(2/5)
Yuying University
Chapter 432: Hidden office building
The youth’s enunciation was soft, almost fragile, as if it could be blown away at any second in the pitch-black night, but that single word crashed heavily into everyone’s hearts, stirring up a dreadful resonance.
——“Run.”
The moment his voice fell, even those whose SAN values hadn’t dropped below the threshold immediately felt it—a wave of indescribable chill enveloped them. A shudder climbed up from the soles of their feet, and even though they couldn’t see anything, their hair stood on end.
There was no time to think. Everyone instinctively turned and ran for their lives.
The campus was deathly still, the dim streetlights suddenly began to flicker.
“Zzzt… zzzzt… zzzt.”
Under the faint, flickering lights that resembled blinking eyes, their fleeing figures appeared ghostly. In the shadows that danced messily on the ground, something horrifying and chaotic seemed to be sprouting, growing, gathering.
In the dark, under Hugo’s lead, they ran blindly, as fast as they could.
At this point, which way they ran no longer mattered. What mattered was time—they were racing against death.
From afar came the terrified, panicked cries of others:
“What’s going on? Why did it suddenly—”
“Don’t, don’t come near me, stay away!”
“No, we have to run, quick, get inside the cafeteria, there’s—”
The voice cut off abruptly.
Then another.
A third.
Eventually, silence fell behind them—utterly soundless, even footsteps vanished.
It was all so bone-chilling, yet all they could do was keep running, never stopping, never looking back—because whatever would happen next was something they couldn’t afford to face.
“Ugh!”
Yun Bilan let out a muffled grunt, her steps faltering momentarily.
She glanced down at her right arm—bright red blood was seeping from her sleeve, soaking the surrounding fabric.
She didn’t need to look to know—a piece of flesh had been torn from her by some invisible force, leaving a deep bite mark.
But she also knew—stopping meant death. The only thing to do was keep running.
Run faster.
“Duck!”
A sharp voice called from ahead.
By reflex, Yun Bilan ducked her head just in time to feel a cold breeze sweep over her scalp—light, seemingly harmless, yet her skin erupted in goosebumps.
Instinct told her she had narrowly escaped death.
She looked up and instinctively turned toward the voice.
Wen Jianyan had already looked away.
He hung from Su Cheng’s shoulder, his face pale enough to faint at any moment, but still, he forced himself to stay focused, his scattered pale eyes staring dead ahead into the dark, forcing out brief warnings through clenched teeth:
“Wei Cheng, on the right!”
He no longer told them where to go—perhaps because it no longer mattered. Instead, he issued simple, clear, targeted instructions, warning of imminent threats.
But after all, Wen Jianyan was just one person.
A person only had one pair of eyes—he couldn’t cover every direction. Despite his efforts, the team members still began suffering injuries one after another.
“Orange Candy, front—”
His words stopped, replaced by a trembling gasp.
Su Cheng noticed something was wrong and turned to look.
The young man’s face was deathly pale, one hand clutching his bleeding neck, half his collar soaked through. His bloodless lips trembled—he was clearly at the end of his rope.
“You—”
Su Cheng was panicked.
Wen Jianyan: “Keep running.”
His lips moved, his voice barely audible.
“……”
Su Cheng looked at him, his black eyes flashing in the night, but he swallowed his words, veins bulging on his arm as he held tight and kept running.
“Shit!”
Orange Candy’s face flushed with frustration. She hated this kind of unseen, untouchable, unresolvable mechanic that left them only able to flee.
“How much longer do we have to run?!”
Hugo didn’t look good either.
“Almost there,” he gritted out.
“Fu-cking hell,” Orange Candy cursed as she ran, furious,
“Fu-cking Nightmare—I knew it wouldn’t let us grab an S-tier mission from an A-tier instnace for free!”
This instnace was no joke.
At this point, everyone in the team knew that full well. Its true terror and the difficulty of its mainline clearance were two completely different things.
If you followed the instnace’s set path and obediently cleared it, you’d face tests and dangers, but as long as you had good judgment and some luck, survival was very possible.
But if you deviated, stepping into an uncharted blank zone beyond the rules—you’d catch a glimpse of the instnace’s true face.
If their team only aimed to “survive and clear,” with their lineup, they could almost do it blindfolded.
But the “Principal’s Office” was not part of the instnace’s normal route. It was buried deep within the most terrifying unknown.
That’s why they’d had to leave the safe path—to complete the mission, they had to venture where they knew the tiger waited.
Suddenly—perhaps an illusion—a darker, taller silhouette appeared in the endless blackness ahead.
As they drew closer, they confirmed—they weren’t mistaken.
It was a three-story office building, its outer walls the same dull grayish-white as the rest of Yuying University’s architecture. But for some reason, the moment they saw it, they all realized:
This was a building they’d never seen before.
“We’ve never—” Wei Cheng lowered his voice subconsciously.
“Yes,” said Hugo.
They were closer now.
Through the deep gloom, they could make out the metal plaque on the outer wall:
Yuying Comprehensive University Office Building.
Though prepared, they still felt a jolt—a shiver ran through every one of them.
