Chapter 707: But how is that possible?!
“So, as long as we smash Dan Zhu’s head on the right side one more time, we can kill her for good,” Orange Candy confirmed. “Right?”
“Not ‘we’,” Chen Cheng corrected. “It’s ‘me.’”
As the one who truly controlled the cruise ship, Dan Zhu’s existence had already surpassed the human category. With Nightmare’s brainless enhancement on top of that, injuring her was practically a fantasy. In other words, only Chen Cheng’s terrifying talent—purely conceptual and paid for with self-damage—might be able to recreate on her body the level of destruction they’d once achieved.
“…Tsk.” Orange Candy curled her lip in annoyance. “Fine. You, then.”
Their exchange was only a few casual lines, but everyone present understood how difficult it would be—and how steep the price—to pull this off, given Dan Zhu’s current degree of control over the ship.
“In that case, let’s split up. We’ll do whatever it takes to get Chen Cheng close enough.”
After all, they had very few options left. They were injured, crippled, and in no condition for a head‑on assault, which meant they had no chance of winning by brute force. The only workable plan was to feint and scatter Dan Zhu’s attention, then escort Chen Cheng in for the assassination.
“I’ll be the main attacker,” Hugo said. “I’ll draw her attention from the front.”
Everyone paused and looked at him.
“When it comes to facing Dan Zhu head‑on, it has to be me,” Hugo took the cigarette from his bloodless lips. Gray‑white smoke coiled upward as he spoke in an even tone, as if stating something already decided. “No one else can.”
The air fell silent for a beat.
But they had to admit Hugo was right.
Chen Cheng was the core of the killing blow; his talent had to be saved for the final moment. Orange Candy’s talent had been pushed past its limit and was extremely unstable—she could drop out at any time. Wen Ya was support‑type, and so was Su Cheng; neither had the ability to fight on the front line.
Among everyone here, the only person who could keep Dan Zhu’s aggro for a sustained period was Hugo.
“Tch.” Orange Candy glowered, muttering under her breath at the side. “That pretentious guy only knows how to steal the spotlight. If I were in better shape…”
Wen Ya nodded, calm and composed. “Okay. I’ll cover Chen Cheng.”
While the others fought Dan Zhu, she could use her talent to suppress the presence of both herself and Chen Cheng to the absolute minimum, slipping closer without a sound—until they were near enough to kill with a single strike.
“Ah… just like the old days,” Chen Cheng grinned. “What beautiful times.”
As fellow members of Eternal Day, they’d worked together far more than once or twice.
Only this time, the one standing in front of them was Eternal Day’s president—their former leader.
“Hey, Prophet.” Orange Candy suddenly thought of something. She turned her head and lifted her chin. “What did you see?”
Su Cheng raised his head. His eyes were pitch‑black and unfathomably deep. Three black tarot cards floated above his palm like spires.
“The chance of success is slim.”
His voice was calm, but it carried an ominous undertone that struck the heart and sent a shiver through everyone.
“And the price will be high.”
“…Is that so?”
Orange Candy listened thoughtfully, then burst into loud, unrestrained laughter. Her clear, childlike voice rang in everyone’s ears. “Isn’t that great?!”
“We’re already at this point,” under the faint shifting light, a tinge of blood red rose in the little girl’s eyes, making her face look even more feral, her smile manic. “If it were too easy, what would be the fun?”
“The final show, my friends!”
She lifted her head and looked up toward an invisible camera in the void. Her wide smile was like a knife, stabbing straight into the eyes of every viewer watching the screen.
“Let’s have more fun!!”
The entire B7 level was collapsing, shaking apart.
More and more chunks of stone fell from above, kicking up thick dust.
“Three.”
Hugo raised his eyes. His gaze pierced the wall of dust as he began a steady countdown.
“Two.”
Everyone steadied their breathing, bodies slightly crouched, braced to strike.
“One!”
As the last word fell, the gray‑white smoke screen that had been sheltering them vanished in an instant.
No one needed to speak. No one needed to coordinate. Like arrows released from a bowstring, everyone surged forward at the same time—
The final battle had officially begun.
*
Rumble—!
The train was out of control, crashing through a hollow, charred cluster of buildings. Bricks and rubble rained down, striking the metal skin with an unending clatter.
“New friends…”
Zhang Yunsheng’s face was buried in the depths of shadow; the only thing clearly visible was the calm upward curve of his lips.
“That’s good.”
As the carriage jolted, red light repeatedly slipped through the windows, intermittently bathing the interior in an ominous blood‑hue.
As he spoke, he turned slightly.
“I hope you can live longer than the last batch.”
“—No.” As if realizing something, Wen Jianyan abruptly lifted his eyes. His eye sockets were red, but his gaze had turned cold and sharp; the earlier vulnerability had been swept away. “He’s trying to run!”
“Stop him—now!”
