Chapter 688: Restart
The golden rivers were drying up at a visible rate, draining away from the river channels that densely covered the entire ship like a spiderweb…
At almost the exact same time, a wave of biting cold invaded through the fissures that had lost their blood support, like the dying sigh of a patient, making one shudder involuntarily.
Immediately following, the entire world seemed to start shaking along with it!!
This wasn’t a slight sway, and it couldn’t even be described by an earthquake.
It felt like a sandbox being picked up and shaken violently, causing everything inside to dislocate, collapse, and disintegrate…
Caught completely off guard, Wen Jianyan lost his footing. A pale, solid arm swept across him. The next second, darkness from all directions surged in like a massive cocoon, tightly and securely wrapping him inside.
The shaking didn’t stop, but it was reduced to a faint, distant tremor.
Wen Jianyan looked up, his gaze passing over Wu Zhu’s shoulder, but his line of sight was blocked by the impenetrable darkness. He couldn’t glimpse what was happening outside.
“……” His lips pressed into a tight line involuntarily.
Reason told him his decision was correct.
If they maintained the status quo, they might gain temporary peace, but he would have almost zero chance of achieving his goal.
The balance had to be broken, and Nightmare had to return.
But…
Every action came with a price.
Wen Jianyan’s goal was the portrait on Negative Seventh Floor. Destroying it along with the Dead Sea Scrolls would sever the only tie keeping Nightmare in this world—he knew this, and Nightmare knew it too.
Precisely because of this, after Nightmare returned, it would definitely ensure that “Negative Seventh Floor cannot be easily reached.”
How would it do that?
That was still a mystery.
“Can you feel it? What’s happening outside?” Wen Jianyan subconsciously tightened his fingers gripping Wu Zhu’s arm and asked.
“……”
Wu Zhu quietly listened for a long moment before speaking slowly,
“Reshaping.”
Nightmare’s will had returned to the nest.
Flesh and blood grew from the fissures in the hull, swelling at a terrifying speed. Eyeballs rolled around, altering everything at will.
“Using this ship as a prototype and framework, it is reconstructing the hull, using the old existences… to knead together something brand new.”
……As expected.
Wen Jianyan rested his forehead against Wu Zhu’s shoulder and let out a breath.
Just as he had guessed.
Breaking the balance would inevitably come with a price.
The only thing Nightmare would do next was one thing:
Do everything in its power to stop him from reaching Negative Seventh Floor.
And in the process, kill him.
“……The instance is opening again.” Wen Jianyan’s voice was low, his messy hair falling over his forehead. “If I were it, I would do exactly the same.”
“I hope those stupid friends of mine don’t come in looking for me.”
He let out a breath and straightened up,
“But… if they didn’t come in, they wouldn’t be my stupid friends.”
In the past period, it wasn’t that Wen Jianyan hadn’t tried to push them away from danger. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, they always used every possible method to find a way back to his side.
Wu Zhu didn’t speak; he just rested his chin on top of Wen Jianyan’s head.
He disliked any person or thing that could distract Wen Jianyan—if it weren’t truly impossible, Wu Zhu desperately wanted to trap him forever in the cocoon woven from his darkness, so that he could never contact any existence other than himself.
The darkness was safe and peaceful.
Outside the cocoon, the shaking continued.
In the midst of completely uncertain unknowns, it seemed only this narrow space they were in was safe and tangible.
Wu Zhu seemed to suddenly think of something: “……Can I kiss you in front of them?”
Wen Jianyan answered without thinking: “No.”
He paused, then for some reason changed his mind: “However…”
However?
Wu Zhu perked up his ears, focusing all his attention on what the other was about to say next.
The next second, Wen Jianyan reached up and pulled Wu Zhu down by the neck, casually licking his lips.
The moment the other’s body tensed up, he immediately and breezily pulled away.
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
Perhaps because it had just returned to his chest cavity, his heart began to beat uncontrollably. In just an instant, Wu Zhu was completely captivated. Driven by instinct, he lowered his head and leaned in, eagerly seeking the lips that had just distanced themselves.
In the narrow space, only the messy sounds of breathing and heartbeats remained.
The young man pulled back and added with a smiling face:
“If you behave well, it’s not entirely impossible.”
