Round Four had begun.
We quickly retreated to the second-floor cabin of the observation deck. Right now, the priority was survival—especially with our faction still holding the advantage.
"We've already taken out two wolves," I whispered. "Shura was the Wolf King, and Player 2 was taken down by the Hunter. That leaves three."
"We still have a chance to win," Player 15 said quietly, leaning against the wall, but his expression remained tense.
"But if we trust the wrong person again, it could all collapse," Kevin warned, his brow furrowed. "This round's intense. The remaining wolves won't expose themselves so easily."
I nodded. The double elimination of the Hunter and Wolf King was shocking, but the outcome was far from decided.
"When Shura fake-claimed as Seer, he said Player 4 was a good person. That probably wasn't random," I said softly. The others turned to me.
"What's the most important thing for a fake Seer? Gaining the trust of real villagers. He needed someone to support him."
"So he picked Player 4. That likely means she is a real villager. We can probably trust that."
"Also, Player 12 was attacked the first night—definitely a villager."
I spread my hands. "So far, Shura and Player 2 are out. Two wolves down. That means three are still in play."
"The remaining suspects are... Ron, Player 11... and one more... Who?"
My thoughts spun rapidly.
"Just one left… who could it be?" I frowned, scanning my memory for every detail.
Minghao and Lucy paused for a second.
"In other words," I slowly looked up at them, "the final wolf… could be one of us."
The air seemed to freeze.
No one spoke. Five pairs of eyes locked in the dim light, each searching, doubting, defending.
Kevin narrowed his eyes, his voice turning cold. "You suspect us?"
"It's not suspicion," I said, shaking my head. "It's caution. Any of us could be hiding something."
"You're right." Kevin let out a breath. "That's the cruel part of this game—wolves don't just kill, they make us turn on each other."
"But…" I looked at them, "I still trust you both. If the last wolf is among us, they wouldn't expose themselves now. The next vote is what matters. We need to watch who defends whom."
Player 15 nodded. "As long as we lock onto someone and watch them like a hawk, we have a shot."
I kept my voice low but firm. "There's one more thing. Have you noticed? There are fewer and fewer players left—every wrong vote hits harder now."
Kevin's expression changed. "You mean… the Jester?"
I nodded. "Exactly. We haven't found the Jester yet. With so few players left, if we accidentally vote them out—they win."
Player 15 clicked his tongue. "He could be right here, watching us turn on each other, waiting for us to destroy ourselves."
"So the next vote, we're not just avoiding wolves—we have to avoid giving the Jester the win," I said. "We're out of room for mistakes. One wrong step and it's all over."
The atmosphere grew heavier. We exchanged silent looks, each of us realizing—
This wasn't just a game of Werewolf anymore.
It had become a gamble of trust, deception, and the limits of human nature.
Just as the air was thick with silence, Lucy suddenly spoke.
"Why don't we just use the rest of the poison now?" Her tone was calm but decisive. "Killing someone with poison doesn't trigger the Jester's win condition. He can only win if he's voted out."
I shook my head, rejecting her proposal.
"Not yet," I said, locking eyes with her. "That's our final trump card. We have to save it for the critical moment."
She hesitated, ready to argue, but I pressed on with my plan.
"We're going to confront the werewolves head-on."
"Head-on?" Kevin frowned. "Are you insane?"
I looked at them all, slowly and clearly: "We'll rip off their masks. Once we see who they really are, the game's in our hands. And nowhere in the rules does it say we can't do that, right?"
Lucy was silent. Kevin clenched his jaw and glanced toward the distant hall.
"I know it's risky," I continued, "but we still have the numbers advantage. If we wait, they'll pick us off one by one. That's even more dangerous."
"Better to strike first than keep guessing."
After a tense pause, Lucy finally nodded. A glimmer of fire returned to her eyes. "I'm in. If we want to win, we have to act."
Kevin let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. But if this blows up, I'm ripping your mask off first."
I smirked. "You'll have to catch me first."
We exchanged glances—then pushed open the door. The night wind howled around the camp, as if sensing the hunt that was about to begin.
