What malicious intent could NPCs possibly have? C36.2

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Chp36. part2

Those types of dungeons definitely couldn’t accommodate him.

Pei Han smiled faintly. “The chance of drawing one of those is very small. Besides, those types of dungeons have strict limits on the number of survivors and don’t allow teaming up. Even if I did draw one, I couldn’t group with you.”

Ning Ge took a sip of her bone broth and said casually, “So you just draw the dungeon. If it’s one that allows teaming up, I’ll go with you.”

After all, she was also looking for a suitable dungeon.

Pei Han tried to persuade her. “Ning Ge, the system-assigned dungeons can have extremely harsh conditions and brutal objectives…”

Ning Ge wasn’t fazed. “I’m going into a dungeon, not joining a tour group.”

Pei Han stared at her across the steaming bone broth for a long moment before saying, “Alright.”

He tapped his bracelet.

“The dungeon is fine. We can form a group,” he said.

Ning Ge’s bracelet lit up.

[Accept friend’s instance invitation?]

Ning Ge tapped “Accept.”

The bracelet chimed again:

[System rewards for this instance will be equally divided among group members. Please proceed to D10 Departure Zone.]

The departure zone buzzed with activity. As Ning Ge watched the stream of players, she finally felt compelled to ask a question that had been lingering in her mind for a long time.

If finding anchor points is the key to completing dungeons, why don’t players compile and share the locations they’ve discovered? Even with countless dungeons, surely they’d eventually collect all the anchor points.

Discussing this in the Transit Hall felt like plotting cheating in front of an invigilator—it was too easy for the System to catch on.

Discussing it outside the System would be safer, but Ning Ge was an NPC and couldn’t leave.

She carefully chose her words. “What happens if players share information about anchor point locations?”

Owen and Pei Han exchanged a glance. Owen counted down: “Three, two, one…”

Ning Ge’s bracelet vibrated.

[Do not violate the User Agreement. Warning issued for minor infraction.]

Below it, an endless scroll of the System’s lengthy User Agreement.

Owen was puzzled. “Didn’t you see the user agreement when you were first pulled into the dungeon? Before you enter, there’s always a user agreement. Didn’t you read it? In severe cases, it can even lower your player level—from advanced to intermediate, or from intermediate to beginner. And if it keeps going down until there’s nowhere else to go…”

He made a throat-slitting gesture.

Ning Ge hadn’t been ‘pulled’ into the dungeon, so of course she hadn’t seen it.

Ning Ge protested, “I overheard people discussing it in the Transit Hall last time.”

“They didn’t say exactly where, did they?” Owen said. “There’s a skill to speak. A rookie like you being too blunt? That’ll never work.”

Alright. This conversation was going nowhere.

Ning Ge changed the subject. “Who’s this Lu Juan guy?”

Before Owen could answer, Pei Han shot her a glance and answered first. “Just a man who’s always ranked below me on the Alpha Rankings.”

Ning Ge: “……”

Owen chuckled. “He’s second on the Alpha Rankings, you know. Pretty mysterious, but he’s good-looking—gentle and refined. A lot of girls go for that type.”

Pei Han found this odd. “You spout nonsense every day. Why doesn’t the System lower ‘your’ rank?”

As the three of them talked, they arrived at the D10 Departure Zone. Ning Ge stepped onto the platform without hesitation.

This time, what appeared before her was a subway carriage packed with people.

The carriage was neither new nor old, not very long, and had two doors on either side. There weren’t many seats, all of them facing the walls. Down the middle ran a row of metal poles with yellow handrails hanging from their horizontal bars.

At the front of the car, near the ceiling, was a long, rectangular electronic display, currently blank.

This was clearly a subway carriage.

It seemed to be the middle section of a train, as the carriages ahead and behind were also lit. Through the glass in the partition doors, she could see they were equally crowded, no different from this carriage.

The subway wasn’t moving, remaining quietly still.

Outside the windows, it was pitch black. The glass reflected only the lights inside the carriage; nothing could be seen beyond.

The carriage was packed with people. Some were panicking, while others sat silently huddled in the corners.

Ning Ge didn’t think they were NPCs, but rather new players who had suddenly been thrown into a dungeon.

But there were so many of them.

Someone noticed the black bracelet on their wrist and read aloud, “‘Player guide data loaded.’ What is this thing?”

Ning Ge’s bracelet didn’t receive any player guidance data. She was no longer a newbie.

“A Wheat Harvest Game,” Owen murmured. “Pei Han, the System actually gave you a Wheat Harvest Game.”

Ning Ge didn’t understand.

Pei Han explained, “The dungeons you’ve run before usually only have ten or so players—normal cooperative dungeons. But some are different. They pull in a massive number of new players who are entering a dungeon for the first time—sometimes dozens, sometimes hundreds—to quickly weed them out. We all call them ‘Wheat Harvest Games’.”

