Chapter 3: The Moonlight Sanatorium

“Achoo!”

Wu Chang sneezed inside the dungeon. He rubbed his nose to shake off the aftereffects and muttered, “Which little cutie is thinking about me?”

After a brief moment to regain composure, he began assessing his situation.

Now that he had been dragged into the Abyss Game, all he could do was try his best to survive.

Although the system’s matchmaking was a pain, the dungeon’s setup was considerate enough to automatically equip him with attire suited to the realm.

Besides that, he was gifted a player-essential portable space.

However, the Abyss Game was stingy with starting inventory; the portable backpack was genuinely just a backpack, roughly the size of a regular daypack.

At the moment, the only item inside was a silver revolver once used by the camo-clad man.

Wu Chang drew out the silver revolver, feeling a sudden surge of security.

All fear stemmed from insufficient firepower.

With a weapon in hand, he at least possessed a basic means of self-defense.

As he toyed with the revolver, a line of information popped up on it.

“Item Name: Silver Dawn.”

“Item Grade: D.”

“Item Skill: Scorching Bullets.”

“Skill Description: Silver Dawn automatically generates special silver bullets over time. When these silver bullets hit a target, they inflict burning and explosive damage, dealing double damage to spirits and monsters.”

“Silver Bullets: One silver bullet is generated automatically every hour. You can also consume a bit of energy to instantly reload one silver bullet. Current silver bullets: 6/6.”

Gazing at the Silver Dawn in his hand, Wu Chang’s grievances toward the camo man lessened, and he began to explore the room.

According to the mission prompt, the place he was in was called Moonlight Sanatorium.

Though called a sanatorium, it resembled more a prison.

Bare-bones interior design, a simple iron bed, yellowed pure white sheets, a heavy metal door, and a small window sealed with thick metal bars.

What kind of despair drives someone to choose recovery in such a place?

It was late at night, and the sky was overcast, with the moonlight almost completely obscured. The only light in the room came from a small kerosene lamp on the nearby desk.

The kerosene lamp exuded a strong sense of antiquity. The world of this dungeon was set far earlier than the real-world timeline, possibly before the invention of electric lights.

If the timeline were even earlier, perhaps he could have given the locals a small firearm shock.

Wu Chang picked up the kerosene lamp and examined the room’s details.

By its light, he noticed a wooden board nailed to the wall, displaying his medical record.

“Patient in Room 207: Sean.”

“Diagnosis: Early-stage Delusional Disorder.”

“Treatment: Psychological counseling combined with medication.”

“Current mental state: Stable.”

That explained it. No wonder the room was so austere—Moonlight Sanatorium doubled as a psychiatric hospital.

The patient named Sean on the record was likely himself, suffering early-stage delusions, which didn’t seem too severe.

Below the record was a set of sanatorium admission guidelines, written in striking red ink.

“1. This sanatorium operates under closed management. Without a pass issued by the director, patients are not allowed to leave freely.”

“2. Inside the sanatorium, only trust the medical staff. Do not trust any patients, not even yourself.”

“3. All medical personnel wear white uniforms. Do not trust anyone in civilian clothes claiming to be medical staff, even if they seem very familiar.”

“4. Do not leave your room after dark. If you sleepwalk out, upon waking, remain calm, cover your ears, close your eyes, and lie down on the floor until dawn.”

“5. If any medical staff or doctors inquire about specific delusions, immediately inform other medical personnel. Medical staff will come to handle the situation.”

The rules were few but peculiar, leaving Wu Chang momentarily puzzled.

At about waist height on the door was a food delivery hatch. He pushed aside the inner panel and peered out. As expected, the door opposite bore a faint red mark of resentment.

How do you create a button that people want to press just by looking at it? The answer: add a warning right before it saying, “Do not press.”

Since the rules stressed not leaving the room after dark, there would inevitably be reckless players attempting to do so.

As the ability activated, the faint red resentment unfolded like a curtain, projecting the deceased’s final moments.

The victim was a player clad in a mage’s robe. He was identifiable as a player because beneath the robe, he wore a pair of basketball shoes.

Inside the room, the mage waved his staff, softly chanting. Magic took the form of glowing particles like starlight, swirling around him and forming a transparent barrier.

He seemed experienced, having chanted continuously for five minutes, stacking four different protective shields before pausing.

With four layers of shields, he cautiously left the room. Everything seemed normal, and no accidents occurred. This bolstered the mage’s confidence as he strode forward to explore the sanatorium at night.

But not far along, his body suddenly halted. He howled and collapsed to the ground.

He appeared to have spotted something terrifying, scrambling back toward his room on all fours.

The dozen or so meters seemed an insurmountable chasm. Just as he was about to crawl back inside, his face twisted in terror, emitting unintelligible sobs, then convulsed violently until he became a puddle of slime.

Literal slime.

His condition resembled exquisitely hand-pounded Chaozhou meatballs—the kind that require over a thousand strikes to achieve such fine tenderness. If pounded well and boiled, dropping it on the floor would still bounce half a meter.

Until death, the mage’s four layers of shields remained unbroken.

Wu Chang frowned. Was this an instant-death effect that bypassed defense?

When things go awry, something is amiss. For a seasoned player to die so effortlessly, Wu Chang’s years of gaming experience told him that the two main quests related to the dungeon must involve the sanatorium at night.

To uncover its nighttime secrets, being able to move at night was fundamental.

He replayed the mage’s death footage repeatedly, trying to grasp the mechanism behind the instant kill. Did the mage trigger a trap or wander into a forbidden area?

With each viewing, his understanding of the mage’s final experience grew clearer. By the fourth watch, he almost fully immersed himself in the mage’s perspective.

As the mage desperately crawled toward the room, he suddenly shuddered, sensing someone watching him from behind.

From the mage’s viewpoint, Wu Chang glanced back and caught a detail missed in the previous three viewings.

At the far end of the corridor behind the mage stood a chubby man in a patient’s gown, coldly observing everything from the center of the hallway.

That man was not medical staff, yet he moved freely at night.

Wu Chang withdrew his consciousness from the lingering resentment. To move at night, he first had to find the chubby man in the patient’s gown.