As Su Shisan’s words fell, the dungeon dissolved rapidly into nothingness, reverting in the blink of an eye to the scene from when she first arrived.
This was a sleek, high-tech laboratory. Silvery-white metal walls enclosed the space, and various basic models were neatly arranged on display shelves.
In front of her stood a massive screen, currently showing the interior of the dungeon she’d just left.
At the same time, Su Shisan shed her childlike appearance and returned to her adult form.
She was stunning—wide, round cat-like eyes and short, shoulder-length hair tied back into a playful little ponytail.
But the dark circles beneath her eyes ruined some of that charm. Her eyelids drooped slightly, giving her a tired, moody look.
Understandable—there aren’t many night-shift workers who manage to stay bubbly and cute.
“Dungeon settlement has been issued. Please check and confirm,” the floating eyeball-shaped system assistant reminded her promptly.
The settlement could wait; it wouldn’t be anything bad anyway. Su Shisan lazily slouched back in her beanbag chair, eyes closed, quietly sensing the energy slowly refilling her body.
Ever since her death and transformation into a soul form, she’d felt a persistent emptiness. After signing the official contract, the game had helped stabilize her soul.
At long last, she no longer felt miserable.
Seeing her resting like that, the system fluttered over eagerly, blinking as if trying to be cute.
“Thirteen, since you’re resting now, why not tell me about the dungeon design?”
Though it wasn’t technically cute, Su Shisan still found something oddly endearing about it. She nodded.
“What do you want to know? You saw how I designed it, didn’t you?”
“I’ve thought about it for ages and still can’t figure out how that dungeon can be cleared. But the game still judged it as passable. So what are the two methods for clearing it?” the system asked eagerly.
One of the mandatory requirements for a beginner-assessment dungeon was that it must have at least two valid clear methods. Without them, the dungeon would be rejected.
If the game’s judgment found only one method, the builder would have a chance to appeal by logically presenting a second path to clearance.
If successful, the dungeon would be approved.
But “Thirteen’s Perfect Companion” hadn’t needed that appeal.
The game had directly approved it—clearly deeming it valid. The system, though, still couldn’t figure out how.
From its perspective, studying with Su Shisan was a surefire death sentence. As a pollution source, she drained sanity points (SAN) from any companion while studying.
While she herself remained stable and harmless, her companions would be doomed—zero SAN meant certain death.
As for letting her rest? That was even worse. During rest, Su Shisan released pollution five times faster than while studying.
The most lethal method was handing her the game console—pollution skyrocketed at ten times the speed.
“It’s simple. The first method is to assign three people to take turns studying with me in the room, opening the door only twice. This way, though those three will die, the remaining three can survive.”
She had deliberately calibrated the pollution rate emitted during her study time. If players switched out just before SAN reached critical levels, they’d only lose three people.
Of course, studying had to take place in the room—the rules hinted at that. Her bedroom acted as a pollution-isolation zone, blocking most of the study-related pollution.
However, someone needed to monitor her from outside. If her pollution reached 90, she could control others—like what happened to the red-haired man.
Once she entered rest mode, the situation would spiral out of control. The bedroom couldn’t contain that level of pollution.
The second method was to cooperate. Everyone would take turns studying with her. Theoretically, each person would accumulate 70–80 SAN and be able to escape together.
But that only worked in theory. Su Shisan wasn’t going to sit quietly and let players evenly share pollution.
In such a precarious setup, even the slightest imbalance would cause the whole plan to collapse.
Even though two methods were required, there was always a workaround—as long as the Horror Survival Game system approved it.
“I see… Even if there are two methods, no one could realistically pull them off, right?” the system muttered, growing visibly excited.
Who would know about the death triggers or the precise pollution values on their first try?
As Flying Can had pointed out, new players were supposed to stick together in beginner dungeons.
Otherwise, they could die without even knowing how.
Even if Flying Can had chosen to study with Su Shisan alone, he’d have reached 90 SAN and become her puppet—just like the red-haired man.
A perfect dungeon design on her first try—it felt like it had found itself a promising host!
If this dungeon were still F-rank, it’d practically be invincible. The game system understood that too, and immediately promoted her.
“By the way, if a player manages to clear the dungeon, can they share the strategy with others?” Su Shisan asked lazily.
Though this sounded like a nightmare for dungeon builders, she wasn’t worried. Horror films got spoiled the same day they premiered—dungeons would be no different.
Besides, thoroughly analyzing the dungeon’s numerical mechanics would cost a lot of player lives. By then, she’d already have a new dungeon ready.
Every builder needed to understand this.