The Lucky Cruise instance reopened.
Within a few short minutes, this news swept through the entire Anchor Hall like a hurricane.
The situation, which had originally only been peaceful on the surface, became violently turbulent in the blink of an eye.
“The Lucky Cruise instance… have you heard of it?”
This sentence hung on everyone’s lips.
Anchors knew very little about this instance.
Even insiders only knew the following two points:
First, it originally belonged here, acting as an extremely luxurious, high-end pleasure district. However, after sailing out of port one day, it rapidly mutated into an instance.
Second…
Almost no one survived this mutation.
Only a few insiders made it off the ship alive, and they all kept completely tight-lipped about what had happened on board.
What happened on the ship? Why did it close, and why was it reopening?
Why was Nightmare running a server-wide recruitment for it?
More importantly… why did this recruitment offer such a generous, massive reward?
That’s right, the reward.
In the recruitment notice sent to every anchor’s private terminal, the reward was blatantly displayed—an astronomical number of points, coveted item privileges… But all these dazzling, eye-catching, tempting benefits paled in comparison to the final, most crucial grand prize.
It was a brilliantly golden, heaven-pass-like Anchor Contract Termination Ticket.
The winner could take everything they had gained in Nightmare back to reality—with no additional conditions, and no time limit on its use.
There was absolutely no precedent for this reward.
Although the Contract Termination Ticket in the anchor store could send anchors back to the real world, it also meant everything they had fought and bled for here would vanish into nothingness.
Anchors who could afford that ticket were basically already deeply bound to Nightmare. Here, they possessed privileges and the ability to do as they pleased—things they could never have in the real world. Furthermore, they no longer needed to enter instances frequently, and even if they did, they had countless life-saving measures. For them, staying here was a much better choice than giving up everything to return to the real world.
It could be said that the existence of this particular ticket changed everything.
Countless red-eyed gazes locked onto it dead.
“—What recruitment…!”
With a bang, the round table in the room shook three times from being slammed. If Chen Mo hadn’t been quick to pick up the teacups, they would definitely have toppled over, rolled onto the floor, and smashed into pieces.
Ji Guan braced both hands on the edge of the table, gritting his teeth. The evil ghost tattoo spreading to the side of his neck trembled slightly with his movements, as if it were alive.
“Isn’t this just a complete wanted poster?!”
“It is.” Chen Mo placed his cup back down, his eyes filled with dark clouds. “Absolutely right.”
To others, everything might be a mystery. But to insiders like them, the answer to what exactly happened on the cruise ship and why Nightmare would offer such a tempting reward was practically laid bare in front of them:
It wanted Wen Jianyan.
The creator of all the chaos, the absolute core of all the conflicts.
The existence Nightmare desired, hated, and feared the most.
“This prize is clearly set to target high-level anchors.”
Wen Ya spoke, her tone as calm and elegant as ever.
Having more people just making up the numbers would actually be an advantage for them—after all, it’s easier to catch fish in muddy waters. This current format was the most terrifying for them.
It could be said… Nightmare was clearly playing for keeps this time.
“According to my intelligence, all members of Oracle are participating, and all the higher-ups from Eternal Day have also entered,” Wen Ya took a deep breath, her expression more solemn than ever before. “I can’t get in touch with Qi Qian, but I’m afraid Dark Fire definitely won’t let this slide.”
Indeed, they had a decent relationship with Qi Qian, but no matter what, he was the vice-president of Dark Fire.
Even back on the Lucky Cruise, he had been acting under Dark Fire’s orders. There was no reason for him to change sides for them at such a critical moment.
“That works out fine then.”
Chen Cheng rolled his shoulders, revealing a eager expression.
“He already didn’t like me before—this is the perfect chance to show him whether or not I got this tenth place spot relying purely on luck!”
“……Is it really just him?” Blond muttered from the side.
In fact, among all the anchors he had met so far, very few found Chen Cheng pleasing to the eye. This guy was incredibly annoying; he wasn’t even very well-received in his own guild, and he spent all day mooching off them for food and drinks…
It was only his own guild leader who could get along with him.
How was that not birds of a feather flocking together.
“Huh?!” Chen Cheng whipped his head around. “What did you say???”