Almost before the words finished, the darkness that filled the carriage surged forward.
As the carriage was destroyed, the train’s restraints on Wu Zhu seemed to weaken as well. One member of Oracle failed to dodge in time, was dragged into it, and before he could even scream, he was ground into blood and pulp, smeared across the carriage floor.
The Oracle members had already seen the power of this black tide. Their faces twisted in fear as they retreated, terrified of being grazed and dragged into the merciless meat grinder.
Only Zhang Yunsheng didn’t move at all. The same smile hung on his face, its curve not changing in the slightest.
The next second, a sudden change!
With a thunderous boom, with almost no warning, the whole world lurched.
Not good!!!
Wen Jianyan’s heart sank.
Under the influence of some strange force, the entire train shook violently. The engine let out a scalp‑numbing roar; the metal shell rattled and creaked like the dying groan of a giant beast. The people inside had no chance to brace. They were flung around, smashing hard into the inner walls.
If Wen Jianyan hadn’t been tightly wrapped in darkness, he would have been thrown out by inertia.
The world spun. Black‑red blocks of color churned, as though they’d fallen into some bizarre, kaleidoscopic realm, forced to keep plunging downward.
Only after at least ten‑plus minutes did the shaking finally stop, and the train’s motion gradually became steady again.
“Wait—where did those guys go?”
Ji Guan staggered to his feet. The first thing he did was look toward the spot where Zhang Yunsheng had been standing.
It was empty. Not a single figure remained.
“Damn,” he cursed. “Fast runner.”
The carriage was a mess.
Not far away, Bai Xue was curled up in a corner, dizzy, clinging to a seat. Figaro wore a miserable expression, trying hard to pull his leg out from under her.
“Please loosen your foot—you’re pinning me. These shoes are really expensive…”
Ji Guan bent down and hauled up the blond guy closest to him. He frowned and quickly scanned him for injuries.
“Hey. How are you? Did they hurt you?”
The blond guy wobbled upright with Ji Guan’s help.
He shook his head, still shaken, clutching his throat. The handprint‑like bruises burned hot under his palm; his voice was hoarse and hard to make out.
“N‑no… I’m fine.”
“Where’s the president… the president?”
“I also didn’t—”
Before Wen Jianyan could finish, a sudden fierce hug cut him off.
His upper body bent backward. He felt like he’d been tackled by some hundred‑plus‑pound beast. Arms locked around his waist; a head shoved into the crook of his neck. The person kept kissing him, sniffing him, kneading him—like only this primitive way could confirm he was safe and whole.
“—I’m… fine.” Wen Jianyan forced out the last few words.
It wasn’t a lie. The darkness was like a giant sponge, protecting him completely—he didn’t even get a scratch.
“Okay, I really am fine. Let go of me first…”
“Hey—told you to let go. Can’t you understand?” Ji Guan’s expression darkened. “In public, being all clingy—what is this supposed to look like—”
Figaro, meanwhile, looked delighted by the spectacle. “Say a little less, unless you want to be the one tossed out next time.”
Bai Xue staggered to her feet, blankly. “…What?”
“Let go,” Wen Jianyan tilted his head back, lifting a hand to pat the other’s shoulder, squeezing out the words. “I… can’t breathe—”
Wu Zhu lowered his head and pressed his cheek to Wen Jianyan’s cheek. Only then did he finally loosen his arms a little.
Wen Jianyan shook his head, struggling to wriggle his upper body free from the lock of Wu Zhu’s arms. He exhaled, then looked up.
In the corner of his vision, he caught an odd streak of red.
He froze, reflexively following it.
At some point, the charred wreckage of the orphanage had vanished from outside the windows. In its place was a blinding, intense blood‑red glow, smeared across the glass like thick fresh blood.
His expression tightened.
“Wait—what’s going on outside?”
“…No idea,” Ji Guan answered. “Ever since the train stopped shaking, it’s been like this outside. Other than red, you can’t see anything.”
At the same time, the blond guy steadied himself, turned to peer out the window, then quickly pulled his gaze back, face grim.
“Same. I can’t see anything either.”
Wen Jianyan’s heart sank.
Even the blond guy’s talent couldn’t see through it? That wasn’t common.
But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. At this moment, they had something more urgent to do.
He drew a deep breath, looked away, and said:
“No matter what, we can’t keep letting the train be destroyed. We have to find them and deal with them as soon as possible.”
They walked toward the connection between carriages.
With a whoosh, the carriage door slid open—but what appeared in front of them wasn’t the familiar next carriage. It was a cold, white corridor. The overhead lights flickered faintly, and the air reeked of disinfectant.
Wen Jianyan stared.
Wait… this is—
“Fukang Hospital?!”
The next second, Ji Guan’s shocked voice came from beside him, shattering the silence in the carriage.
