Chapter 15: The Unexpected

On the altar floated an eye, about the size of a fist. The eye was slender and slightly curved, bearing a striking resemblance to the mark on the traveler’s amulet.

At a glance, it was unmistakably Lyman’s eye.

The cursed gold... or rather, it should be called the cursed eye.

Lyman’s eye on the altar noticed Wu Chang immediately. Its pupil radiated unmasked malice, sending a silent but clear signal through its gaze:

“What are you looking at?”

Wu Chang was completely unfazed by the provocation. He strode up to the altar, looked at Lyman’s eye, and rubbed his hands together excitedly.

Old Deng—no, the honorable Knight Commander Anderson—had just unleashed a hefty pile of gold coins.

Sensing Wu Chang’s intentions, the pupil flashed with violet light. In the next moment, Wu Chang felt an inexplicable chill, his head swam, and he stepped back half a pace.

Looking up at Lyman’s eye, he saw confusion and bewilderment filling the massive pupil.

It seemed unable to comprehend why such a lowly opponent had such strong will, capable of resisting its assault.

Wu Chang shook his head and pressed closer to Lyman’s eye.

With each step forward, the madness and malice in the eye deepened, and it unleashed a stronger attack on him.

From the altar’s edge to near the eye was ten steps in total.

Lyman’s attacks grew from a chill to a forceful punch aimed at his head.

At two meters’ distance, if this continued, even with his willpower in the low thirties, Wu Chang wouldn’t hold out.

The eye sensed Wu Chang nearing his limit, adopting a victor’s posture. Its gaze, like a corrupted pop-up infected with a virus, wildly assaulted him.

Wu Chang felt a warm flow in his nostrils. Wiping his hand across his nose, he saw blood.

Casually wiping the blood on his clothes, he grinned at Lyman’s eye, revealing a row of neat white teeth.

“Do you really think you can win the resurrection match before that guy? Never been hit by an elbow, huh?”

Then, before the eye could react, Wu Chang closed the two-meter gap in an instant, his elbow striking like a blade, landing heavily on the center of the pupil.

“Man!”

Blinded, dizzy, bleeding, weakened, poisoned—the statuses flashed in rapid succession. Lyman’s eye seemed to have contracted keratitis; its pupil instantly swollen, bloodshot, and streaming tears.

“What are you looking at now!” Wu Chang, firmly in the upper hand, finally voiced the answer he’d been holding back.

His inspiration was so high that the negative effects lingered for a full two minutes before subsiding.

After the blow, the malice in Lyman’s eye retracted, its gaze clearing significantly.

Wu Chang thought it had given up resistance and reached out, but the eye suddenly took an attacking stance again.

He withdrew his hand and flashed his elbow; the eye’s gaze cleared once more.

This repeated two or three times. Wu Chang frowned, drew a cursed crossbow bolt with his left hand, and poised his right hand in a Mamba Iron Elbow stance, his tone sharp:

“Quit pretending you don’t want the drink but gobble down the antibiotics.”

After a moment, Lyman’s eye seemed resigned, ceasing resistance and closing its eye.

***

As Wu Chang took Lyman’s eye, the Moonlight Sanatorium and the entire White Stone Town began to shake violently.

The intense earthquake lasted ten minutes, during which buildings collapsed and the earth cracked, plunging the town into chaos.

Followers of the Serenity Sect gathered in open spaces, praying for divine salvation, but the sturdy stone statues of their gods shattered before their eyes.

It was a scene straight out of an apocalypse.

The dark clouds that had veiled the moon above White Stone Town silently dispersed.

Dawn was approaching.

The Moonlight Sanatorium was fraught with danger—one misstep would mean eternal ruin.

Yet among the players concerned with this instance, Wu Chang, who was inside, remained the most relaxed.

If anyone carried the most pressure, it was Old Gao in the Red Temple.

As the stopwatch ticked, the Moonlight Sanatorium instance reached the two-hour-thirty-minute mark.

For Old Gao, responsible for Wanghai City, those two hours felt like two centuries.

His eyes did not dare to stray for a moment, fearful that even a blink would cause the instance’s light gate to shatter, plunging the sanatorium into complete chaos.

He minimized movement, even breathing and speaking, wary of disturbing the rookie inside the instance and hastening disaster.

“Old Gao, how’s it going?” Lei Huo was less cautious. Upon entering the temple, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Situation stable for now. According to big data analysis, the probability of our new friend holding out for four hours is 65%.”

Old Gao rubbed his face, forcing himself to relax mentally. Even as a veteran, such mental strain was unbearable; he needed a moment to clear his head.