The system was happy to explain: “Yes. Their forums are mainly for ranting about dungeons. The major guilds also publish official guides—just spend a few points to access them.”
Player guilds releasing dungeon guides—it sounded just like a regular MMO. But here, death wasn’t a simple loss of EXP.
Die a few too many times and you’d be forced into complete reincarnation.
Su Shisan rested her cheek on her palm. “I’m kind of curious how they’ll explore it.”
Only by understanding how players approached it could she design better countermeasures. She didn’t plan on milking one dungeon forever, but earning a little extra never hurt.
And if she advanced as a builder and created larger dungeons, then reverse-analyzing player strategies would be essential.
“They’ll likely use team-tracking tools. Based on past patterns, guilds in the lower districts are already tracking down the players involved in this mass-wipe dungeon,” said the system, still new but equipped with plenty of transmitted game data.
“If any experienced players had survived, they would’ve tried selling intel to the guilds.”
Which was exactly what was happening—at the headquarters of the largest player guild in the capital, the White Knights, the dungeon strategy supervisor was already holding a meeting.
“Xiao Qing’s skill just picked up a new E-rank dungeon. It’s FE. You all know what that means.”
The supervisor’s expression was grave as she announced the meeting’s purpose.
The lower districts rarely had players above C-rank—most were D or E. No one dared underestimate an E-rank dungeon.
Especially one that upgraded after a full-party wipe on its first appearance.
Such dungeons could remain lethal even at E-rank. Worse, they might never upgrade again.
As a top guild, their first priority was to assess the danger for regular players.
Of course, if they could extract a viable strategy, even better. Dungeon guides were their main source of income—sell one a few times and the investment paid for itself.
Everything after that was pure profit.
On the right-hand side, Lin Dong quickly reported, “As per your orders, we’ve already located the rookie players involved in this dungeon. Our intel team is negotiating with them now.”
On the other side, Mei Xueting wasn’t about to be outdone. “Our action team is fully prepped to dive in. Once they get the intel, we’ll move immediately.”
Just as the two started competing, a man received a message from his subordinate. He grinned smugly.
“What’s the rush? We’ve already got their testimonies—interviewed three rookies. I’ll send the files over.”
He tapped his watch a few times, distributing the documents to everyone in the room.
Soon, everyone was frowning.
“Never seen this setup before,” Lin Dong muttered, tapping the table. “Just from the rules, I don’t sense any major threats. And according to these players, the rules seem legit?”
Mei Xueting didn’t argue for once.
“That ‘Ancestor123’ guy is clearly wrong. Resting can’t possibly be the dungeon’s kill trigger—or at least, we shouldn’t assume it is. But one thing’s certain: we definitely can’t let the NPC rest.”
A nearby teammate chimed in while reviewing the logs. “Especially that game console. Looks like a trap.”
“Look at this player’s debrief,” another added.
“She felt her thoughts slowing down in the dungeon. At first, she resisted the NPC’s requests, sensed danger. But by the end, she just went with the flow and let her rest. She said it didn’t feel like something she’d do if she were thinking clearly.”
The supervisor’s eyes lit up at this logical breakdown. “Is this a rookie? If so, we should approach her.”
Few newbies entered a dungeon with their wits intact. After dying once and having their worldview shattered—especially with veterans guiding them—many stumbled through blindly.
Only after failure would they start paying attention.
So when a new player kept their head on straight, she was more than willing to invest.
“She’s a rookie,” Lin Dong confirmed, eager to please. “Xiao Zhang is still with her. We can connect to a video call right now and ask her directly.”
The supervisor nodded.
Soon, a calm-looking girl in glasses appeared on the holo-screen. “I’m ‘Good Student.’ What would you like to ask?”
Knowing that it could help other players—and benefit her too—Good Student was more than willing to cooperate.
The supervisor got straight to the point. “Your file mentions cognitive stagnation toward the end. What do you think caused it?”
“Accompanying Thirteen. Studying with the NPC,” Good Student replied firmly.
“I spent the most time with her, so the effect hit me hardest. I didn’t realize it until later.”
If she’d realized it earlier… it probably wouldn’t have helped. Good Student sighed inwardly. By the time you notice you’re in the trap, it’s already too late.
Her answer, however, made everyone in the room tense up.
Resting was already confirmed dangerous. Now it seemed that studying with the NPC was just as risky.
And in a dungeon, cognitive decline was practically a death sentence.
If neither path worked, would they really need to find a third?
Sensing how tricky this dungeon truly was, the supervisor thought for a moment and gave a crisp directive: “Three tries. If we can’t discover a reliable clear method after three explorations, we abandon the dungeon.”
“Release the name and data publicly to prepare all E-rank players mentally.”