“All I need to do is hand the tracker to that NPC, right?” she confirmed. “What’s his name?”
“That’s right. He’ll handle it from there.”
“If you’re interested in joining the sweep, he’ll take you. I’ll make sure of it.”
…As if she’d just been invited on a VIP tour.
Was the NPC not actually Director Liu’s, but a friend’s?
Su Shisan frowned slightly, then carefully typed back:
“No thanks. Not really interested.”
Su Shisan honestly had zero interest in tagging along to catch players. As someone who was a complete weakling in the physical department, she much preferred staying behind the scenes and using her brain.
Besides, with her combat strength, she’d only end up dragging the team down—not to mention the real possibility of dying a pointless death in the dungeon.
After a while, Director Liu actually called her directly.
“Shisan,” he said, “you really might want to reconsider. I only brought this up to you because of your good relationship with Sparta and how efficient you’ve been at clearing tasks.”
Su Shisan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“With your future strength, there’s a good chance you’ll be hiring Jun Qian too. His personality might be… lacking, but as long as the points are there, his success rate is one hundred percent.”
Director Liu sounded almost sentimental. “He’s a free NPC—you know what that means. They’re ridiculously powerful.”
Su Shisan blinked. “Free NPC? What’s that?”
For a moment, Director Liu forgot that he was talking to someone who’d only been a Builder for two months and had created just two dungeons.
Considering Jun Qian’s effectiveness and current D-rank level, it was easy to forget that she was still a rookie.
It was completely normal that she didn’t know about such a rare class of NPC.
Taking a breath, and showing surprising patience for someone usually short-tempered, Director Liu explained, “Most normal NPCs either sleep in the system store or get bought by Builders.”
“But there’s a small handful of them—very rare—who can move freely, take on missions independently, and keep whatever points they earn.”
“How is that even possible?” Su Shisan asked, clearly intrigued.
Even as a newbie, she knew that NPCs in the “Horror Survival Game” had virtually no rights. The game didn’t maintain their souls—unless they became Builders themselves.
If no Builder chose them, they had to remain dormant in the system store, trying to minimize soul erosion as much as possible.
But this idea of a freely-hired NPC… how was his soul even sustained?
Director Liu chuckled, clearly remembering his own reaction the first time he heard. “Because he’s that strong.
Strong enough for the game system to grant him special privileges. As long as he pays a hundred thousand points a month, the system maintains his soul. Other free NPCs operate under similar rules.”
Privilege follows strength—it was an eternal truth.
But earning a hundred thousand points per month? That was next-level.
Keep in mind, NPCs generally earned very little. Most in-house ones earned nothing at all. Even hired NPCs were paid less than if you’d hired a Builder to fill in.
“So… can I ask how much it cost you to bring him into this dungeon?” Su Shisan was dying of curiosity. How much did one dungeon appearance earn that could lead to a hundred thousand in a month?
This was an A-rank dungeon, sure, but it lasted a full fifteen days. What were they doing—paying fifty thousand per dungeon? How were Builders making any profit at all?
“One appearance?” Director Liu gave a short laugh. “I only hired him to take action. One shot—ten thousand points.”
Even Su Shisan was stunned. “And you think that’s worth it?”
Sure, A-rank dungeons paid well. But this one had only 30 players, well below the max capacity of 50. That meant the total earnings would be lower—probably around 20,000 points.
Paying half of that for one NPC attack? Wasn’t Director Liu taking a huge loss?
Especially since Jun Qian’s strike would rely on someone else’s intel. That sounded even less cost-effective.
But Director Liu seemed utterly confident.
“Of course it’s worth it. You know how I plan things—on the final day, I’ll level the whole city. If anyone’s still alive by then, that’s the perfect moment for Jun Qian to act.”
“Usually, there’s only one or two players left by then. That’s when it’s most efficient to send him in. And as long as he ensures a total party wipe, it’s a massive win for me.”
Su Shisan nodded in agreement. True—team wipe rewards were doubled. Ten thousand might seem steep for a 20K dungeon, but for a 40K return? That was just smart investing.
“But what if your missiles wipe out the players directly?” Su Shisan asked, a new thought popping into her head. Though it came out like a casual question, she already guessed the answer.
Sure enough, Director Liu hesitated for a moment before admitting:
“Then I guess I just paid him for nothing.”
