Su Shisan really hit the jackpot this time. [Sparta] waved her hand generously—granting not only her full three-day pay, but doubling it too.
That totaled 720 points—about the same reward she’d get for designing an entire F-grade dungeon on her own.
“Now that you’ve had your fun, isn’t it time to get started on a new dungeon?”
The system had clearly run out of patience. Su Shisan had been back for a full day, lazing around.
E-grade constructors were required to produce at least one dungeon per month, and it was already halfway through.
The system couldn’t help but worry its host wouldn’t make the deadline.
Su Shisan knew she was a chronic procrastinator. She nodded briskly.
“Alright, let’s see the E-grade requirements.”
Every grade came with its own constraints.
Take F-grade dungeons, for instance: restrictions on size, time, number of NPCs—and most crucially, only one death rule allowed, plus multiple escape routes were mandatory.
She was hoping E-grade would loosen the leash a little—give her more room to be creative.
Seeing her finally ready to work, the system lit up in delight and immediately projected the E-grade requirements onto the big screen:
E-Grade Dungeon Requirements:
Time Limit: ≤ 12 hours
Area: ≤ 500 square meters
NPCs: ≤ 3
Players: ≤ 6
Death Rule: 1
Win Conditions: ≥ 2
Same format as F-grade, but a lot of the constraints had shifted: longer time, larger space, more NPCs, fewer win conditions. All positive changes.
As for the death rule, Su Shisan didn’t mind. She always used “SAN value reaches 0” anyway—which essentially split one rule into many scenarios.
So whether she had one or five death rules didn’t really matter.
She shifted her gaze to the time limit.
Twelve hours.
That one hit a nerve. It instantly reminded her of a darker time—before she became a horror scriptwriter—when she worked 996 hours at a soul-sucking job.
What if… she made the players corporate employees this time?
Because her dungeon had to fit into the world of “Rule Horror,” maps couldn’t be too outrageous. Otherwise, they’d clash with the genre’s logic.
And more importantly, the closer the setting was to daily life, the more terrifying it could become. That was the soul of Rule Horror: abnormality hidden in the ordinary.
In that case, a workplace setting seemed perfect.
The only issue?
She could only use three NPCs. And no matter how small the company, three people was just too few to feel realistic.
Then she had an idea.
Forget an office—what about a small supermarket?
Bigger than a convenience store, smaller than a proper supermarket. One floor, no need for a second level.
At 500 square meters, she could split it into several zones.
With the setting decided, next came the NPCs. She always handled the fixed variables first—those couldn’t be changed. Everything else would have to revolve around them.
She needed a store manager, and two customers.
In her own dungeon, as the constructor, Su Shisan could freely alter her appearance. That meant she could personally play multiple customers if needed—super convenient.
“Are you planning to hire NPCs?” the system asked curiously, watching her scribble down her ideas.
Su Shisan nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll bring in two temporary NPCs.”
Temporary NPCs were often side gigs for other constructors, or leased out by veteran constructors. The former usually cost a bit more.
The most expensive kind? Permanent NPCs.
Unfortunately, she was nowhere near rich enough. Even the cheapest one cost 10,000 points—might as well kill her instead.
But selecting NPCs could wait. First, she had to actually build the dungeon.
Next came the pollution source.
In a large space like a supermarket, the source couldn’t just be a person or an object. It needed to be something capable of affecting everyone.
Uniforms?
Customers?
Or… the supermarket itself?
She went with the last one.
The building itself was the hardest to destroy. That would prevent players from taking shortcuts by simply eliminating the pollution source.
In her first dungeon, she hadn’t told the system, but there was a hidden way to clear it—kill NPC-13.
But only in the bedroom. And the door had to stay shut after.
Because once the source died, it would release a blast of corruption. Anyone nearby would instantly have their SAN drop to zero.
The bedroom could block most of the spread, giving players a sliver of hope.
The player who killed NPC-13 would be thoroughly corrupted. If they opened the door afterward, the rest of the team would be wiped out. So players had to seal the door from outside.
Next up: the transmission method of the pollution.
Only by nailing the logic could she build coherent rules.
