Chapter 112
“Did you hear? A witch of the Evil God stirred up riots in the neighboring town—so many people were killed or injured!”
“I heard that too. Even the Royal Knights from the Holy See were dispatched.”
“I know, I know. They say that witch is terrifying—just raised her staff, spoke a few incantations, and people nearby began slaughtering each other. And, apparently, she’s gorgeous.”
“Tsk, witches are always beautiful.”
Lu Chuan and a masked, disguised Number 9 sat in a tavern, listening to people gossip and trade information.
“Wow, Lady Witch.”
Lu Chuan cast a glance at Number 9, who sat silently in a corner, and couldn’t help chuckling—quietly, so as not to draw attention.
Absolutely absurd.
He’d been dragging Number 9 from place to place these past few days, constantly on the run.
Even with his face hidden or his figure altered, that lethal allure clung to Number 9. The only way to keep people from falling for him was if they never noticed him at all.
So Lu Chuan had switched towns, entered alone, then secretly met up with Number 9, finally managing to settle for a while.
Because of that, Lu Chuan now did all the information gathering, while Number 9 stayed quietly in some corner, trying to draw no attention.
Truth be told, Lu Chuan had considered making him stay in the inn—but inns were busy too, and pickpockets came and went. It wasn’t much safer.
He couldn’t help asking,
“How on earth do you survive all these dungeons with… that kind of physique?”
Number 9 replied frankly, after a pause, “The fear I cause outweighs people’s urge to approach me. And if the worst happens, I simply stand still until humans settle their quarrel; they calm down eventually. Humans are fascinating.”
…So, because people fight over him and kill each other, all he has to do is stand there and wait it out?
What kind of calamity-bringer script was this? Didn’t the main system feel guilty for giving its Executor such a trait?
Lu Chuan regretted asking.
Number 9 wasn’t even human; he didn’t see a problem.
Help!
Carrying around a living warhead left Lu Chuan deeply uneasy. Apparently, having too strong a trump card was its own headache.
Today they’d come to this tavern because they’d heard news about Xi Jiangyuan’s team.
Yes, Xi Jiangyuan.
Lu Chuan had been run ragged these past days, thinking maybe he’d picked the wrong thigh to cling to—but then Number 9 surprised him.
“Xi Jiangyuan is here,” he’d said, even pointing out the direction.
So they’d disguised themselves and come to this tavern—the biggest in town, and the best place for intelligence.
And sure enough, they spotted Xi Jiangyuan.
This was Xi Jiangyuan’s memory-dungeon; he was the core of it. Whether they wanted to trace the mysterious source in him or leave the dungeon, everything hinged on Xi Jiangyuan.
Lu Chuan looked toward the tavern door—and almost didn’t recognize him.
Xi Jiangyuan looked barely twenty, face full of youthful innocence, following carefully behind a few other players. One glance and you knew: a total rookie, with that special kind of clear-eyed foolishness only newbies had.
The players with him tried to look composed, but their micro-expressions betrayed brittle nerves.
At most, they were C-rank.
Which made sense: Xi Jiangyuan had said he awakened his ability in a novice dungeon. What kind of powerhouse would show up in a beginner run?
“The world’s far bigger than what we’re seeing,” Lu Chuan mused, “but this is still Xi Jiangyuan’s newbie dungeon. That means his team’s activity is limited to this town, maybe even with clear objectives laid out—they just need to clear it step by step. Xi Jiangyuan awakened his dream power because he was possessed by a deity. He must’ve done something else that broke the dungeon.”
If they wanted to fix the anomaly, they had to act the moment Xi Jiangyuan got possessed.
“Their current quest is to find and eliminate the ghoul in this tavern,” Number 9 murmured.
“The bartender is the ghoul—and the two customers near him as well.”
Lu Chuan blinked.
“You Executors sure get thorough intel.”
With information that complete, clearing dungeons would be as easy as eating or drinking.
“There are at least three divine messengers and five sacrifices in this tavern,” Number 9 added after sweeping the room.
“Bad luck for them—they’ve run into the ‘Hundred Gods’ Birthday.’”