In truth, that’s exactly what was happening. He’d assumed the remaining five players would be too hard to locate, and that Jun Qian’s assistance would be essential.
Who knew Su Shisan would follow one lead straight to the rest of them? Forget Jun Qian—even the missiles were looking unnecessary now. Was he underestimating himself, or just Su Shisan?
Still, it wasn’t a total loss. Director Liu stayed optimistic.
“Think of it this way—I’ve stashed a trump card in this dungeon. When it gets re-listed down the line, someone will eventually survive the missile phase. Then Jun Qian’s clone can show up and give them a little surprise.”
Su Shisan nodded. That made sense.
This time, the players were wiped out unusually quickly. But in reality, most of them died early on due to lack of intel about the initial infection.
Those dead players would go on to post their dungeon walkthroughs. Next time, people would enter better prepared.
The more attempts, the more knowledge gets shared—and the further new players will go. Having multiple hidden aces was key to keeping a dungeon in rotation.
“But why’s he showing up now? Even if the player I found could locate the others, there’s no guarantee they’d find all five, right?”
Suddenly, a troubling thought occurred to Su Shisan.
What if one of those five players had already snuck onto the private jet? Would Jun Qian making a move now backfire and ruin the plan?
But Director Liu didn’t hesitate.
“He made his judgment after hearing your intel. He’s convinced the last five players are here. And I trust his judgment.”
Su Shisan couldn’t argue with that. If Jun Qian said so, it had to be true.
“Alright,” she said, nodding. “Then I’ll go with him.”
Not because she wanted to meet this kind of NPC—but because she was honestly curious. How exactly had he concluded that all five remaining players were here?
If Director Liu trusted Jun Qian this much, he must have a spotless track record when it came to tactical predictions.
So how did he do it? Su Shisan figured she might get her answer if she stuck close.
***
Knock, knock, knock!
Barely twenty minutes later, the door was knocked on.
Su Shisan called out from inside, “Who is it?”
“Jun Qian.”
The voice that came through was deep, smooth, and so pleasant it could’ve belonged to a professional voice actor.
Su Shisan opened the door—and paused, stunned.
Standing outside was, without question, an absolute knockout. Even with her years of experience in the entertainment industry, this man ranked among the top-tier lookers.
His hair was a striking shade of white—rare in the real world—but the most captivating feature was his pair of phoenix eyes.
Naturally upturned at the corners, his gaze carried an effortless sharpness. His irises were a translucent gray, like frosted glass—cold and inorganic.
Dressed in a black turtleneck, his frame was tall and lean, broad-shouldered with a narrow waist. He had to be close to 190 cm.
Clearly, Jun Qian was used to people staring. He stood there calmly, letting her take him in—while also assessing the woman before him, this Builder that Director Liu had called a “potential client.”
After a brief daze, Su Shisan snapped back to reality, stepped aside, and said, “Come in. Want some water?”
“Yes,” Jun Qian replied bluntly. “Also—can I see the locator now?”
Efficient type, huh.
Su Shisan tossed him a bottle of mineral water, then grabbed the locator from the couch and handed it over.
“Red dots are players. Green dots are locators.”
Jun Qian took the device in one hand, cracked open the water bottle with the other, and downed a couple gulps.
Then he glanced at the display and quickly said, “This guy’s a little slow. We’ll need to wait a bit.”
He leaned back against the sofa casually, then looked at her with mild interest, striking up a conversation.
“Director Liu said you’re a D-rank Builder—but you’ve only made two dungeons?”
His tone wasn’t aggressive—more like casual curiosity between acquaintances. And for Director Liu’s sake, Su Shisan nodded.
“Yeah.”
The next moment, she saw his phoenix eyes light up with sharp interest.
Jun Qian suddenly perked up and pulled out a black business card, handing it to her with a playful wink. “Here’s my card. If you ever need me, call. My rates are flexible.”
Su Shisan looked down. The only thing printed on it—besides the gold-stamped name “Jun Qian”—was a phone number.
Something about that line sounded… familiar.
She glanced up, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You mean the in-bed kind of need?”
“Whoa~” Jun Qian’s eyes widened a little at the unexpected question, then he theatrically crossed his arms and declared, “Obviously I meant dungeon-related needs! I sell skills, not myself, okay?”