Dawn broke as the grandfather clock chimed, white fog swirling thickly outside.
Emily's door creaked open, and she halted at the bloodstains splattered across the corridor. "What a commotion last night," she muttered, scowling.
"Some specter kept battering my door—sounded like it was on a rampage."Fatigue wasn't just discomfort; poor rest sapped players' stats.
As she headed for the living room, a chill crawled up her spine.
The corridor felt unnaturally short. After 22 days in the dungeon, her muscle memory was infallible—two doors had vanished: Kevin's and the father specter's.Holmes emerged from his room, stretching.
"Morning. Another day, another nightmare.""Holmes, Kevin he—""You heard him too?" Holmes cut in, the corner of his mouth twitching into a cold smile.
"Pounding on my door all night. Thought it was a specter mimicking voices."Emily fell silent.
Kevin wasn't reckless enough to provoke night specters unless… She bit her tongue, knowing better than to pry into survival tactics here."How did you kill the father specter?" she blurted, unable to hold back.Holmes munched on dry toast, gaze steady.
"Does the 'how' matter? 404 is safer without that drunken tyrant." His words hung heavily—an unspoken pact to accept the deed and move on.
In Grandma's room, the air reeked of mothballs and aged wool, stacks of knitted sweaters reaching the ceiling.
"You're far more agreeable than that blustering Kevin," Grandma croaked, extending a needle and frayed thread.Holmes threaded it effortlessly.
"Had I left this room, I'd have crushed that bastard's skull long ago," she hissed, hands trembling.
"He traded my granddaughters for wine at 101! You've earned my gratitude.
"At "gratitude," Holmes leaned in. Some specters harbored "heart knots"—solving them granted massive favorability."Crave my protection? I bear two knots. Untie one, and none in 404 will dare harm you."
"Name your knots," Holmes prompted."Slay your mother," she smiled sweetly, eyes glinting.
"Too bold? Fine. Take this sachet to 605. Return it, and I'll knit you a sweater—the first for a lad in decades."The sachet, embroidered with "Peace Through the Years," seemed too benign.
But as Holmes took it, a crimson prompt flared:DING! Received Grandma's sachet. Triggered A-rank mission: Deliver to Room 605.(Warning: Main quest involvement.
Unpredictable dangers lie ahead.)"Main quest?!" Holmes' brows shot up.
Grandma had downplayed it as a trivial errand. Main quests could either clear the dungeon or incite every specter if botched.Emily's face drained at the sight of the sachet.
"That belongs to the landlord—the dungeon's final boss."Holmes ascended to the 7th floor, the corridor's warped numbering twisting like a mocking grin.
Pushing open 702's unlatched door, he found Liu Nianqing sprawled in a rattan chair, the black-and-white cats curled like yin-yang symbols on his lap.
The room reeked of rust and something metallic—like dried blood."Thought you'd show up," Liu Nianqing said without opening his eyes, fingers idly scratching the white cat's ears. "The stench of that drunkard's death finally cleared the air."
Holmes stepped over a puddle of congealed oil—remnants of the corpses that once hung from the balcony. "You heard?"
"Every specter in the building felt it." Liu Nianqing opened his eyes, the axe wound in his skull oozing thick plasma. "How'd you do it? That bastard never left 404."
"Let's just say he had a... moment of distraction." Holmes nodded to the black box on the table.
"My heart?"Liu Nianqing kicked the box with his heel.
"Still beating. Take it—before I change my mind."As Holmes pried it open, his heart thumped wildly, as if eager to return.DING! Completed Liu Nianqing's mission. Favorability +70%.
Gain conditional protection from the Vengeful Specter."70%?" Holmes whistled. "That was easier than I thought.""Revenge tends to smooth things over." Liu Nianqing sat up, the cats leaping to the floor.
"Now, what do you really want? Don't tell me it's just the heart."Holmes produced the red sachet. "Know anything about this?"The moment Liu Nianqing saw the embroidery, his face contorted like he'd swallowed broken glass.
"Where did you get that?!" He shot to his feet, knocking over the chair. "That's the landlord's! The bastard will skin us both if he sees—""Relax." Holmes stepped back. "Grandma gave it to me. Said to deliver it to 605.""Grandma?" Liu Nianqing laughed harshly, clutching his head where the axe protruded.
"That old hag is playing with fire. The landlord only lets her mend his things because she's useful... for now." He grabbed Holmes' arm, nails digging into flesh.
"Listen carefully: deliver the sachet, say nothing, and get out. The landlord raises rent for a sneeze—if he blames you, every specter here will tear you apart. Me included."Holmes pulled free, massaging his arm. "Noted. No small talk with the landlord."