Lu Chuan’s face grew solemn.
Of course he knew what that meant; in recent days of asking around, he’d learned this important fact.
This world followed polytheistic faiths. But none of its deities were “proper”—each was more like an eldritch god. Their worshippers hated rival sects: any city dominated by one deity branded all others as “evil gods,” leading to endless conflict.
Still, all the gods shared one trait: they were born on the same day.
That day was called the Hundred Gods’ Birthday.
On it, no matter which god you worshipped, you had to celebrate their birth. It was also the most chaotic time of year, because every god demanded live sacrifices—though their criteria differed.
As a result, on the Hundred Gods’ Birthday, the beautiful and powerless, or the very young, would hide to avoid being taken.
It wasn’t rare for rival sects to kill thousands fighting over one “offering.” None of the devotees thought this wrong—they believed they were fighting for their lord, treasuring such memories as proof of loyalty.
After learning how bizarre these gods were, Lu Chuan abandoned any idea of founding his own sect here.
For one thing, competition among faiths was too fierce.
For another, these worshippers were dirt poor—he’d found there was no money to squeeze out of them.
Incidentally, in this world, worship was really just a means of survival. Only by pledging to a deity could people gain divine strength, allowing them to endure hunger and cold. With it, they could go days without food, and survive bitter winters with only thin clothing.
If you didn’t believe in the gods, you were finished.
All the believers would come to plunder you, steal your property — no one would protect you.
And here, the “state” or the royal knight orders were founded by the biggest sects; in truth, they just excluded outsiders. Endless “donations” and taxes crushed the people below until they could hardly breathe, forcing them to seek other deities’ protection through new churches, if only to escape the levies.
After seeing how toxic this ecosystem was, Lu Chuan decisively gave up on this “market.”
All the wealthy here were upper clergy of other sects; prying money from their hands would be hard, and he’d probably have to front the costs himself at the start.
And everyone knows: heavy up-front investment with thin returns — especially if you must put in your own capital first — is always a trap. A huge pit!
No way. If the instance was cleared, wouldn’t all his advances vanish with it?
Lu Chuan immediately abandoned the thought. Better to behave. It wasn’t as if he had to make money here.
—
“Captain, how do we find ghouls? Do they only come out at night?” Xi Jiangyuan, still looking naive, asked clumsily.
The captain beside him, though asked abruptly, stayed patient. “Generally, these creatures must feed on corpses. They’re probably spawned by the Church of Death. So we just need to ask around in places where news spreads fast — see if any corpses have gone missing recently — and we’ll get leads.”
“Oh, oh, Captain, you’re so clever.”
“It’s nothing. You’ll know after a few instances.” The captain basked in the praise. “Remember, don’t act alone. Ghouls are strong; head-to-head we’d suffer losses. Use props if you need to fight them…”
He went on instructing Xi Jiangyuan and the other members, earning another round of flattery.
Lu Chuan: …
Brother, you’re really talking about this out loud in a tavern? Even if most people don’t have my hearing, anyone attentive could catch every word.
And the ghoul you’re hunting is right here — hasn’t the barkeep been glancing at you again and again?
No wonder Xi Jiangyuan said he was the only survivor of the newbie instance.
With a team like this, of course they’d die.
Lu Chuan covered his head; he could already see their road to ruin.
“Sometimes,” Lu Chuan said suddenly to Number 9, “I get depressed for being normal, for not fitting in with these people. You probably don’t understand.”
Number 9 quietly drank his water. How could he not understand?
Lu Chuan decided to just tail Xi Jiangyuan.
He couldn’t be bothered to save these so-called teammates — this was the past anyway; even if he rescued them, it’d be for nothing, maybe even drag him down. Lu Chuan wasn’t that kind.
Of course, if they offered a lot of money… maybe. But from their looks, they were all broke.
Lu Chuan and Number 9 followed at a steady distance. The squad was either truly stupid or completely careless — they didn’t notice a thing.
Several times Lu Chuan even waved right in front of them, and they brushed him off as an NPC.
It felt like a college kid accidentally wandering into kindergarten.
