WTNL Chapter 453

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Yuying University
Chapter 453: Realm of Death

The appearance of the Mason was completely unexpected.

For a moment, the air pressure seemed to drop.

“That guy… we’re not going to…”
Tian Ye mumbled.

Orange Candy shot the Mason a cold glance, then looked away.
“Don’t mind him.”

Usually, they wouldn’t even run into him, but meeting him didn’t necessarily mean they couldn’t have some sort of clash.

As time passed, more and more anchors and club members arrived one after another.

It was as if there was an invisible film in the air—although everyone stood on the same field, they had clearly split into two distinct groups, maintaining a fragile balance.

Wen Jianyan understood exactly why this was happening.

Most likely, during their previous elective classes, club members had also been in the same classroom with them, but back then, they had no awareness of the other group’s presence—just like the current anchors, who were probably unaware of the hidden danger around them.

His gaze lingered on the Mason’s profile.

The man was far away, not even looking in this direction. His face was plain, build average, and he seemed utterly unremarkable. But even so, the chalky-white skin like plaster dust, and that standardized, clammy, cold smile gave Wen Jianyan a strong sense of danger and unease.

He leaned closer to Orange Candy.

“Have you ever interacted with this Mason before?”

Orange Candy replied, “That guy’s been around longer than me. He’s always been secretive. We barely cross paths in the Council.”

She shrugged, her voice tinged with undisguised distaste.
“And he has this smell I can’t stand… plus the way he looks at people is disgusting.”

—Crude, but accurate.

Orange Candy shot Wen Jianyan a sideways glance.
“I know what you’re getting at, but sorry, I don’t know what his talent is. Hugo probably knows, but I doubt he’d tell.”

In the Secret Council, there were unspoken rules—for example, members were not to casually reveal each other’s talents. A talent was one of an anchor’s trump cards; if someone of equal rank found it out, the already fragile order could collapse. So, while there was no explicit prohibition, anchors usually kept such matters secret—even among allies.

After all, in the Nightmare, alliances were fragile and short-lived. Today’s ally could be tomorrow’s enemy. Unless it was a matter of life and death, they generally abided by this rule.

And Hugo, as one of the Council’s enforcers, would never be the one to break it first—even if he bore a personal grudge.

“Speaking of which,” Wen Jianyan suddenly asked with curiosity, “do you know how the Mason and Hugo became enemies?”

“Don’t care, don’t know,” Orange Candy replied with her usual breezy carelessness.

“But…” she paused, tilted her head, and added in her innocent tone:
“I heard from Dan Zhu that the two of them once entered the same instance. The Mason had… improper intentions toward Hugo and ended up getting counter-killed.”

Wen Jianyan: “…”

The sheer information overload left him momentarily blank.

…Huh?

Huh??

Wait—hold on. Dan Zhu, what kind of conversations are you having with kids?!

The image of Dan Zhu—president of the Eternal Day Guild—with her misty eyes, full crimson lips, and venomous-scorpion smile flashed through Wen Jianyan’s mind, making him instantly doubt the reliability of Orange Candy’s “source.”

And yet…

He turned to glance at the Mason again, recalling their first meeting and the brief conversation in the hallway, and suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore.

Hmm… maybe not entirely impossible?

But of all people to target—why Hugo?!

No wonder Hugo never gave the Mason a friendly face.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, the Mason’s head twitched, then quickly turned toward their direction.

“?!”

Wen Jianyan’s heart skipped.

Could the Mason feel it?

Impossible.

This was an SS-level instance rule’s information barrier. Even back when he and Orange Candy attended the elective class, they couldn’t sense the club members. How could the Mason—

Forcing himself not to look away, Wen Jianyan watched.

The Mason’s gaze swept across the air without focusing, scanning quickly before turning away again.

He didn’t seem to notice anything.

“….”

Wen Jianyan discreetly exhaled in relief.

Though he was still reeling from Orange Candy’s bombshell gossip, class time had arrived.