The five of us stepped onto the open ground, nerves taut, ears straining for any sound. One wrong move now, and it would all fall apart.
Suddenly, two dark figures leapt out from behind a wall—fully clad in black, wearing grotesque werewolf masks.
"They're here!" Kevin hissed.
I stepped forward instead of back, staring straight at them.
"I know it's you. Ron and Player 11."
They froze, exchanging a glance—confirming something silently.
My heart pounded. It was a gamble—but this game required bold bets.
"Fall back," I whispered to the others, signaling with my hand. "I'll try."
"You're crazy!" Lucy gasped. "You're not seriously—"
"Yes. I'm ripping their masks off."
The werewolves said nothing—but a split second later, they roared and charged!
They were too fast. We couldn't react in time.
"Scatter! Split up!" I shouted—but it was already too late.
They were monsters. Strong, fast, unnaturally agile. Kevin raised his arm but was instantly knocked back into a wall. Lucy lunged to strike but was kicked into a pile of chairs.
"Watch out, 15!" I shoved her aside, only to be slammed into the floor by one of the beasts.
The weight crushed me. My arms were pinned tight.
"Get off him!" Minghao roared, swinging a metal pipe at the attacker—only for it to be caught mid-air and thrown aside like a twig.
"We can't win…" Despair gripped me.
It wasn't just poor preparation—these things were on another level entirely.
"Retreat!" I shouted, forcing myself up.
We bolted for the open ground we had crossed earlier—cold moonlight gleaming off stones and dirt. Sparse trees offered no cover.
"Left! Take the slope!" I dragged Lucy up as Kevin limped after us, 15 right behind.
"Go—!" I yelled, leading them toward a narrow trail that led to an abandoned shack area. Twisting terrain. If we were lucky, we could lose them.
Then I looked back—
"Minghao!" He was too far, still at the other end, having just emerged from the woods.
"Go without me!" Minghao didn't hesitate—he turned and sprinted toward a denser forest on the right.
"Minghao!" Lucy cried out—but we had no time to stop. One werewolf was already breathing down our necks, claws slicing the air.
They split—one chasing us, the other veering toward Minghao.
"They're dividing up!" Kevin growled, breathless.
We tore through overgrown paths into the shack zone. Wet soil. Damp air. Mold.
"Shit…" 15 muttered. "Can he hold them off alone?"
I glanced back at Minghao's shrinking figure.
"We have to trust him."
Minghao sprinted through the woods. Behind him: pounding footsteps. He didn't dare look back.
Then—
"Minghao, hit the ground!"
A shout split the night.
Bang!
Sparks exploded—silver light flashed from a pile of abandoned cars.
It was Player 12.
He'd appeared out of nowhere, holding a firework launcher.
"Don't just stand there! Move!" 12 hauled Minghao up and dragged him toward a crumbling building.
A decaying funhouse—the sign above the door read "Mystic Maze", barely hanging on.
"Get inside!" 12 kicked open the door. The werewolf followed.
Minghao froze.
Mirrors. Everywhere. Warped reflections. Distorted versions of himself and 12. Dozens. Hundreds.
"Stay with me," 12 whispered. His steps sure, confident—like he'd been here before.
They ducked, slid, turned—left the werewolf dizzy, snarling, smashing mirrors, only to get lost in a storm of its own reflections.
While inside, 12 led Minghao through a side door—and out.
They collapsed behind a half-fallen wall, panting hard.
Minghao turned. "Thanks for saving m—"
Click.
A sharp metal sound. He looked down.
His collar—his elimination collar—was in 12's hand.
"What… are you doing?" he whispered.
12 just smiled—mischievous, like a prankster.
"Sorry about that," he said lightly.
Then he walked away.
Minghao stood frozen. The collar felt like it was still there, but the emptiness around his neck told the truth:
He'd been eliminated.
He didn't understand. 12 had just saved him. Why send him out now?
"…Why?" he whispered. His heart thudded slowly, like a broken metronome.
He wanted to run after him, demand answers—but his legs wouldn't move.
Not fear—doubt.
Had he saved him… or set the trap from the start?