With a sigh, Lu Chuan resigned himself and rented a room next to their quarters.
Xi Jiangyuan was clearly a “calf unafraid of tigers,” nowhere near as docile as he seemed.
Young new players — who hasn’t dreamed of being chosen by destiny, awakening mighty powers, climbing the Hall of Fame to become a legend?
Lu Chuan pressed an ear to the wall, trying to eavesdrop.
But whether the wall was too thick or they used some item, he couldn’t hear a thing.
“They’re writing on paper,” Number 9 said. “Right now they’re praising Xi Jiangyuan’s poise — saying he’s got the makings of a commander.”
Huh???
Lu Chuan didn’t even ask how Number 9 knew; he was too stunned.
“What? At this moment, flattering Xi Jiangyuan? They’re just tricking a fool into risking his neck. This crew looks polished on the surface, but they’re not united at all.”
Even now-novice Xi Jiangyuan had nothing to do with those glowing words.
A bunch of workplace veterans suddenly buttering up a rookie? Not because he’s brilliant — only because they’re saving a scapegoat to send ahead.
Lu Chuan instantly saw through it: they wanted a disposable pathfinder.
Xi Jiangyuan probably thought he was valued, a prodigy, maybe about to stumble on some great item.
Hard to believe he hadn’t erased this black history from memory after death.
Maybe his sanity was too low, so he forgot.
If Lu Chuan knew he’d die young, he’d curate every bad record, leaving behind only a legendary image — “a genius cut down too soon.”
Xi Jiangyuan, meanwhile, wasn’t so restrained; a couple compliments sent him flying.
That night he snuck off, while the captain and others feigned ignorance, calmly letting him go.
“Captain, the fool really took the bait and went scouting for us.” One teammate grinned as soon as Xi Jiangyuan was gone.
“If the idiot wants to die, let him. I planted a monitor on him — we’ll gather intel easily.” The captain’s voice was cold. “A rookie’s greatest value is clearing the way. Only survivors are worth training.”
“Sinister,” Lu Chuan clicked his tongue. “Told you — veterans don’t pamper rookies for nothing.”
Number 9 said nothing, just observed these human emotions.
When working with Number 18 before, he’d rarely had leisure to watch humans like this. Now he had plenty of time.
He seldom opposed any of Lu Chuan’s moves — because Lu Chuan himself was a fascinating subject, perhaps one of the most remarkable among humans.
At first Lu Chuan was uneasy under Number 9’s curious gaze, but now he was used to it.
Look all you like — so what if you see something?
Besides, an Executor treating him so politely must have an agenda.
If Number 9 acted utterly selfless, Lu Chuan would worry he wanted him dead.
Lu Chuan and Number 9 followed Xi Jiangyuan to the graveyard.
While gathering intel with other captains, Xi Jiangyuan had found a D-grade prop, the “Calm Spirit Talisman,” which could block a single supernatural attack. He’d meant to hand it to the captain, but the man told him whoever found it kept it.
Without that talisman, Xi Jiangyuan wouldn’t have dared come alone searching for ghouls.
He had a plan: if he discovered traces of them, the captain would surely be impressed — he’d join a big guild and climb to the top.
Unfortunately, a bit of “chosen one” luck remained: he took the wrong path.
To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault.
In this old era there was no infrastructure, no signage. “Graveyard” meant scattered hills divided by habit. Without a local guide, it was easy to lose your way — especially at midnight.
Xi Jiangyuan strayed far enough that his tracker lost contact, before finally reaching a burial ground.
“As long as there are graves, there’ll be ghouls stealing bodies,” he reassured himself, pressing on.
He did find something — and more than he wanted.
Not just a ghoul, but a whole pack.
Xi Jiangyuan was dumbfounded.
Lu Chuan, too, was stunned.
Seriously?
Not only had Xi Jiangyuan found a nest of ghouls, they were holding a god-descent ritual.
“If some god hadn’t hijacked him later, his talent should’ve resembled Shasha’s,” Lu Chuan murmured to Number 9. “Ah, you don’t know her — her skill’s called Lucky Demon. She always lands on the worst of all bad choices… and somehow survives.”