Not far away, a teacher and a student-like faceless person approached. Instantly, both the club members and the anchors waiting at the school gate fell silent.

The teacher walked toward the anchors, while the faceless person headed for their group.

Wen Jianyan noticed that although two NPCs appeared, the anchors’ eyes were locked only on the teacher—as if only the club members could see the faceless person.

This faceless person was clearly the club’s leader.

Su Cheng frowned, nudging Wen Jianyan’s elbow.
“What will you do?”

After all, Wen Jianyan was the only one among them who hadn’t officially registered in the club. If there was roll call, wouldn’t all their efforts go to waste?

“Don’t worry,” Wen Jianyan said quietly. “There won’t be a problem.”

Su Cheng: “?”

Wei Cheng, beside them, looked puzzled. “Why are you so sure?”

“Who’s in charge of attendance checks?” Wen Jianyan’s tone carried a hint of sly amusement.

Everyone froze.

Tian Ye: “…Ah, the Student Council.”

Exactly. Whether in the first or second school year, all class attendance was handled by the Student Council. And right now, though the Council and the club maintained a façade of peace, their relationship was on the verge of collapse—thanks in large part to Wen Jianyan’s handiwork.

“Of course, it’s possible the club’s attendance isn’t managed by the Council. But even then, the club itself has no way to check,” Wen Jianyan continued.

Orange Candy asked curiously, “Huh? Why not?”

“You all use handprints, right?”

To stay hidden, club members had no facial features and indistinct voices. For the same reason, whether at the security office or when registering in the club, they left a handprint instead of writing down a student ID like ordinary students did in the first year.

Leaving a handprint meant making a pact with the rules while keeping a level of secrecy—even NPCs couldn’t check it.

This was why, in the administration building the previous night, the teacher could only tell there was an “infiltrator” by the difference in the number of handprints, not by identifying exactly who it was.

If even the teachers couldn’t, there was no way club members could check attendance.

“Also, there’s an even more important reason.”

Wen Jianyan opened his palm.

In it, the badge gleamed brightly.

“If they could track attendance, then the head on the badge wouldn’t have said what it did just now.”

Failure to attend meant losing a badge.

It was precisely this rule forcing “club members” to attend that proved the club had no other way to control attendance—and Wen Jianyan’s instincts from years of sparring with the Nightmare told him there was a deeper, subtler hint here:

If you killed enough people, and your badge count was high enough, you could ignore certain club restrictions.

Just as he finished speaking, a group of Student Council members with armbands appeared in the distance.

This time, Wen Jianyan noticed, the faint barrier separating the two groups didn’t appear—meaning the Council members could see the club members; they just chose not to look.

As if confirming his theory, the Student Council members went straight to the anchors, checking attendance by student ID.

Once done, they left without so much as a glance toward the club’s side.

Indeed—the club had no attendance system.

Wen Jianyan relaxed slightly.

Then, the teacher in the distance spoke:
“Good morning, students. Welcome to the outdoor practical course.”

Everyone held their breath and listened.

Even the Mason’s group stopped talking and looked intently toward the teacher.

With a smile, the teacher continued:
“To encourage participation in social practice and contributions to the school through labor, this outdoor practical course will take place outside the campus.”

Outside the campus?

At that, both club members and ordinary students were taken aback.

Though they’d suspected it from the course title, as Nightmare anchors they were used to operating in closed or semi-closed instances. To be told outright that this would be outside the campus was still a surprise.

So… they really were going out this time.

As he finished speaking, the long-shut school gates creaked open bit by bit.

Outside, a rusted, battered school bus drove in.

“All right,” the teacher clapped his hands, “everyone, get on the bus.”

People exchanged glances—but clearly, there was no other choice.

They lined up and boarded one by one.

Club members boarded last, after all the ordinary students. Wen Jianyan, in the middle of the group, followed the person ahead, stepping carefully onto the rickety bus steps and ducking into the small interior.

