Chapter 42
by GideonChapter 42: Hotel – 8
Thanks for the invitation. I’m currently in an instance and have managed to provoke a psychopath.
If time could be turned back…
So what if he’d been dragged over to shield someone from flying chunks of corpses and blood?
So what if he’d been sprayed right in the face with maggots?
So what if he’d been taunted with a few mocking glances?
What couldn’t he have endured?
He was only trying to stay alive. There was nothing shameful about that!
If only he’d been able to swallow that one little bit of anger earlier!
“Tap—bang, bang, bang—tap, tap—”
Listening to the increasingly loud footsteps, pounding on doors, and crashing sounds, Storm took a deep breath, spurred by his instinct to survive, and forced himself to stop dwelling on the past.
How had things ended up like this?
Well, it all started when the Puppeteer announced that Storm was the doll he had taken a liking to.
All he could say was that the thought process of a psychopath was something ordinary people like them could never understand.
Despite the Puppeteer’s utterly confident tone, despite Storm being completely incapable of resisting him given the Puppeteer’s strength, despite everything…
The Puppeteer simply refused to give Storm a quick death!
His excuse was that he, the Puppeteer, was a dramatist who followed the rules and respected human rights…
Storm had never heard a more ridiculous joke in his entire life.
If he wanted to play with a mouse before killing it, he could just say so…
But the Puppeteer didn’t think it was a joke at all!
With an utterly serious expression, he told everyone in the dining area a string of blatant lies while they looked on with complicated expressions. Then, to prove that his lies were true, he actually announced that he would give Storm the opportunity to make his own choice. He even invited all the players to participate in a game of survival together.
Storm didn’t understand why everyone else had to be dragged into it when the opportunity was supposedly meant for him, but…
Did that really matter?
No, it didn’t.
What mattered was that the Puppeteer had already made his decision. And what mattered was that none of the players had any ability to resist him. They were all forced to stake their lives on this game of survival.
At first, some players had still entertained the hopeful thought that the hotel would step in to protect the safety of its employees…
But when the Puppeteer smiled as he slaughtered every NPC on the first floor, then politely explained that he was merely conducting an appropriate clearing of the area, the hotel still didn’t make a peep.
That was when the players finally accepted reality.
The rules of the survival game were also very simple.
All they had to do was avoid getting caught by the Puppeteer.
There was only one Puppeteer… chasing so many players?
What a joke! Aside from a few unlucky souls, surely anyone with a pair of legs could escape!
That was what all the players thought when they were gathered together before the game began.
But once the game started…
They could no longer laugh.
Because…
Under the guidance of the Puppeteer’s hands, which were so perfect they could be considered works of art…
All the NPCs who had been slaughtered earlier on the first floor stood up again.
The weak, pitiful, and silent players: …
They could only band together.
Yet even after sticking together, by the time they escaped to the second floor, fewer than ten of them remained.
“What do we do? That corridor door won’t hold them back much longer!”
“But this is already the kitchen at the very back of the second floor. Where else can we hide?”
“The outer walls are incredibly sturdy. Even our items show that they can’t be broken through.”
“And there aren’t any windows. We can’t jump out.”
…
The players’ discussion grew increasingly chaotic. Some were even beginning to lose their tempers. Of the five players who had managed to make it here, not a single one was easy to deal with. As soon as they sensed that an argument might break out, they all fell silent.
And just then—
“There’s one more place.”
Having completely calmed down, Storm looked at them with a composed expression.
He gestured for the other four to look up at the ventilation duct overhead.
At the very beginning of the instance, the players had already tried hiding inside the ventilation ducts.
But the instance clearly wouldn’t leave such an obvious loophole.
Staying inside the ducts for a very short time might not cause any problems. However, once they exceeded a certain time limit, swarms of frenzied rats would appear and bite them. Even with a body full of items, they could last only a few minutes at most.
And there were still plenty of puppets controlled by the Puppeteer on the first floor…
Therefore, Storm’s intention in looking at the ventilation duct wasn’t to hide inside it, nor was he suggesting they use it to get down to the first floor.
Rather…
“…The third floor?”
The players exchanged glances.
An S-rank NPC like the Puppeteer was already difficult enough to deal with. And there seemed to be two more high-level instance bosses on the third floor, with at least one of them likely being S-rank or higher…
Wasn’t that just asking for death?
“You can also choose to die right now.”
Storm’s expression was icy.
He had already rolled up his sleeves and swiftly removed the ventilation cover. Half his body was now inside the duct.
Besides…
Who said going to the third floor necessarily meant they would die?
Thinking of that beautiful, aloof Puppeteer Miss, Storm climbed even faster.
In this instance, the only person who might be able to stop that psychotic lunatic was probably her.
If he could find her, perhaps he would still have a slim chance of survival!
Seeing how decisively Storm had acted, the remaining players seemed to realize something.
They exchanged glances, then hurriedly followed his lead.
And so…
When the controlled NPCs finally smashed through the corridor door and rushed inside, all they found was an empty kitchen.
There had been five players here…
The Puppeteer strolled over to the ventilation duct, passing between the scattered groups of NPCs.
He smiled pleasantly.
Storm was certainly strong, but after the original self converted one player, there might still not be enough puppets.
Besides, not every player was qualified to become a puppet under the original self’s command.
That was why the Puppeteer had organized this survival game.
Survival of the fittest.
Judging by the results so far…
One chosen, four discarded. The outcome was quite satisfactory.
After casually straightening the parts of his outfit that had become slightly disheveled as he walked, the Puppeteer curled his lips into a smile and turned around, disappearing from the spot.
It was time to see whether his original self would like the gifts he’d selected.
And if his original self didn’t like them…
Then he would have to take care of every last one of them…
Very, very thoroughly.
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