Was it relief, excitement at reaching their goal, or… fear of the unknown?
“Report your status!” Orange Candy raised her voice, issuing orders.
The attacks in the dark had been chaotic and merciless. Even with Wen Jianyan’s warnings, injuries were inevitable. Worse, the frequency of attacks had risen exponentially as they approached their goal, to the point of overwhelming them.
Experience told them—it would only get worse.
It was do or die—this last push would decide everything.
“Those with low HP, stick close to me—we’re going to charge, so—”
Her words were cut off by a weak voice from behind.
“No need.”
Orange Candy froze, turning back.
It was Wen Jianyan.
He was leaning heavily on his teammate, his free hand pressed to his bleeding neck, his pale lips moving:
“We’re safe.”
“What?” Everyone was shocked.
“They didn’t follow us,” Wen Jianyan said faintly, lifting his eyes.
“All of them?” Tian Ye asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” Wen Jianyan forced a pale smile.
“All of them.”
The darkness around them was dense, silent. The relentless attacks had ceased entirely, replaced by a dead, eerie stillness—but it brought a different, inexplicable unease.
Instinctively, they looked at the nearby office building.
It stood just ahead, different from the other campus buildings—every window was dark, no lights anywhere. Logically, this should be “their” territory, but according to Wen Jianyan, not a single one had followed them here.
The hazy glass doors stood open, the interior pitch black, like a mouth waiting to swallow them.
“Am I the only one who finds this creepy?” Tian Ye whispered.
“……” Orange Candy shot him a look. “Save the nonsense.”
They’d all known this place wouldn’t be safe—there was no turning back now.
“What do you know about the inside?” she asked Hugo.
“Not much,” he replied, eyes on the building.
“I only made it into the lobby—never got upstairs.”
“Don’t go in yet. Rest here first,” Orange Candy ordered.
Though their position wasn’t ideal, after “they” dispersed, this place was relatively safe. They needed to regroup before entering unknown territory.
She turned to the ashen-faced Wen Jianyan.
Especially him.
He’d been their greatest asset getting here without casualties—but his condition was the worst of them all.
Yun Bilan stepped up with Su Cheng, helping Wen Jianyan sit down.
One held him steady, the other opened a water bottle and held it to his lips—swift and practiced.
Wen Jianyan lowered his gaze, swallowing slowly.
The cool water moistened his dry, pale lips, his throat bobbing with each difficult swallow.
“What about the others?” Orange Candy scanned the group.
“Report your status.”
Back in the ethics class, their SAN had all dropped, but nothing too serious—the worst only down to about 70.
But HP was another matter.
The previous attacks had been too dense, too frequent. Even with Wen Jianyan’s help, injuries had piled up. Worse still, every hit took a full 20 HP off—an alarming amount.
Even Hugo had suffered about three attacks.
The others were all equally battered.
Fortunately, they had prepared for this in advance.
“Who has my bag?” Orange Candy asked.
“I have it,” Wei Cheng said, stepping forward and unzipping the backpack.
Inside were recovery items they had purchased from the cafeteria using credits—steamed buns, stuffed buns, and the like. Although eating them wasn’t without side effects, they were perfect for their current situation where their SAN value wasn’t too depleted, but their HP had been severely drained.
While it couldn’t fully restore a anchor’s condition, with proper calculation, it could at least keep both stats within a safe range.
The food was distributed, and everyone gobbled it down ravenously.
As the food went down, their complexions gradually improved. Their wounds visibly began to heal—not fully cured, but at least the bleeding had stopped and fresh pink flesh was growing.
Hugo rolled up his sleeve for a look—the dark handprint had mostly faded, leaving only a faint mark.
“I’m good now,” he said, lowering his arm.
He walked up to Wen Jianyan. “How about you?”
“Same as before,” Wen Jianyan replied.
Though he’d drunk some water, his face was still pale. However, he looked a bit more spirited, no longer on the brink of death or unconsciousness.
“You’re wounded?” Hugo’s gaze landed on Wen Jianyan’s neck.
The injuries caused by “them” wouldn’t heal on their own. Although Su Cheng had done some basic bandaging, blood continued to seep from the wound, staining half of his white collar red—striking even in the dark.
“Yeah,” Wen Jianyan gave a half-smile, “but there’s nothing I can do.”
Others could heal by sacrificing some SAN, but that method was obviously not viable for him—any more SAN loss and he’d be six feet under.
Hugo paused, then tapped the air as if retrieving something from his inventory.
Then he tossed over a small box of red pills:
“Catch.”
“Painkillers,” Hugo explained.
Wen Jianyan swallowed one, and soon the sharp pain at his neck vanished, and the bleeding halted as if the wound itself had disappeared.
He blinked, looking up in surprise.
Noticing his confusion, Hugo explained, “The wound hasn’t gone away—it’s just that the time of the wound is temporarily paused. No bleeding, no pain. One pill lasts ten minutes. When the effect wears off, it’ll return to how it was.”
Though the wound wasn’t healed and HP wasn’t restored, in a high-level instnace with special mechanics, this item was undoubtedly the best option.
At least during its effect, the anchor wouldn’t be slowed down by the injury or risk attracting more trouble from the instnace.