Ning Ge understood. “Like how the wind blows through a wheat field, knocking down a swath of wheat.”

“Exactly.” Pei Han glanced around. “My first dungeon was also a Wheat Harvest Game. This is probably a beta version of one.”

Suddenly, a sound came from the carriage:

Ding—ding—ding—dong—

Everyone jumped.

A sweet female voice spoke:

“Welcome to the Loop Line Subway. This train’s final destination is Loop Line Station. Next stop: Ping’an Street. Have a pleasant journey.”

The announcement wasn’t loud, but the words were crystal clear.

On the long display screen at the front of the carriage, the same message immediately appeared.

Not far from Ning Ge stood a boy who looked like a high school student, at that age when he was nearly as tall as an adult but hadn’t filled out yet, remaining thin and lanky.

The high school student said with eager anticipation, “Can we get off the train?”

Beside him stood a middle-aged man in a slightly worn suit, a slight paunch protruding from his midsection, the very image of a salaryman.

He said, “It’s pitch black out there. Who knows where we are? Would you dare get off randomly?” Then he struck up a conversation, “Hey, student, do you know what’s going on? I was on my way to work, riding the subway, when suddenly I ended up here.”

The high school student shook his head. “I don’t know either. I was just riding the subway, and then things went wrong.”

Ning Ge’s bracelet vibrated, and everyone else’s vibrated simultaneously.

The bracelet displayed a simple message: [Please proceed to the terminal station and scan the Anchor Point.]

It seemed the objective of this dungeon was to endure until the terminal station and find the Anchor Point.

As panic spread among the passengers, the tightly shut carriage doors suddenly opened.

A gust of wind blew in from the pitch-black darkness outside. The players standing near the doors panicked and scrambled deeper into the coach.

Three people boarded the subwayfrom the platform.

They were two men and a woman, all dressed in gray uniforms emblazoned with “Loop Line Subway” in white letters across the chest. Their faces wore the standard eight-teeth professional smile.

Yet no matter what they did or where they looked, their smiles remained rigid and unchanging.

Ning Ge studied them closely and realized that these weren’t faces at all, but masks made to resemble human features.

The passengers near the door were startled by their frozen grins. In the previously crowded carriage, a large empty space suddenly opened up around the Masked Men.

One of the masked men suddenly spoke, “What are you hiding for? The train’s about to leave. Get your tickets.”

The passengers were confused.

The masked man opened the paper box he was holding, revealing its contents:

Inside were small, business-card-sized tickets, scattered sparsely in the box. What made them unusual was their vibrant green color and the simple black patterns printed on them.

The masked woman, who followed behind him, also opened her box.

Inside were a similar number of tickets, but hers were all bright red.

The man held out his box to a young man. “Take one.”

Startled by their eight teeth, the young man hesitated, but eventually reached into the box and pulled out a green ticket.

After taking the green ticket, the young man reached for a red ticket from the woman’s box, but she stepped aside.

“This is a subwayticket. Each person only gets one!” she said.

They continued to offer the boxes to the next person in line.

Now everyone understood. The Masked Man meant for them to choose between a red ticket and a green ticket.

White paper or yellow paper, golden axe or silver axe, red pill or blue pill, fried chicken for dinner or duck leg rice—these were eternal choices.

No one dared to choose.

The Masked Man pushed the box forward, holding it right under a tall man’s nose.

The tall man reached for the green ticket in the man’s box, but halfway through, he turned to glance at the red ticket in the woman’s box, unable to decide.

The man with the box stared at the tall man through the deep-set eyes behind his mask. Suddenly, he counted down: “Three, two, one.”

He was counting down. The tall man snapped out of his daze and lunged to grab a ticket.

But it was too late.

As soon as the countdown ended, the Masked Man snatched back the box and strode toward the person below.

The tall man panicked, lunging after the box to grab a ticket, but a hand seized him by the collar from behind.

It was the second masked man, the one who hadn’t been carrying the box.

He was a towering figure, half a head taller and twice as broad as the tall man, with arms as thick as a man’s leg. He looked incredibly strong.

He dragged the tall man backward like a rag doll, two steps to the carriage door, then hurled him out.

A shrill scream pierced everyone’s eardrums, but what followed was even more horrifying: a series of strange, wet sounds, like flesh and bones being torn apart.

After the tall man was thrown out, the entire carriage fell deathly silent.

Outside, it was pitch black, no sound of wind but the sickening crunch of breaking bones.

The sounds continued for a short while, then stopped.

The Masked Man held the box out to the couple. “Take one.”

He seemed intent on giving everyone in the carriage a ticket.

___

Author’s Note: Pei Han (cheerfully): 80?

Ning Ge: 80 this time, 50 last time. The average is 65. Barely passing.

Pei Han: …

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