This—and writing the actual rules—were the hardest parts. But Su Shisan wasn’t in a hurry. She still had ten days left—plenty of time to polish a new dungeon.
The next day, with new inspiration, she asked seriously:
“By the way, can I include things that aren’t realistic? Like, say, an apple that bites people?”
If the system said no, half her designs would go out the window.
Fortunately, as a certified constructor, she had the permissions.
The system’s big eye blinked, looking oddly adorable:
“Of course! As long as it’s not a sentient AI, you can model anything like that.”
It cheerfully pulled up a new interface on the big screen:
“This is the modeling system. Easy to use. Explore it—ask me anything if you get stuck.”
“You’re so reliable,” Su Shisan praised sincerely, fully absorbed in the new feature—completely missing the way the system’s big eyeball flushed red with excitement.
“Aww~ When you say it like that, I can’t…” it muttered bashfully—only to realize she wasn’t even paying attention to it.
Slightly miffed, it coughed loudly:
“Ahem! You’re doing it wrong. What you made is too clunky.”
Su Shisan looked up, curious.
“What do you mean?”
She was still experimenting and had chosen a simple test: a biting apple.
Following the instructions, she created a base apple model, added a mouth, and programmed it to bite anyone who came close. Done.
The system, watching her work, felt oddly proud.
“It’s too mechanical. Sure, it’s not sentient—but you can add randomized traits to make it look sentient.”
Su Shisan took the advice and added hidden randomness to the apple’s behavior. When she reran the simulation—it worked.
Some apples snapped at players from a distance, others waited until they were up close. Mouth size varied too. It felt almost… intelligent.
Seeing her satisfied expression, the system puffed up proudly.
“You’d better thank me. Most constructors don’t discover that feature until much later!”
It wasn’t wrong. The randomization function was buried deep—hard to find and harder to understand without guidance.
Su Shisan was generous with her praise.
“Thanks! That tip’s going to be super useful.”
She didn’t care whether other systems helped their constructors. Hers did, and that was enough.
After getting comfortable with modeling, she turned back to rule construction. Mapping and item design could wait—the rules were the heart of the dungeon.
But time was starting to feel tight. At this pace, she wouldn’t finish the rules before tomorrow.
Then she’d need two days for map-building and item modeling, one or two more to recruit NPCs—and barely any time left for testing.
“You’re already way faster than most,” the system said honestly.
“Most constructors take much longer—whether building the dungeon or designing the map.”
Su Shisan wasn’t surprised. She shrugged.
“Well, this is kind of my thing.”
She had the professional edge. As a former horror screenwriter and game developer, she knew story structure and modeling workflows. Even in a new system, she adapted quickly.
If she hadn’t risked everything to land that horror script job, she’d probably still be an overworked desk jockey—nowhere near this confident.
Finally, with five days left in the month, she finished the dungeon—and even used her only prop.
It was a Prop Seal Charm.
She used it to ban a common communication item—voice earpieces—to stop players from sharing info. A vital element of this dungeon.
Last step: hiring NPCs.
Her criteria were simple: obey orders, use their brain, act well, keep the dungeon confidential, and don’t reuse elements from other builds (she had downloaded a professional contract from the Constructor Forum).
Shape-shifters were a bonus—and got extra pay.
She offered good pay: 20 points per hour. So tons of applicants showed up. Too many, in fact—making the screening process a hassle.
Since she couldn’t reveal dungeon content before signing, she designed a test: Each applicant had to act out a scene where a difficult customer gives a staff member a hard time. Twice. Different personalities each time. No repeating tactics.
Two days later, she had her picks.
One was a forgettable-looking man named Zhen Jin, someone else’s permanent NPC with shape-shifting abilities.
The other was a sharp-looking woman with a mole on her chin—actually a constructor moonlighting as an NPC, codename Mimosa.
Su Shisan sat like a boss, a stack of documents in hand, expression cool and composed:
“Mimosa, you’ll play the store manager. Zhen Jin, you and I will play customers. This is the dungeon setup—study it, and then we’ll run a few drills.”
“Yes, boss!” they said in perfect unison—clearly seasoned NPCs.
Watching their eager expressions, Su Shisan added casually:
“My goal is total party wipe. Double pay if we succeed. Let’s give it our all.”
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