Perfect for a troublemaker like Lu Chuan — but for rookie Xi Jiangyuan, it was brutal.
Xi Jiangyuan instinctively pulled out the talisman, ready to flee.
But the ghouls had picked this remote spot for their ritual — they wouldn’t let him leave.
They lunged, hemming him in.
“We’re exposed! He must be from a rival sect.”
“Eat him! Let’s eat him.”
“No — first find out how he found us. There may be a traitor among us.”
…
The ghouls bickered instead of striking immediately.
Xi Jiangyuan’s legs shook; he was nothing like the calm hero he imagined — just terrified of these snarling monsters.
That was when Number 9 slowly rose to his feet.
“Wait—what are you doing?” Lu Chuan instinctively grabbed Number 9.
“I can’t let Xi Jiangyuan be taken away. If he’s made into a sacrifice, he’ll become the vessel for a god’s descent,” Number 9 stepped forward. “This is where his entanglement with the gods begins.”
Since Number 9 had come here specifically to deal with Xi Jiangyuan, naturally he had to stop him from being dragged off now.
“Huh?” Lu Chuan froze for a moment. Did that mean if they prevented Xi Jiangyuan from being taken, he could leave this instance already?
With that thought, he didn’t stop Number 9.
Number 9 appeared before the ghouls.
Their target switched instantly.
Now their eyes contained only Number 9, saliva dripping onto the ground and corroding it.
“So fragrant…”
“Never smelled anything so delicious…”
“Must taste amazing…”
“I want to eat…”
“I’ll eat you!”
…
Number 9’s allure really did span everything—from extraordinary creatures down to ordinary humans. None could escape it.
Lu Chuan sighed in amazement, even thinking that if he ever failed to sell photos of Messiah, he could always try selling selfies of Number 9—probably even more profitable.
Well, since this dungeon might end sooner, he might as well help out. Consider it establishing good relations with an Executor early on.
“Sorry, but this one’s reserved for us. You can’t touch him,” Lu Chuan said, hiding behind Number 9 and borrowing his authority.
But the ghouls didn’t even hear him. They exchanged glances, each wanting to devour this fragrant prey alone, and immediately began fighting among themselves.
Number 9 stood utterly still, accustomed to such scenes, without the slightest sign of surprise.
Xi Jiangyuan rubbed his eyes, dazed, thinking he was hallucinating.
How could such a breathtaking figure descend from the heavens to save him?
Impossible… right?
His eyes were fixed on Number 9.
“Hey! Stop staring, kid—you just escaped death, do you get that?” Lu Chuan was exasperated. He pinched Xi Jiangyuan hard a few times (personal revenge) before snapping him out of it.
“You were set up. That team leader of yours tricked you into scouting and dying. Don’t go back later. The ghouls your system needs you to hunt are at the tavern—those weak ones, the ones you can actually beat. Didn’t you notice how terrifyingly strong these ones are?” Lu Chuan rattled off.
Xi Jiangyuan finally realized the truth. The ghouls slaughtering each other were moving so fast they left afterimages—absolutely not enemies they could handle. He shivered in fear.
“Who… exactly are you two?” Xi Jiangyuan asked.
“No need for you to know. We’ll be leaving this instance soon anyway,” Lu Chuan replied casually.
When the last surviving ghoul, drenched in blood, staggered toward Number 9, it was suddenly torn apart, pieces scattering to the ground.
Lu Chuan barely glimpsed a flash of sword light—and the gold ingot on Number 9’s sword hilt swaying gently—before realizing Number 9 had already struck.
…Big brother, if you’re this strong, why didn’t you act earlier?
Lu Chuan was speechless.
After Number 9 destroyed the descent ritual, Lu Chuan happily waited for the dungeon-clear notification to return to reality.
He stood in place, waiting.
No system prompt.
Maybe it was just delayed?
He waited some more. Still nothing.
“Um… great one, you’ve been standing there a long time. Is something wrong?” Xi Jiangyuan asked curiously.
Author’s Note:
Lu Chuan: …Don’t want to talk.