As someone who had entered this instance before—and had even come into contact with it in the real world—he recognized it almost instantly.
“But how is that possible?!”
*
Dust blotted out the sky; visibility was extremely low.
Unlike the others, Hugo had no intention of hiding his movements. He didn’t circle around. He pushed straight ahead like a sword thrust, unstoppable, charging directly for Dan Zhu’s position.
Soon, the auction stage came into view.
Through the dust, a delicate outline could be faintly seen.
Hugo narrowed his eyes and abruptly accelerated. At the same time, the gray smoke coiled around his arm condensed sharply, its tip turning razor‑keen like a blade.
The blade’s point—aimed straight at Dan Zhu!
With a piercing tearing sound, the dust was ripped apart violently, and the figure behind it snapped into clarity.
Then came the dull sound of flesh being pierced.
Hit her?
No!
In the next instant, Hugo’s pupils contracted.
The dust had already cleared, and the delicate figure was fully revealed—
It was a mangled red corpse. Red vines had carved it into a shape resembling Dan Zhu’s. Its slender neck had snapped; a bluish‑white, stiff head lolled to one side, held on by only a thin strip of skin.
Its mouth was stretched wide. Gray eyes stared at Hugo from point‑blank range. A familiar chuckle came from its throat.
“Facing me head‑on, even sacrificing yourself just to pin me down… right?”
The head thudded down, rolling onto its knees. The smile stretched even wider.
“Haha, dear. You’re so easy to read.”
“Too bad, I don’t feel like following your script.”
Damn it.
Hugo’s gaze hardened.
If Dan Zhu wasn’t here, then the others were in serious danger!
His face dark as water, he snapped his momentum back and turned at top speed to support the rest.
But just as he turned—before he could take more than a few steps—several blurry silhouettes slowly emerged from the dust ahead.
Hugo’s stride stopped dead.
He stared at the shadows in the distance. Behind him, Dan Zhu’s soft, smiling voice drifted over.
“Oh right, I almost forgot to say—while you were hiding behind the wall and stalling for time, I was actually waiting for someone too.”
“If the actors aren’t on stage, how can the play begin?”
Dust crunched underfoot as it slowly settled.
Several faces—so familiar it hurt—appeared before him.
“The price for an executioner breaking the contract doesn’t disappear just because you ran away. You know that, don’t you?”
“Hugo… Hugo. Even now, you still want to face me alone. Anyone who didn’t know better might think you’re desperately trying to die.”
“A lone wanderer. A faithless executioner.”
Her voice echoed like a curse in his ears.
“You’re so unwilling to travel with others—what is it you’re really afraid of?”
Ten steps. Five. Three.
Until they were right in front of him.
“Captain,” the burly man wore an honest, simple smile—the curve identical to the one buried in Hugo’s memories. “How could you leave us up there and just go?”
A long blade flashed coldly in the dim light.
“This time, you won’t be able to shake us off as easily as before.”
Hugo lifted his head. He said nothing, eyes unblinking as he stared at the figures just a step away—so familiar he could draw them with his eyes closed.
So focused it was as though he wanted to burn them into his retinas.
One of them moved.
She kicked off the ground. Her body was light and ghostlike, like a lethal bird. Her attack was vicious and sharp. In a blink, she flashed to him, her blade gleaming with unstoppable cold light, wrapped in wind as it drove in—
But this time, her edge stopped in midair.
It could no longer fall.
Through the smoke, the man slowly raised his eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
His tone was steady. His eyes were sorrowful.
The next second, with a soft “shk,” her eyes widened. Almost in disbelief, she looked down.
A long blade of condensed smoke had pierced her side—at some point, without anyone noticing.
The fatal wound that had once killed her was now in that very place.
“Ah… ahh…”
She stared, with her unfocused pupils reflecting the pale face of the man before her. Her mouth moved; black blood spilled out.
She murmured, “Captain…”
She collapsed at Hugo’s feet.
Dead.
The woman’s manic laughter rang out from behind. “Hahahahahaha!!!”
“So that’s it. So that’s the truth you fear most, the punishment you dread most. Watching them die again…”
Hugo lowered his head, staring at the corpse by his feet… at the face frozen in death, hopeless and mournful.
Shadow covered his pale face. His hands were slick with tar‑black blood.
“And this time, you did it with your own hands!!!”
*
The corridor was cold and hollow. The overhead lights flickered with a bluish‑white glow, emitting a monotonous, continuous buzz.
The scene ahead was eerie and unfamiliar, almost like a nightmare.
“Wait…” Figaro froze and turned to look behind them.
The door behind wasn’t fully closed. Through the half‑open crack, they could still see the carriage interior in chaos. Cold red light poured in through the windows, seeping into the corridor through the gap.
That side was still the familiar train carriage, but separated by a single door, this side had become a bright, cold hospital corridor.
