The desperate cry of the clown host echoed across the live broadcast of the game:
"Please stop making things difficult for me, I'm just a little host! Can anyone tell me what exactly is happening???"
Yet among the many new and veteran players watching, not a single one could answer his doubts. Confusion lingered like a heavy fog.
"I understand that Lucas finally used his skill… but what about the fact that all prison guards share the same internal structure? No difference between men and women? How is that possible?"
"I can't understand this at all. Am I losing my mind?"
"Lucas used the little girl's psychology and let her influence everyone in Verne?"
"No, even if that's the case, could she really have carried out every step perfectly in line with Lucas' wishes?"
"Damn it! Before, nobody cared when others were being executed, but now that the entire town may be infected with this so-called genetic virus, suddenly everyone stands up and resists???"
The clown host wasn't alone—confusion spread among the players and spectators alike.
"Wait a minute, did I understand this wrong? Doesn't it mean that genetic viruses don't exist in the first place?"
"Don't be fooled! The genetic virus can't possibly be this infectious!"
The woman in the red dress tried to calm the villagers, her voice trembling, her presence pale compared to their growing rage.
But her weak reassurance only fueled suspicion.
"After all," one villager muttered, "you still don't dare tell the truth—that there is no genetic virus at all…"
The villagers' anger and panic, which had been building silently, could no longer be suppressed. Their emotions spiraled into hysteria.
They began to convince themselves: they were infected. They were doomed to be eliminated.
"But the truth is no longer important…"
Lucas stood silently in the crowd, nine shimmering [Sleep Factors] appearing in his hand.
[Sleep Factor]—the proud invention of the doctor in the restricted zone. Those who inhaled it became unnaturally excited. If they remained in that state for too long, neurological mutations could occur.
But here, spread across an entire town, the effect was diluted into a "safe" range.
And then it began.
No one knew which villager shouted first, but the words were like sparks tossed into a dry forest:
"We're infected! They're definitely going to eliminate us all!"
The heavy foundation on the face of the woman in the red dress cracked into lines of fury. She hissed something inaudible, her voice drowned out by the storm.
The shouts of the villagers rose, deafening.
"We want to live!"
"Resist! Resist!"
"Why should infected people be eliminated?"
The once-passive villagers, who had watched others executed with indifference, now felt the fire at their own feet. And they finally stood.
From his place among the players, Ethan Walker stared at the square, his worldview crumbling.
"This… this isn't how historical struggles happened, right???"
The woman in the red dress clenched her fists until her nails drew blood.
"A bunch of lowly pariahs!" she screamed.
"Suppress them with full force! No matter life or death!"
On the stage and throughout the square, the remaining prison guards obeyed without hesitation.
Their long white coats flared as they drew their strange long white batons—tools designed to completely subdue a human body.
The villagers outnumbered them, but the prison guards were stronger, colder, and armed.
The sticks cracked down hard.
But a burning desire to live surged through the villagers. They rushed forward in waves, red-eyed and roaring.
"Kill them! Kill them!"
For every villager that fell, thousands more surged from behind.
Lucas watched with a heavy sigh.
"It's truly tragic…"
And then, his vision shifted.
In an instant, all the details of the battlefield magnified in his eyes. He saw the thundering heartbeat of each prison guard, the twisting of their muscles before they struck, the smallest opening in their stance.
A system prompt flashed before him:
[System Prompt: Recognition of detachable objects has been completed]
[Current dismantling objects: 39]
[Players may choose objects to dismantle manually]
[Note: Using skills will consume mental value. The stronger your mind, the lower the cost.]
Lucas whispered one word:
"Dismantle."
Ding!
[Player Lucas' Mental Value -1]
[Player Lucas' Mental Value -1]
The notifications cascaded as time itself seemed to freeze.
The prison guards stood motionless, mid-strike, expressionless. Some held their batons high, others mid-kick.
Then—
Puff!
A prison guard at the far end of the square split apart like a rag doll.
Another followed. And another.
Explosions of blood burst like flowers across the square.
The slaughter spread toward the podium. One by one, behind every kneeling villager, the prison guards were torn into pieces.
The hook-nosed captain still wore his angry expression when his head and neck separated, blood spraying upward in a fountain that rained down across the stage.
When time resumed its natural flow, a red storm bloomed above the black-and-white town of Verne.
All the prison guards collapsed.
The woman in the red dress trembled violently, splattered with gore. Chunks of the hook-nosed guard clung to her as she staggered.
Lucas exhaled slowly, checking his system panel.
"Only 39,920 spiritual points consumed…"
He relaxed slightly.
"It's… a very cost-effective skill."
Marco clutched his head in disbelief.
"Thirty-nine points?? Only 39 points consumed?! Is that even real?? The system must be broken!"
Blue Kill stared in shock, her lips parting.
"No… his mental strength must be that high…"
On the podium, only the woman in the red dress still stood—shaking uncontrollably, her arrogance stripped bare by fear.
Ethan Walker brushed bits of flesh from his shoulder, his face pale.
Even after so many dungeons, the grotesque scene unsettled him.
"Ugh… this is revolting."
Beside him, Jason bent down, eyes narrowing at something glinting among the gore. He picked up a small metal square and wiped it clean, revealing strange, twisting lines carved into its surface.
"What's this?" Jason muttered.
Ethan's eyes widened as recognition dawned.
"That's… a chip."
The weight of that single word sank into everyone's hearts.
--------------------------------
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