When the topic came up, she suddenly asked the system, “What’s the minimum interval between dungeon deployments for a D-rank Architect?”
As she spoke, she noticed He Feixian didn’t look the least bit surprised. In fact, her expression was calm—as if she already knew something.
“Still once a month. But the dungeon can be of any level—even an F-rank one,” the system replied, somehow now wearing a little pink dress.
“However, to rank up to C-rank, you need to successfully create three D-rank dungeons first before you’re eligible for the advancement exam.”
But Su Shisan was already too distracted to care about any of that. Her lips twitched.
“Where’d you get that outfit?”
There it was—a floating, glossy eyeball wearing a frilly pink dress that only covered its lower half. The sight was equal parts eerie and adorable.
Well… maybe only Su Shisan would think it was “adorable.” Next to her, He Feixian’s face was already twisted in horror.
“We systems have a store too, you know. So—how do I look?” The system spun in a delighted twirl and even tried to throw her a flirtatious wink.
It had only one eye. That wink was… indescribably cursed.
Su Shisan wisely decided not to answer the question—her conscience simply wouldn’t allow it—and instead changed the subject.
“So now I can access the Architects’ Capital and browse the player forum, right?”
Those features unlocked at D-rank, and Su Shisan had been eagerly looking forward to them.
Architects didn’t get much social interaction, and while she didn’t need it, she was still curious about others’ experiences.
“Of course,” the system nodded.
After sending He Feixian upstairs and giving her permission to view dungeons, Su Shisan went back to her room and immediately opened the player forum.
Unlike the quiet and mostly barren Architects’ forum, the player forum was a hive of activity. As a visitor without a player account, she could only browse, not comment.
The front page was stacked with hot threads and a flood of new posts. Every refresh felt like flipping to a new world—an overwhelming amount of new content, in stark contrast to the Architects’ side.
And that was just the lifestyle section, where people posted gossip, callouts, and matchmaking ads. The guides and trade sections next door were just as lively.
“No wonder they’re players,” Su Shisan muttered. Even in a life-or-death horror game, they could keep the forum buzzing like this. Maybe there really is strength in numbers.
Still, it confirmed one of her theories.
“The survival difficulty for players probably isn’t that high, huh?”
After all, they only died if they ran out of points. If points were that hard to earn, there wouldn’t be so many active forum users.
And compared to the guides section, the lifestyle traffic was easily double.
“Well, not everyone is as talented as you,” the system replied matter-of-factly.
“Most players consider a 50% death rate manageable. A lucky one might go through a dozen dungeons without dying even once.”
Then it pivoted, “As for resurrection, it typically costs double the points you’d get from completing a dungeon.”
“But players can earn points outside of dungeons too—by doing odd jobs for others or running businesses. So once a player hits D-rank, as long as they don’t fail three or four times in a row, they can usually survive.”
Wait, that actually sounded easier than what Architects had to deal with.
Su Shisan frowned.
“So this is charity now?”
If players could survive so easily, then not only did they get to resurrect, they essentially gained a second, semi-immortal life—with no real downside.
And if the cost of failure was low, the ever-growing number of players would eventually flood the system—unless this “Horror Survival Game” was some kind of endless abyss.
Not that she particularly cared whether players lived or died. If anything, more players meant higher demand for dungeons, which meant more security for Architects like her.
Still, it didn’t add up.
There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Anything without a price tag usually hides a much bigger cost.
Understanding her unspoken question, the system explained, “You’ve got it wrong. The biggest cause of death for players isn’t the dungeons.”
That was hard to explain in words—so the system played a video.
It began with everyday people working, relaxing, going about their normal lives—until sudden deaths struck: car accidents, heart attacks, poisonings.
After death, their white, ghostly souls rose into the air. A tenth of them were collected by a massive floating eyeball—clearly the “Horror Survival Game” in action.
Those souls became either players or Architects.
The rest drifted aimlessly. A third were slowly pulled toward some unseen summoning force. The remaining two-thirds turned black, oozing malevolent energy, transforming into monsters.
The video ended there. The system sighed.
“The souls that the game can’t absorb end up turning into monsters. As you saw, their numbers are enormous. Every four months, they launch a full-scale assault on the Capital.”
“And if a player dies outside a dungeon, they can’t be revived with points.”
Ah, that made sense now.
The real death toll came from the monster sieges. The dungeons weren’t designed to kill players—they were energy sources for the game. Maybe even training grounds.
And though the sieges were deadly, their four-month cycle gave players just enough breathing room. Just enough fear to stay alert, without ruining their day-to-day lives.
But Su Shisan’s real concern was different.
“Do these monsters pose a threat to Architects?”
“Only if all the players die,” the system said bluntly. Which wasn’t a lie. If the players were wiped out, the whole game system would collapse—and Architects wouldn’t be spared either.
She could accept that answer, but something still didn’t sit right.
The system clearly valued Architects more. Yet it relied on players to fend off the very monsters that could destroy it. So why didn’t it treat players as a higher priority?
Was it just because there were so many of them?
She shook her head. None of this mattered—not to her current situation, anyway.
