The Devoted Pretender

Downstairs.

Two seconds after sending the last private message, Zhu Yan heard the soft scrape of shoe soles against the floor not far away.

With a flick of his will, Zhu Yan picked up the gun that originally belonged to Guan En—utterly useless as it was—and made “Zhu Zeyu” maintain a cautious, composed expression while standing behind him.

Honestly, Yang Zhanbai didn’t even have to come here.

But Yang Zhanbai was easy to fool.

Letting this guy witness “Zhu Zeyu” and the Hunter with his own eyes wouldn’t just cement Zhu Yan’s cover—it would also make this bastard swear up and down that “Zhu Zeyu” wasn’t the Hunter for a full two hundred years.

Besides, Yang Zhanbai had a lot of credibility at the police station.

With him making this trip, “Zhu Zeyu’s” reputation at the station was guaranteed to stay intact.

In short, not only did this max out the dramatic effect, but it also kept a tight leash on the most unruly member of the little group—killing two birds with one stone.

“Zhu Zeyu?”

Yang Zhanbai’s cautious voice came from not far away, his footsteps drawing closer to Zhu Yan.

Zhu Yan let out a cold laugh.

“Come on over.” He spun the pistol, aiming it in the direction Yang Zhanbai was coming from.

“He’s right here. You come, and he goes.”

Yang Zhanbai decisively clicked off the safety on his silver pistol.

To be honest, this gun might not be able to handle the Hunter, but at least it counted as a pretty solid weapon.

He moved quickly toward the Hunter’s position, and soon he saw two figures.

It was Zhu Zeyu—and that young man with the blurry face he’d crossed paths with once before.

Zhu Zeyu looked at him nervously, giving a slight shake of his head, while a new private message popped up on his retina.

“Don’t act rashly. His defenses are strong too. Don’t get yourself killed!”

Yang Zhanbai saw the Hunter’s pitch-black gun barrel and felt his heart pound like a drum.

Damn it.

The arrogant look on this bastard’s face was really infuriating.

If only he were stronger—whether it was for Zhu Zeyu’s sake or his own—they wouldn’t be in this kind of mess.

Yang Zhanbai stared at the Hunter, silently making up his mind.

Get stronger.

He would become just as strong—or even stronger.

“Hurry up and get over here, asshole.” the Hunter taunted. “You’ve got the guts to point a gun at me, but no nerve to come closer?”

Yang Zhanbai said, “Zhu Zeyu can leave now, right?”

“Zhu Zeyu” made a gesture at the Hunter, as if telling him not to fire recklessly.

Then, Zhu Yan steered the puppet quickly toward Yang Zhanbai and whispered to him in a very low voice.

“It’s safe here.” He showed Yang Zhanbai his clean right palm. “There might be creepy creatures coming around, though, so make sure you stay close to the door.”

“Also, keep in touch with Qi Yinming and pass the passphrase on to them.”

Yang Zhanbai looked at how noble and self-sacrificing Zhu Zeyu seemed, and felt like something was off.

“Will do. What’s the deal with this place?”

“Zhu Zeyu” paused for a moment.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take for the door to open, or whether the games on the other floors will automatically end once it does.”

“The Hunter will definitely be the first to run. I want you guys to get out in time too.”

Yang Zhanbai felt a strange tightness in his chest, a nameless lump in his throat.

What did he mean by that?

Sticking himself into danger all on his own, huh.

“Then you...”

“I’m going to the Kitchen. It’s not like I don’t know the passphrase.”

Zhu Zeyu patted Yang Zhanbai on the shoulder. "Goodbye."

…

Inside the banquet hall.

The horror creature singled out by Goatee was a clown holding a red balloon.

It touched its huge, paint-caked forehead and grinned at Goatee, flashing a full set of a dozen-plus neat teeth.

"Me?" It chuckled, reached into its pocket, tugged twice, and pulled out a long telephone cord.

At the end of the cord hung a lotus-seed-pod-shaped receiver.

The clown stretched out its hand, pressed a few buttons in midair, and dialed the office line.

"Hello, this is the office."

The phone seemed to be on speaker by default—the Doppelganger's polite but stiff voice rang out clearly in the center of the banquet hall.

The clown spoke in a bizarre accent, cutting straight to the point.

"A naughty Hunter has taken something very important. We suspect he'll head straight for the instance exit, so..."

The clown's heavily painted mouth stretched ear to ear.

"What's the floor-change command?"

The horror creatures nearby waited with varied expressions. Madam snapped open her warped, fan-boned folding fan, her blurry eyes narrowing with almost eager anticipation.

But on the other end of the line came a long silence—

As if that low-ranking Doppelganger was mulling something over.

"I know, sir."

After a moment, the Doppelganger replied slowly.

What a coincidence.

Just five minutes earlier, it had received an identical call—almost the same words from a different caller.

Something about a Hunter having grabbed the Key Fragments, and top-floor bigwigs dispatching horror creatures to fend him off.

And another stroke of luck.

That earlier call's wording was far more polished than this one.

This call dodged the question of "the important thing" and was a bit too eager in demanding the floor-change command.

Could this be the Hunter himself?

The clown tapped its knuckles on the messy table. "The floor-change command is 'I know'?"

"No, sir," the Doppelganger said with professional composure. "What I meant is, I know what you're referring to. You're talking about the Hunter taking the Key Fragments, correct?"

"You're about to say he's obtained all the Key Fragments, so you've been entrusted by the top-floor bigwigs to descend and defend against him, yes?"

The clown's two bean-like black eyes were fathomless.

"Something like that. So, the floor-change command—"

The Doppelganger cut it off. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I can't disclose the passcode."

The clown's face shifted. "What did you say?"

"...You'll have to figure it out yourself. Goodbye, Hunter."

The line went dead.

The clown's exaggeratedly painted mouth twisted—its actual lips curling downward into a horrifying sneer.

"Dammit."

It hissed, and the wooden table before it let out cracking sounds, as if the words themselves carried power.

"DAMMIT! How dare that thing humiliate me like this?!"

The clown leapt up, furiously kicking the long table to vent.

In moments, the table shattered.

Sharp plank edges jutted out from beneath the red velvet cloth, the already-smashed dishes scattered across the floor, and grease stained the carpet.

"I'm dying! I'm dying! When have I ever suffered such disgrace?!"

The eerie creatures all stared in unison at the telephone in the Clown's hand.

The Silver Lady's face rapidly shriveled into a sheet of skin, her expression twisted and horrifying; the Madam's eyes grew even murkier.

Only the Murderer kept its ghastly smile, rising to its feet with the axe gripped tightly in its hand.

"Seems someone's already made a call, using the same excuse we did," Goatee said darkly.

The Clown was still shrieking.

It finally destroyed an entire long table and leaned over, panting heavily with its hands on its knees.

Goatee stepped forward with a grim face and hurriedly dialed the office phone once more.