“So… are we still on the train?” he asked the question on everyone’s mind.
“Yes,” Wu Zhu answered.
Ji Guan frowned, scanning around. “Then what the hell is this place?”
“I think,” Wen Jianyan lowered his eyes, thinking for a moment, “we’ve already driven away from the orphanage.”
Before the train reached the first stop, the carriage had been destroyed from within. The original ‘7’ loop was broken; the train’s internal rules fell into chaos and it jumped off its tracks. This time, instead of stopping where it should have, it shot straight through the building.
Ji Guan: “Then where are we now?”
“The next stop after the orphanage,” Wen Jianyan drew a deep breath and looked up. “Fukang Comprehensive Hospital.”
This was Nightmare’s first experimental ground for creating a god.
And Zhang Yunsheng had once been the director here.
The train itself could ignore space and time and make leaps. However, once the body was damaged and a carriage separated from the train, the protective barrier that shielded the ‘passengers’ failed. That was why its ‘ignoring barriers’ property manifested in this twisted way.
In fact, if the orphanage station hadn’t been destroyed so thoroughly by his past self, it would have reappeared in this manner too.
“Move quickly,” Wen Jianyan’s expression was heavy. “We don’t have the advantage here.”
In the Fukang Hospital instance he had cleared, the ‘hospital director’ he killed wasn’t Zhang Yunsheng himself. After the failed god‑making attempt, Zhang Yunsheng left the hospital very quickly. The ‘director’ left behind was only an empty shell—a mere reproduction of old memories by Nightmare within the instance.
Now, the real director had returned.
And this place was a human tragedy he had built with his own hands.
Wen Jianyan turned to the blond guy. “Can you find Zhang Yunsheng’s position?”
“I’ll try…”
As he spoke, the blond guy lifted his gaze. A strange red light flickered in the depths of his pupils—but the next second, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out an involuntary cry.
“Ugh!” He covered his eyes with his fingers, fingertips whitening from the force.
“What’s wrong?” Wen Jianyan was startled and stepped forward. “What did you see?”
“I…” The blond guy kept his eyes covered; his pale lips trembled. “I can’t see through the walls… inside… it’s all red…”
Clearly, the same thing that had happened before in the core level of the Lucky Cruise Ship happened again.
In places where Nightmare’s control was extremely concentrated, the blond guy’s talent couldn’t function.
Wen Jianyan looked to Wu Zhu. “What about you?”
If he remembered correctly, back in the Lucky Cruise Ship’s core level, aside from sensitive talents like the blond guy and Ma Qi, the person who would be most affected had to be Wu Zhu.
“It affects me, but not much,” Wu Zhu said.
He was no longer what he used to be. Even though entering an instance suppressed him somewhat, his power still far exceeded the past.
Just as they hesitated, a soft sound suddenly came from deep in the corridor—
“Ding‑ling!”
A very crisp, very light bell.
Wen Jianyan’s head snapped up.
“What?” Ji Guan, walking beside him, jumped.
“It’s corpses,” Wen Jianyan said grimly.
In Fukang Hospital’s morgue, every corpse had a tiny bell tied to its big toe. When they moved, the bells rang—an eerie sound that made your scalp crawl.
But the problem was, the morgue was on B1.
And by his memory, they were currently on the first floor.
Wen Jianyan’s heart sank.
The situation he most didn’t want to see had appeared.
As the train entered Fukang Hospital—an instance Zhang Yunsheng had once built—he immediately seized control of the instance and unleashed everything he could to deal with them.
As if to prove his suspicion, ghostlike black shadows appeared at the far end of the corridor.
“Ding‑ling!” “Ding‑ling!” “Ding‑ling!”
The bells rang in a chorus. Countless footsteps were closing in from all directions, surrounding them little by little.
Ignoring Ji Guan’s attempt to stop him, the blond guy inhaled, lowered his hand, narrowed his eyes flooded with red, and forced himself to look into the darkness.
The next second, whatever he saw made him suck in a sharp breath.
“Those corpses… I don’t know what’s going on. They look… really wrong! Really wrong—”
With the persistent bell sounds, the corpses gradually revealed their true forms.
Their faces were stiff, skin bluish‑white, unsettling to look at. But what was truly unbearable were the dense cracks running across their bodies. Their skin bulged as though it couldn’t withstand pressure, splitting into deep and shallow grooves. Blood‑red eyeballs, like clusters of grapes, squeezed out of the cracks, rolling wildly. Pale red slime seeped out and dripped onto the floor.
“Nightmare.” Wen Jianyan’s eyes turned icy. He said it slowly, one word at a time.
The train was no longer intact, and the instance had directly intruded.
From this moment on, Nightmare was no longer the hidden chess player behind the curtain—the secret puppeteer.
This time… it had truly stepped onto the board.
Cant wait for that nightmare agent to get faceslapped to death or something.