“It’s actually you four. Even if I die, you won’t get off easy. Don’t think you’ve hidden everything flawlessly; Number 1 will definitely see through you.”
Number 15 slowly took two steps back to avoid the blade.
His left hand pressed against his nose, which was bleeding continuously, while his right hand rose as if trying to wrest the knife away.
“What you’re saying is that Number 1 will definitely see through us, which means we haven’t been discovered yet, right?”
Hua Ru cut in at just the right moment, easing some of the tension among the assassins.
None of them had killed anyone with their own hands, and the other three seemed similar.
But everyone standing here was guilty to some extent.
Even if they hadn’t personally killed anyone, winning the game indirectly meant they had killed those who lost.
“Murder! The assassins are coming to kill!”
Number 15 suddenly shouted, his intention clear—he wanted to alert the other players hiding inside the rooms.
“You can still stop now. I can pretend I saw nothing. But if you come any closer, I’ll expose your identities.”
“Go ahead and shout! If you have the guts, shout! Do you think anyone can save you now?”
Ragnar took a step forward again, swinging the bone-cleaving cleaver relentlessly, slowly shrinking Number 15’s space to move.
“The assassins are Number 7, 9, 12, and 14! Listen carefully! The assassins are Number 7, 9, 12, and 14!”
Number 15 kept shouting, his hoarse voice both frightening and pitiful.
His words seemed to provoke Number 12. Xukesi slipped past the narrow main door into the room, the increased space making his black dagger even more threatening.
He and Number 7, Ragnar, flanked the big man, gradually pushing him into a corner.
Suddenly, Number 15 made a feint to the left but then changed direction mid-charge, rolling to break through the blockade on the right.
This simple trick fooled the two amateur assassins.
Just as the four were thrown into a panic, the lights inside suddenly went out.
It wasn’t pitch dark, though—the hallway light gave a vague outline of the room’s interior.
“Left! Left!”
“Right, he’s on the right.”
“Careful with the knives! Don’t swing wildly! I’m in front, in front of me.”
(Dialect) “Damn bastard, throwing grenades, lights out, I can’t see.”
“Right, right… he’s behind me, behind!”
Chaos broke loose inside.
The confused shouts made it impossible to tell where the targets actually were.
“I hit something, on the left, my left.”
(Dialect) “Calm down, calm down.”
“Help me, here, he grabbed my hand.”
Suddenly, the lights flickered back on.
The chaos lasted only about three seconds.
When the lights went out, Hua Ru had momentarily frozen, but she snapped back to reality when Ragnar shouted.
She took two seconds to turn the lights back on—a swift move.
The muscular Number 15 had two wounds: one in his abdomen, and another on his left cheek, probably from the flurry of blades earlier.
He tightly grasped Ragnar’s right hand that held the knife, his muscles bulging as if about to burst with sheer strength.
Xukesi stood at the strong man’s side.
In desperation, he didn’t hesitate and plunged his dagger hard into Number 15’s side.
He felt some resistance.
The dagger had cost him 50 points—not bad—much sharper than most daggers on the market.
Even so, piercing through the man’s clothing felt slightly tough; it was probably some special protective gear bought from the shop.
But that armor still couldn’t withstand a nearly full-force stab.
The dagger sank halfway in.
The big man seemed unfazed by the pain and made no move against Xukesi.
His focus remained on Ragnar in front of him, attempting to wrest the bone-cleaver away.
Judging by Ragnar’s pained expression and weakening resistance, it was clear the big man was gaining the upper hand.
“Hurry, I can’t hold on much longer, help me!”
His face flushed red, bloodstains smeared across his body.
Xukesi withdrew the dagger and stabbed again toward Number 15’s neck.
This time, the man clearly felt pain.
He freed his left hand and punched the Hong Kong reporter square in the cheek, knocking him to the ground instantly.
Ragnar seized the moment of weakness, kicking the man’s thigh hard.
The big man finally released his grip and staggered back, wincing in pain.
Number 15’s condition worsened.
The dagger was lodged in his neck, causing excruciating pain.
He instinctively pulled it out, which only worsened the wound and severed an artery.
Taking advantage of this, Ragnar switched the cleaver to his left hand and delivered a fatal strike to the big man’s head.
The blow landed perfectly, knocking him down.
Ragnar’s eyes burned red with desperation, losing all reason.
Fearing the man wasn’t dead, he grabbed the black dagger from the floor and kept stabbing.
The big man’s hands raised slightly, as if to fight back, but ultimately lacked strength.
His terrified and resentful eyes locked onto Hua Ru’s pale face outside the door.
Ragnar didn’t stop, convinced the man was still struggling.
He stabbed over twenty times.
The big man was completely silent, his eyes unable to close, fixed on Hua Ru.
She shivered and avoided his gaze.
She wanted the two to leave quickly, but found her tongue numb—unable to speak a single word.
Her whole body trembled.
In these few minutes, she had witnessed a living person killed.
The scene reminded her of the final moments from the last game, stirring unease deep inside.
The dead are terrifying.
Not like in movies, where a still body just lies there… a corpse.
Reality is both horrifying and disgusting, striking the senses violently.
She feared becoming that lifeless body on the floor.
If she lost, she would become like that.
That’s why she was so afraid.
Ragnar, Xukesi, and Yelena felt the same—everyone was afraid.
Why did they survive? Maybe it was simply because they feared death.
“Hey, Number 12.”
Ragnar was the first to regain composure.
He slapped Xukesi’s face with his blood-red right hand.
The reporter finally woke up and was still alive.
“Footprints… be careful… wipe them off.”
Hua Ru reminded the two outside.
The floor was covered in blood, so every step left bloody footprints.
(Dialect) “I want a smoke.”
Xukesi sat on the ground, his left hand trembling violently.
He held it with his right, but both hands shook.
He could only press them against his legs to steady himself.
That night, the four were busy until 4 a.m…
Without a doubt, none of them could fall asleep.
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