Wen Jianyan raised his hand to return the remaining pills, but Hugo shook his head.
“Keep them.”
His expression was indifferent, as if the item wasn’t important—but clearly, anything Hugo had kept until now wasn’t ordinary.
Wen Jianyan glanced at him. “Thanks.”
Hugo nodded and walked away.
Su Cheng withdrew his gaze. Looking at Wen Jianyan, the wariness in his black eyes was completely gone.
“What’s your SAN now?”
Wen Jianyan glanced to the upper right corner: “Less than 20.”
Specifically, 18.
It wasn’t high and was still below the danger line, but compared to twenty minutes ago, it was already a relief.
There was just a bit of water left in the bottle. Su Cheng handed it over: “Finish it.”
But Wen Jianyan shook his head, declining. “No.”
Yun Bilan frowned. “Why?”
“My SAN is too low—even if I drink it all, I won’t reach 30.” Wen Jianyan raised his weak hand, pushing his sweat-soaked bangs back, smiling faintly, his voice still soft. “But if I save it, it might save my life later.”
The hallucinations hadn’t stopped, only lessened slightly. But perhaps because the abnormal state had lasted too long, Wen Jianyan even felt somewhat adapted—at least he wasn’t as mentally scattered as before.
Almost like desensitization therapy, he thought, mocking himself.
“Everyone ready?” Orange Candy’s voice called from not far away.
The group nodded.
Wen Jianyan refused Su Cheng’s helping hand and stood shakily.
Orange Candy looked over. “Can you manage?”
Wen Jianyan: “Barely.”
“Good.”
Orange Candy looked away. “Get ready. We’re going in.”
With that, she lifted her blade and headed toward the office building.
The others followed closely.
Soon, they stepped inside.
The office building’s first floor resembled a typical school building—an empty hall with a full-length mirror in the center for visitors to straighten their attire. The mirror was hazy, but their blurred reflections were faintly visible.
To the left was the guardroom, and corridors extended on both sides.
Something was posted on the wall.
Wen Jianyan walked over and looked up.
It was a floor layout map.
Nothing complicated—offices, restrooms, utility rooms, and fire exits on both sides. It looked no different from real-world layouts.
“Hey, look here,” Orange Candy’s deliberately lowered voice came from behind.
Wen Jianyan turned and walked over.
On a grimy wall was a faded, curled piece of paper.
【Welcome to Yuying Comprehensive University Office Building】
- Visitors must make an appointment and register at the guardroom.
- Keep voices down and walk carefully in the corridors. Do not disturb those working in the building.
- Do not enter the third floor without permission.
It looked like an ordinary notice.
But the group exchanged glances, each seeing the gravity in the others’ eyes.
Clearly, this area had its own set of rules.
Hugo approached the guardroom.
It was empty. The window was open, and a thin piece of paper was clipped to a board with a pen beside it.
Two words were written:
【Registration Form】
In the “Integrity First” live chat:
[Should we register? The notice said so…]
[But if we register, won’t we have to write our student numbers and names? Sounds like a death trap.]
[Ugh, do we register or not?]
[No clue! No anchor has ever explored this area—who knows which is safer!]
The chat couldn’t agree, and neither could the anchors.
They frowned, hesitant.
“Prophet,” Orange Candy looked over, lowering her voice, “what do you think?”
Su Cheng glanced at Wen Jianyan. Seeing no response, he turned to Orange Candy. “I’ll draw a card.”
A deck of eerie, dark-glowing tarot cards appeared in midair.
His movements were smooth, practiced.
Half a minute later, Su Cheng addressed the group. “It’s the Tower.”
Even those who didn’t know much about tarot understood—the Tower card was a terrible omen, upright or reversed, one of the most ominous in the deck.
【Nothing is favorable】
Orange Candy frowned. “Wait—does that mean registering leads to the Tower, or not registering?”
Su Cheng spread his hands, recalling the tarot deck. His black eyes glinted darkly: “Both.”
At that, everyone’s hearts sank.
In other words, in this building, registering or not made little difference—both paths held deadly peril.
“Ah?” Tian Ye looked flustered. “How can that be?”
“It means the threat level here is too high,” Su Cheng said, the tarot gone. “The wisest choice is to leave immediately.”
His black eyes shimmered with mystery.
“Otherwise, survival is unlikely.”
“No,” Orange Candy rejected this immediately. “It was too hard to find this place. If we give up, we’ll have to wait another week—by then, it might be certain death.”
She sneered, resting the blade on her slender shoulder:
“I’ve faced one-in-nine odds before—still made it out.”
Hugo: “I’m in.”
Any anchor who reached their level knew one truth:
No risk, no reward.
“…In that case, let’s not register,” Wen Jianyan suddenly spoke.
The others turned, surprised: “?”
Wen Jianyan’s gaze stayed on the guardroom’s paper.
Orange Candy followed his gaze.
The paper was unchanged.
What the others didn’t know was—just now, when Wen Jianyan looked, two blood-red characters appeared before the words 【Registration Form】.
Put together, the full title of the form was:
【Death Registration Form】.