Blond shrank behind Wen Ya, timidly revealing only half of a blood-red, hollow pupil: “N-Nothing.”
“……Targeting high-level anchors?” Not far away, Orange Candy spoke slowly with a gloomy expression. She looked at Wen Ya, gritting her teeth resentfully. “High-level anchors?! —Am I not considered a high-level anchor?!”
Her personal terminal was tossed onto the table with a thud. The screen clearly displayed four words:
[Registration Failed].
“Whoa, looks like Nightmare doesn’t think much of you, huh.” Chen Cheng raised an eyebrow, saying coolly.
“……” Orange Candy turned her head, slowly giving Chen Cheng a sinister, vicious smile. “Newbie, I’m in a very bad mood right now. I suggest you don’t provoke me at a time like this, understand?”
Blond sighed.
See? No one can get along with this guy!
Wen Ya spoke up just in time, breaking the increasingly tense atmosphere. She turned to Chen Cheng and asked:
“What about you? Did you succeed?”
Chen Cheng shrugged, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at it.
The next second, he stood up straight, his expression turning solemn as well:
“……No.”
On his phone screen, the exact same text as Orange Candy’s was displayed.
[Registration Failed].
“Ha!” Orange Candy narrowed her eyes, letting out a gloating sneer.
“……”
Chen Mo and Wen Ya exchanged a glance, seeing the gravity in each other’s eyes.
Things were indeed aligning with what they had guessed.
“No way?” Noticing their expressions, Chen Cheng frowned. “Are you saying Nightmare banned everyone who has a good relationship with that guy? …Is it really taking it that far?”
“Although I really don’t want to believe it…”
Wen Ya took a deep breath.
“It seems that is indeed the fact.”
Saying that, she took out her phone and placed it face up on the table. The other few people in the conference room did the same.
Every single one of them displayed the words “Registration Failed.”
“……Huh?” Orange Candy had a look of utter disbelief. “No, is it really such a sore loser???”
Even for Nightmare, this was a new low—compared to actually stepping in and interfering directly, it clearly preferred looking down on the masses from on high in a much more insidious manner. Those traps, that malice, were rarely placed out in the open. Only at the very last moment might it tear away its hypocritical facade and bare its blood-dripping fangs.
Unless this time, Nightmare’s desire to eliminate this “stumbling block” had never been more urgent.
“……”
All at once, the entire conference room fell into an extremely oppressive, dead silence.
They knew that Wen Jianyan was currently on the Lucky Cruise and was about to face what was likely the most terrifying and lethal pursuit in history, yet they had no way to help him.
Until—
Orange Candy spoke: “Then it seems we only have one last option left.”
Unlike every time before, her tone this time was very heavy, very cold, without a hint of a smile.
She raised her head and looked toward Bai Xue, who was sitting silently in the corner:
“What do you say?”
Straight to the point, cutting right to the chase, without any dragging of the feet.
If they wanted to enter a forbidden instance, to break through an impossible restriction… the only way was to alter the probability of the event.
Only Bai Xue possessed the ability to turn the impossible into the possible.
Hearing this, everyone turned their heads, following Orange Candy’s gaze toward the corner of the room. Sitting there was a young boy whose hair and skin were so pale they were nearly transparent, looking as if he might melt into the air. He silently raised his head, slowly revealing a pair of pitch-black eyes.
“……”
After a brief silence, he answered.
“Yes, I can.”
Nightmare didn’t leave everyone much time.
Only ten minutes.
The moment the countdown ended, the Lucky Cruise instance would open, and all anchors who participated in the recruitment would be dropped in together.
Although the time was very short, it didn’t dampen the anchors’ surging enthusiasm.
An unrestricted Contract Termination Ticket was a temptation no one could refuse.
A fanatical, near-manic wave swept through the entire Anchor Hall in the blink of an eye. Greed and thirst ignited in everyone’s eyes, burning all the way to the bottom of their hearts.
Bai Xue raised his head. There were no impurities in his pure black eyes, like two pitch-black, dead-silent voids from which no light could escape. The moment his gaze landed on the empty space, his brows sharply furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” Orange Candy had been keeping an eye on Bai Xue’s condition all along. Seeing his unusual reaction, she quickly stepped forward. “Did you encounter a problem?”