"Smart boy." Liu Nianqing retrieved a flask from under his chair, swigging what looked like tar.
"Now get out before his lackeys catch your scent."As Holmes turned to leave, Liu Nianqing added, voice low: "If you survive... maybe we can discuss dealing with 101's succubus next. She still owes me a debt.
"Holmes paused in the doorway. The corridor had grown colder, as if the walls were breathing.
"I'll keep that in mind."Approaching 605, the air turned glacial. The door bore no number, only a brass knocker shaped like a howling wolf. Holmes rapped once."Enter," a voice like grinding bones commanded.
The chamber was empty save for a floating mahogany desk. A shadowy figure sat behind it, hands veined and gnarled.
"You bring my sachet?"Holmes placed it gently on the desk.
As the figure traced the embroidery, the room's temperature normalized. "Grandma mended it well.
Tell her rent is waived for a moon."Holmes bowed and fled, breath held.
Behind him, a low chuckle echoed: "Few survive an audience with the landlord."
Back in 404, Grandma tossed him a knitted sweater.
Item obtained: [Grandma's Guardian Sweater].
Rarity: Rare.
Effect: Reduces spectral damage by 30%.
Holmes sighed in relief, then noticed a tag sewn inside: Woven from the hair of lost granddaughters. The warmth of the sweater turned icy against his skin.
Holmes rapped on 605's door, which creaked open to reveal a stooped figure. The landlord—was this shriveled old man the feared overlord Liu Nianqing had warned about? His face was lined but oddly gentle, contradicting the terror that clung to his name.
"Youngster, what's the errand?" the old man wheezed.
"From 404. Grandma asked me to deliver this." Holmes extended the sachet.
The landlord squinted at it, then scowled: "Take it back. That hag's stitching is worse than a child's."
Holmes recalled Grandma's words: Just deliver it, don't worry about acceptance. "Alright." He turned to leave.
"Hold on!" The old man snatched the sachet, inspecting it with a suddenly bright eye. "Not bad—her hands are getting crafty."
Holmes' lip twitched. Liu was right—this guy is as fickle as a shadow.
"Tell Grandma her rent is forgiven this month." As Holmes departed, the landlord pasted a notice:
URGENT NOTICE: Parasitic rat infestation in rear gutter. Seven residents required for extermination.
Reward: Half-month rent waiver for participants. Team capacity: 7.
Touching the paper, Holmes' vision flashed:
DING! Optional mission activated: Exterminate Gutter Parasite.
Rewards: +5% favor with all specters.
Random [Treasure Chest] (50% chance Rare item, 100% chance Uncommon).
"Too good to be true." Holmes hesitated—until a hidden prompt glowed:
Mission objective contains [Talent Shard]. Required for [All-Knowing] talent evolution.
His buggy talent could level up? Seeing six names already on the list, Holmes grabbed the last participation badge.
"Are you kidding?" A man with a precise side part gaped at him. "You look fresh-faced—why risk your neck?"
Holmes nodded to a burly figure in ornate spooky gear: "What about him?"
The man's public profile read:
Player: Jack.
Survival: 109 days.
Progress: 1 main quest completed, 12 specters befriended, 4 eliminated.
Status: Full stats (hexagonal).
"Mother of mercy, a veteran!" whispered onlookers. Jack ignored them, chewing gum as he descended the stairs.
"Jack is after the main quest," the side-parted man babbled. "He's the longest survivor here—"
"Not my concern." Holmes cut him off.
In the lobby, the seven-man team assembled. Five players looked gaunt and desperate—until Jack arrived. His presence sparked new hope: with a veteran leading, maybe they'd survive.
Jack stood apart, headphones on, lost in a book. "What a show-off," Holmes muttered.
Instantly, Jack removed his headphones, fixing Holmes with a level stare. No way—he heard me through those?
A specter wrapped in tattered bandages appeared, its bloodshot eyes glaring. "Follow close. Stray more than ten paces in the fog, and you're as good as dead."
But when the bandaged manager turned to Jack, its tone turned syrupy: "Ah, Jack! Pardon me, didn't see you there. Been resting?"
"Sleeping," Jack yawned.
"The rat—how big is it?" Jack asked flatly.
"Enormous, and parasitic. The landlord wants it gone by nightfall."
As the manager unlocked the front door, Holmes studied Jack's nonchalant demeanor. What kind of "rat" requires a player who's cleared a main quest? The dense fog beyond the threshold swirled like a living thing, promising horrors they couldn't imagine.