cold speech, Lin Chen had been dazed; now he numbly copied him.

Then Qi Si asked suddenly, “Lin Chen, who do you think is the Wraith?”

Lin Chen blinked, then shook his head. “I don’t know, but the three without letters—Luo Haihua, Luo Jianhua, Qiu Xin—feel suspicious.”

“No proof for their stories about entering Yanghua Town—maybe the Tiger sent them.”

“Good.” Qi Si nodded toward the window. “But consider: having a letter doesn’t clear suspicion.”

“Huh?”

“The Scholar said outsiders might already be slain and turned into Wraiths.”

Qi Si’s voice floated like a ghost’s: “What if I died at the start and joined you as a Wraith?”

Clearly a joke.

Lin Chen, unsettled by Qi Si’s chill, had grown uneasy; the banter eased him.

“Impossible. The instance wouldn’t force a death right away. The Tiger would make noise—so many players would notice.”

“Who knows?” Qi Si lowered his eyes, reaching for the lantern. “This situation feels murky; honestly, I trust no one, including you. You arrived last—who knows what happened.”

“And for you, no one is trustworthy, including me. You can’t know what we planned before you came.”

Lin Chen stammered, “Qi—Brother Qi, tomorrow morning, if we’re alive, we can clear each other.”

“Yes, alive… Lin Chen, no matter what, I want you to survive till the end. Understand?”

Qi Si chuckled, lifting the lantern to the window.

Paper patches glowed where the light struck holes.

Through them stretched the view behind the building.

A huge pit brimmed with layer upon layer of human bones—some rotting, some bare—forming a hill.

At the very top lay two corpses: the old man Tang Yu had killed!