“And outside?”

Lei Huo replied, “Defense and evacuation in Level One zones are basically complete. Level Two and Three evacuations and shelters are orderly. If that unlucky rookie really lasts four hours, more than half of Level Three might be evacuated.”

“Then we’d be confident of reducing casualties to half or even a fifth of the Sakurajima incident. But...”

He hesitated.

“Encountered trouble?” Old Gao frowned.

Lei Huo spat disdainfully. “Some people don’t want us to get through this crisis easily. The hidden rats are restless.”

“The rumor mongers have been caught through internet tracing. A few troublemakers sneaked into shelters; they’re detained and awaiting interrogation.”

With the increase of Abyss Game players, all veterans sensed the profound upheaval in the real world.

Especially in recent years, bizarre events worldwide have surged, with once-in-a-century disasters and major accidents happening in succession. Instances go out of control more frequently.

Despite hundreds of conferences and talk of a shared human destiny, when trouble hits, allies’ first reaction is rarely aid.

They treat the unlucky as lab rats, letting problems fester to gather data, which benefits them more.

If the issue isn’t large enough, some allies don’t mind making it worse.

And some local powers even act directly.

When the Sakurajima Class B instance went out of control recently, it wasn’t initially unmanageable. The death and disappearance toll surpassed thirty thousand thanks to efforts by White Tower and Sakurajima local forces.

Old Gao massaged his forehead, weary of dealing with those rats.

***

“They’re just cannon fodder. What can you get from interrogations? Afterward, recoverable trash goes into high-difficulty instances for scouting; the unrecoverable get eliminated.”

Lei Huo sat beside Old Gao, frustrated. “Our blockade of the instance entrance attracted attention from other powers. Combined with activity in Wanghai City, many outside have guessed something’s wrong inside.”

“Some opportunistic bastard used Abyss privileges, found our instance portal unopened, then deduced the players inside entered through trial channels.”

Old Gao intensified his face rub, “And then?”

Lei Huo said, “Then we became the biggest joke in Abyss Game this year, or even the past few years.”

“Players all over the wasteland are watching us. The Moonlight Sanatorium topic on forums has shot to number one in popularity, surpassing the other nine hottest instances combined.”

“The pressure at HQ is huge. When our rookie friend inside finally breaks, the pressure will fall on us.”

Old Gao was speechless, muttering an expletive under his breath.

Cold Mountain, who had been listening silently, interjected: “No need to be so pessimistic. I have a feeling the guy inside might make it out alive.”

Lei Huo sneered, “You’re way too optimistic.”

Cold Mountain asked, “A rookie player using a nearly out-of-control Class B instance as a trial—don’t you think that’s abnormal? At least, I don’t recall such a matching method.”

Lei Huo replied immediately, “My blind guess is White Tower and Sakurajima are up to something. They tasted success recently and are rumored to have contacted players who worship dark gods, trying to deliberately destabilize the instance.”

Cold Mountain hesitated, then said, “I trust my intuition more. There’s something off about the guy inside. If he makes it out alive, he might not disrupt the instance’s stability and could bring back valuable information.”

Old Gao exhaled deeply. “Don’t talk about intelligence gathering. If he lasts four hours, I’ll burn incense in thanks. If eight hours, he’ll be a saint—I’ll build him a temple and cast a golden statue myself.”

Lei Huo asked, “And if he comes out alive?”

“I’ll devour this portal...”

Old Gao didn’t finish his sentence before the monitor showed the pollution level inside Moonlight Sanatorium dropping rapidly, shifting from near-chaos to mild danger.

A little more drop, and it would reach the safe zone.

Lei Huo rubbed his eyes in disbelief, shouting, “What the hell is going on? Is the instrument broken?”

Cold Mountain maintained absolute composure. Though shocked, he quickly analyzed:

“Such a large drop in pollution means the player inside completed at least one main quest and a significant story node. If he keeps this up and clears the instance alive, completion won’t be below 75%.”

“You mean the rookie player is about to break the stalemate?”

The sudden good news left Old Gao’s mind temporarily blank.

He couldn’t tell if Wanghai City stabilizing or the rookie breaking the nearly out-of-control Class B instance was the greater surprise.

“Most likely, yes.”

Old Gao asked instinctively, “And if something goes wrong?”

Before Cold Mountain could answer, the pollution level, which had neared safety, suddenly shot up, rushing toward the chaos threshold.

Lei Huo stared blankly at the screen, then slapped Old Gao.

“I don’t know what happens if the instance goes wrong, but if you don’t shut that crow’s mouth of yours, you’re about to cause an accident yourself.”