“……No, that’s not the issue.” Bai Xue frowned, his snow-white eyelashes trembling slightly. “……There are too many lines.”
This time, everyone’s fate was shaken.
Numbers a hundred, a thousand times larger than before flowed before his eyes. The terrifyingly excessive amount of information battered him; just looking closely caused a tearing sensation that bordered on physical pain.
Bai Xue lowered his eyes, his gaze landing on his fingers resting on his knees—his fingertips were trembling slightly, shivering from an unknown he had never felt before. “I can send all of you in. That isn’t a problem for me.”
“But, I cannot give any advice.”
“This time, I cannot see anyone’s future.”
The air fell quiet for a few seconds.
Even though they weren’t surprised by this, everyone still inevitably fell silent simultaneously.
“Because the moment we made this decision, we already lost our future.”
Chen Mo suddenly spoke.
What stood blocking their path now was the behemoth named “Nightmare.”
Its shadow had descended an unknown amount of time ago, devouring, invading, and expanding into its current form.
To it, they were all just manipulated chess pieces. In comparison, their power was so insignificant, like ants that could be ground into dust at any moment.
This was an overconfident suicide mission.
“After all, this time, what stands in our way is the entirety of Nightmare… all the power it can mobilize, all the methods it can use, everything it can command…”
Chen Mo took a deep breath. “Even though I might not have the right to persuade you, I still must say…”
“It’s still not too late to back out now.”
“What time is it, and you’re still asking?” Ji Guan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes impatiently. “Why spout nonsense?”
Chen Cheng gave him an approving look, clearly appreciating this straightforward way of expressing things.
“Everyone is an enemy, everyone can be killed,” Orange Candy giggled, swinging her legs, but a fierce light revealed itself in her eyes, like a jackal smelling blood. “This kind of thing is so interesting, I love it!”
Wen Ya shot him a sidelong glance, her face showing disapproval: “To think you’d actually say something like that… Have you gone crazy from working overtime?”
None of the people staying here now had been called over.
They had spontaneously and coincidentally gathered together, drawn by the same goal, called by the same path, as if dragged by the gravity of a planet.
At this moment, nothing more needed to be said.
Chen Mo looked steadily at the group, then suddenly smiled: “……Indeed, people tend to have wild thoughts when they’re overworked.”
He straightened his collar with a serious expression:
“When I see the guild leader, I’ll make him pay me double my overtime pay.”
Three minutes left.
The blood-red numbers on the screen entered their final countdown.
Bai Xue’s face was even paler than before.
His skin was already severely lacking in pigment; this time, his complexion was almost indistinguishable from paper.
“It’s done.”
He said quietly.
Everyone looked down at their phone screens—at some unknown point, the words “Registration Failed” had changed to “Registration Successful.”
“Even though I cannot see any possibilities, nor can I parse out any information from such massive and complex lines…”
Bai Xue raised his head. His black-hole-like eyes looked at everyone, resembling two bottomless pits. Very rarely, he spoke a lot this time.
“But I am certain of one thing.”
“If conditions permit, please absolutely, definitely stay together.”
“In the next instance…”
“Going alone means death.”
[Five, four, three, two, one]
A bizarre mechanical voice, mixed with the bzz-bzz sound of static, echoed in their ears.
Unlike every time before, its voice sounded somewhat distorted, even intermittent.
[Welcome to the Nightmare Live Broadcast Room. The next stream will start immmmediately.]
Within the massive white space, countless transparent cubicles floated.
Everything seemed no different from memory.
However, when they truly saw the surrounding environment clearly, all the anchors couldn’t help but shudder, feeling a wave of hair-raising horror shoot up their spines.
Those large and small, cold and emotionless cameras had changed their appearance at some unknown point…
They had all turned into blood-red eyeballs.
The small ones were only the size of fists, while the large ones were fully several meters tall, packed tightly against one another. Pupils of various sizes bizarrely spun and rolled, staring unblinkingly at the people standing in the transparent compartments.
It looked both like a silent observation and scrutiny, and a greedy, eager, starving feeding.
The distorted mechanical voice let out a high-pitched, wildly emotional cry:
[Our motto is—Entertainment to Death!!]