The bus was dimly lit inside, and the air smelled of cold, rotting flesh—different from the damp, sweet odor in the school. Strangely, Wen Jianyan found the scent oddly familiar, though he couldn’t place it immediately.

The interior was just as old and decayed. The dirty curtains were mottled with stains that would never wash out, and the seat fabric was equally grimy, frayed at the edges to reveal stuffing whose original color was impossible to tell.

The compartment was indeed spacious—so much so that even if everyone boarded, there would still be empty seats.

Wen Jianyan turned his head slightly, glancing toward the driver’s seat.

A grayish-yellow plastic partition blocked his view.

He couldn’t see who was driving, only the faint outline of a pitch-black silhouette, sitting motionless in the seat.

From behind came the voice of one of the club members:
“What are we waiting for? Let’s get going.”

Wen Jianyan turned back for a glance, paused, then retracted his gaze and walked toward the back.

He chose a seat away from the others and sat down. The rest of the club members took their seats in turn.

Once the last person got on, the engine roared to life with a harsh rumble, and the bus slowly began to move, swaying as it headed forward.

“……”

Wen Jianyan turned to look out the dirty, handprint-covered window.

The school bus was slowly pulling away from the campus.

The low gate of Yuying Comprehensive University slipped away behind them. Outside, the scenery gradually gave way to a darkness so thick that light could not penetrate.

The bus swayed, creaking as if it might fall apart at any moment.

“Cough, cough.”

From the front came a light cough, seemingly meant to draw their attention.

Wen Jianyan looked in the direction of the sound.

A faceless man stood in the open space behind the driver’s area, holding onto the seatback with one hand for balance.

He appeared to be the organizer of this club.

“The details were explained when you registered,” the faceless man said. “So I don’t need to repeat them, do I?”

Wen Jianyan, the only one who hadn’t registered:
“……”

Actually, it might be good if he did repeat them.

Sitting beside him, Orange Candy leaned over and whispered,

“Relax, it’s pretty much the same as what you figured out earlier, just with a few more details.”

The badges could only be obtained by killing people. The more badges one had, the more monsters they could control, and the more influence they had within the club.

Each day, one badge would automatically be deducted. If you didn’t participate in club activities or violated club rules, more would be deducted. New members only started with one initial badge—meaning they had no ability to disobey orders.

If they didn’t want to lose their only badge, they had to make a kill on the first day.

Wen Jianyan nodded and looked again at the organizer.

Suddenly, he froze.

Not far away, the “ordinary students” who were anchors in reality were all slumped in their seats, eyes closed, breathing evenly—they’d fallen asleep at some point without him noticing.

“…First rule: no infighting among club members. If you’re caught, badges will be deducted as punishment,” the organizer continued.

“Wearing your badge on the left chest means you’re participating in activities as a club member. If you want to leave midway, you can remove the badge—but not if there are ordinary students nearby.”

That explained why Wen Jianyan had been able to find a badge in the remains of a corpse before—not just because the controller was far away, but because “ordinary students” like them were nearby, making it impossible to remove the badge and instantly leave.

But that also meant…

If they clashed directly with ordinary students, they wouldn’t be able to withdraw quickly.

And when participating as club members, based on the information the weasel had provided earlier, anchors were forbidden from using their usual tools and abilities—they had to fight as monsters against the students.

Orange Candy glanced toward Mason.

The short man’s shoulder peeked above the seatback, swaying slightly in the darkness with the bus’s motion. He seemed to be asleep.

If they were up against ordinary anchors, being “monsters” was an advantage—but against a top-tier anchor like Mason, that advantage was far too small. Especially when tools and skills were banned—like sending a baby to fight a grown man.

Wen Jianyan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. Hidden behind the faceless man’s mask, his eyes flickered.

It was obvious he and Orange Candy were thinking the same thing.

He hadn’t been in the Secret Council long, but after the [Xingwang Hotel] instance, he had a solid grasp of just how dangerous a veteran anchor could be.