Later, she and He Feixian had come to a silent agreement: let the other four players and the NPCs deal with the danger while they stayed out of the way.
They spent the morning stalling with cooking duties and made up excuses to stay outside in the afternoon.
In the end, it worked. After sacrificing four others, they managed to pass the dungeon as a duo.
Of course, this wasn’t exactly the kind of strategy you could post publicly. Encouraging betrayal and manipulation?
Not exactly politically correct. She was curious how people did write their strategy guides.
[Analysis Emperor No.0:]
This dungeon’s brutal. According to the White Knight Guild, the current player death rate is over 90%.
There’s no confirmed strategy yet, but here are my personal theories. If anyone reading this hasn’t passed yet, I hope you’ll help test them.
Also, my next guide will be paywalled—only for high-difficulty dungeons. Follow me for updates.
[No.1:]
Basic info: NPC Thirteen is the dungeon boss. Studying with her causes minor damage to nearby players. If she’s not studying, she deals massive damage.
While playing games, she triggers AoE attacks. The bedroom seems to be her cage—it blocks most damage. Whatever you do, don’t let her wander the main hall. Maintaining everyone’s status is crucial.
[No.2:]
Here’s my estimated damage system, assuming each player starts with 100 HP. Once HP drops below 10, the boss can mind-control you. So manage your HP carefully.
Damage chart:
- Studying English: 20 (double if time limit not met)
- Lunch: 10 (bad nutrition = +20)
- Math: 30 (wrong answers not corrected = double)
- Calligraphy: 20 (typos = double)
- Essay Reading: 40 (same penalty)
Each task must be done with at least one companion. Solo = double damage + higher NPC escape risk.
Hidden damage:
- NPC rests: 30 (almost always happens)
- Injured player: all damage doubled
- Hurting NPC: 50
- Second time accompanying: damage doubled
- Unknown hidden penalty (still undetermined)
Info may be incomplete.
[No.3:]
Even if this guide is 100% accurate, and everyone follows it perfectly, full-party survival is almost impossible.
Honestly, getting even half the team through would be a miracle. If someone manages to get three or more players out alive, DM me—I’ll pay top coin for the method.
[No.4:]
OMG this guide is so detailed!
[No.5:]
All hail the analysis god!
[No.6:]
Damn, your name fits. You really are a strategy emperor.
[No.7:]
What’s your talent skill? I’m dying to know!
[No.8:]
How are you still D-rank with a brain like that? Legit question.
[No.9:]
That’s tied to my skill tree. Can’t say more.
[No.10:]
This dungeon sounds brutal. I’m memorizing the numbers ahead of time.
[No.11:]
Let’s be honest, even with this data, coordinating a team like this is a pipe dream.
[No.12:]
Yeah. Everyone just wants to survive.
…
[No.33:]
So that’s how this dungeon works?
LMAO I stepped on every landmine. Cut my finger on paper, babysat the boss all day ‘cause I thought I was smart… No wonder I died in two seconds.
[No.34:]
Relatable.
[No.35:]
I gave her the game console. Worth it?
[No.36:]
That’s brave of you.
[No.61:]
Hey OP, I’m with the White Knight Guild. If you’re interested, we’d love to recruit you. Great perks.
[No.62:]
Thanks! I’ll think about it.
Reading all this, Su Shisan was genuinely impressed. Her dungeon had only been out for a little over a month, and already someone had broken down most of its mechanics.
From creation to approval, her second dungeon had taken five days. Which meant it had barely been six weeks since the first was deployed.
The guide wasn’t completely accurate, but most of it was on point. Even some of the hidden mechanics were almost spot-on.
It was surprising—but also understandable.
Still, strategy alone wasn’t everything. Knowing every step didn’t guarantee victory.
Her dungeon relied heavily on cooperation. And with every player having their own agenda, unless you entered with a pre-formed team, coordinating was practically impossible.
No wonder [Sparta] had advised her to disable team-up items whenever possible. A coordinated team with a full strategy guide could be devastating.
Maybe next time, she should design a dungeon against team play.
After browsing for a while longer, Su Shisan finally felt sleepy. It was already 2 a.m.
She turned off the bedside lamp and snuggled into her blanket.
“Don’t forget to wake me at 8 a.m. I’m meeting with [Mimosa]. And I plan to visit the Architects’ Capital in the afternoon. If there’s anything I need to know, give me a rundown tomorrow.”
“Got it! Sweet dreams,” the system replied sweetly.
“Good night.”
While Su Shisan slept, He Feixian downstairs was still busy. As a freshly minted assistant, she needed to know exactly what kind of Architect she’d sworn loyalty to.
It was like prepping for a film. Even if she didn’t have the script, she still had to learn about the production team and decide how to approach her role based on the director’s and writer’s styles.
Of course, the director and writer’s talent mattered most—but she didn’t exactly have the luxury of choice here.
An Architect’s control over their NPCs was absolute. In some ways, it was like a master and slave relationship.
The only freedom an NPC had was to sell themselves back to the system.
But doing so wiped their memory of everything they’d experienced—and dropped them down to low-tier status.