Even if Orange Candy didn’t seem intimidated by Mason…

…fighting without their anchor abilities was still risky.

Wen Jianyan lowered his gaze, long lashes casting shadows over his eyes. After a brief moment of thought, he whispered,

“Actually, I have an idea.”

“Huh?”

Orange Candy tilted her head toward him.

He leaned closer.
“In short, don’t make a move yet. When we get there, I’ll tell you what to do.”

After the organizer finished explaining the rules, he returned to his seat. Silence fell again, broken only by steady breathing and the harsh engine noise.

The bus rocked gently.

The light inside seemed dimmer and dimmer.

Wen Jianyan looked out the window.

No—it wasn’t his imagination.

When they left the school gate, dawn’s faint light had already touched the sky. But now, the pale light had dimmed bit by bit until it was gone entirely. It no longer looked like morning at all—it was as pitch-black as midnight.

Outside, visibility was almost zero, darkness pressing against the bus on all sides.

Even though they weren’t forced into sleep like the other students, they couldn’t see the road outside.

Time seemed to dissolve—no telling if minutes, hours, or days had passed—until the bus began to slow.

Wen Jianyan noticed immediately, lifting his gaze.

Less than a minute later, the bus stopped.

The forcibly-sleeping anchors began waking one by one, their faces alert and guarded—no grogginess at all. They too knew:

The real game was about to begin.

A teacher in the front row stood up.

The yellowish interior light fell on his pale face, making his smile all the more disturbing.

“Hello, students. We’ve arrived at the location for our outdoor practical lesson.”

“Your task is simple—collect soil from the ground and fill these bags to take back with you.”

He produced a stack of white cloth bags and began handing them out from front to back.

“You have two hours. If the bags aren’t full, you won’t be allowed back on the bus.”

His voice didn’t change at all on that last sentence, even though it meant they’d be left here forever—it was delivered with the same smile, making it all the more chilling.

The bags were only given to students, not club members.

At least in this, they had immunity—so long as they were still alive.

As the teacher moved down the aisle, Wen Jianyan leaned toward Orange Candy and whispered a few words.

“…Huh?”

Even without facial features or an unaltered voice, her disbelief was obvious.
“You’re serious?”

“Of course.”

Orange Candy gave him a suspicious look. Wen Jianyan chuckled shortly.
“Relax. It’ll be fine.”

“…Alright.”

She turned and beckoned to a teammate in the back, relaying Wen Jianyan’s words in a whisper.
“Pass it along.”

One by one, the plan was passed down the line.

By then, the teacher had handed out the last bag.

Almost on cue, the bus door creaked open.

The teacher stepped aside, still smiling.
“Alright, please disembark in an orderly fashion—no pushing.”

Despite his light tone, the air in the compartment was suffocatingly tense. Students gripped their bags tightly, exchanged brief glances with teammates, and filed off the bus.

The anchors went first, followed by the club members.

—For the newly recruited members, this “lesson” was no easier than for the anchors.

Wen Jianyan walked with the group, running through his plan in his mind, checking each step for flaws.

He stepped off the bus.

The moment his foot touched the ground, a familiar chill seeped up from below. The loose soil made him sink slightly, almost stumbling.

Wen Jianyan froze and looked down.

Underfoot was yellowish-brown soil.

…Wait.

The color and texture were disturbingly familiar.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

In the boundless darkness stretched an endless expanse of heavy yellow earth.

In the distance, faintly visible, were small mounded graves.

Far ahead, “students” stood on the barren land, scooping grave soil into their white bags.

A cold shiver ran through Wen Jianyan, sweat breaking out along his spine.

Others might not know where this was—but he did.

This was the very graveyard at the end of the street in Xingwang Hotel.

The same destination shown in the painting within Changsheng Tower.

A place no living person could enter—a realm of death linking to some unknown, horrifying origin.

The starting point and the final destination of all mysteries.

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