[Forum Post: “Even Score God of War” Anonymous Thread]
[Even Score God of War No.1]: I’ve locked the original thread. If there’s anything else you think I should explain or expand on, feel free to DM me—only open to users B-rank and above.
[Even Score God of War No.2]: That promotional NPC in the system mall? Don’t buy from it. If you don’t know why, go ask the system.
All I’ll say is—some wild horses just aren’t meant to be tamed. NPCs expelled by Architects usually come with serious baggage.
[Even Score God of War No.3]: Let’s talk mindset… Players die only when their points run out, not just because they fail one dungeon.
Honestly, there are plenty of ways to earn points outside the dungeons too—anyone using half a brain won’t die so easily.
And don’t forget—we were already dead. This game gave us a second life. So follow the rules. No need to carry guilt.
[Even Score God of War No.4]: Architect points are mainly for living and working—furniture, food, tools, NPCs… it all costs points.
For newcomers, this is where your points will go. But don’t waste them recklessly—you’ll need them later. You’ll understand once you reach B-rank.
[Even Score God of War No.5]: Don’t fall for those “join a guild” scams. Architects don’t need guilds—it’s just a trap to drain your points and creativity. If you end up signing a contract and get converted into an NPC… well, game over.
[Even Score God of War No.6]: Most players don’t even know Architects exist. Don’t blow your cover—it’s one of our biggest advantages.
[Even Score God of War No.7]: How do players view dungeons and NPCs? Interesting question. Some think we’re just game-generated content.
Some think we exist only to kill them. Others think we’re just characters in a story where they’re always the victims.
And a few believe we’re just living our lives inside the dungeon, same as they are.
[Even Score God of War No.8]: Use the system wisely—it shares data across multiple layers. It knows a lot, but unless you ask, it won’t tell you a thing.
[…]
[Even Score God of War No.17]: I’ve never been scammed by an Architect, NPC, or guild! Don’t slander me!
[…]
[Even Score God of War No.35]: Why are so many A-ranks asking how to get to S-rank? This is a beginner thread!
But fine, I’ll indulge your curiosity—To reach S-rank, your dungeons must form a cohesive city with a complete world-view.
No denying it—this thread was incredibly helpful. It listed so many things Su Shisan didn’t know but could actually use.
“What’s the benefit of posting all this?” she asked, genuinely confused.
Architects didn’t really have any reason to help each other—at least, that’s what she thought. She never expected any of them to be good people.
And this wasn’t just some baseless prejudice.
When she signed her contract, the system told her directly: To be recruited as an Architect, you must exhibit at least two of the following traits—imagination, horror, or evil.
The closer you are to all three, the easier it is to qualify.
So yeah, a lot of Architects were straight-up villains.
“Even Score God of War” was pretty famous. Or more accurately, there were only a handful of S-ranks in this entire horror survival game, and every one of them was notorious.
When Su Shisan asked about him, the system quickly replied:
“He’s actually a decent person. Don’t let his post on guiltlessness fool you—he’s the one with the biggest moral burden.”
“His dungeons are designed to only kill half of the players. Even when he can kill more, he doesn’t.”
The minimum death rate required to keep a dungeon running long-term is 50%. To hover exactly at that line while still getting perfect scores?
That takes serious skill.
Most people would probably admire how principled he was. But Su Shisan thought of something else entirely:
“So couldn’t players just… kill off half the group themselves to ensure their own survival?”
The system was stunned she thought of that so fast, then chuckled:
“You’re right. But ‘Even Score God of War’ doesn’t care.”
That explained it. He saved who he wanted, without caring whether they were good or bad.
Closing the forum, Su Shisan reopened the Architect Marketplace to see if there were any useful tools.
One of the entertainment tips from the thread was to dig for bargains here—if she scored a deal, even someone like her, who only found joy in fear, might actually feel a little better.
After half an hour of browsing, she added a few tempting-but-unaffordable items to her cart.
That’s when the long-silent system suddenly perked up:
“Shisan! Just got word from the game—your dungeon will go live in batches starting tomorrow!”
Fast work. She perked up too.
“And that’s not all,” the system added excitedly.
“I checked around—the White Knights Guild, the top player guild in the lower city, is already forming a team to tackle your dungeon. If you want, you can personally enter the instance they’re assigned to.”
“Well, aren’t you thorough.” Su Shisan raised a brow.
She had assumed the system was just another Siri-type assistant. Turns out it had quite a bit of initiative.
“Of course,” the system replied proudly. “I’m your exclusive system.”
Had she failed to sign the contract, it would’ve been reassigned to another rookie Architect. But now they were bonded—if she lost her Architect status, the system would be scrapped and rebuilt.
With stakes like that, it gave her its all.
“So, what do you say?” The system blinked at her, trying to look cute.
Unfortunately, there’s just no way a giant bloodshot eyeball could ever look cute—especially not when it blinked. Honestly, it was kind of horrifying.
Su Shisan stared coldly.
“Don’t try to act cute. Not going.”
The system didn’t seem disappointed, just curious:
“Why not? A lot of Architects prefer to send a real-person NPC in when strong players are involved. A live actor is always more flexible than a simulated projection.”
“Unless your projections are trash,” Su Shisan closed her eyes, “there’s no need.”
First of all, her dungeon was designed to mentally corrupt the babysitters. Whether it was a real person or not, NPC Thirteen was built to induce manipulation—there wouldn’t be much difference.
Second, her dungeon relied on rules to guide behavior, not NPC manipulation, so it didn’t need much hand-holding.
The system bobbed in thought, then asked, “Do you want to watch the dungeon play out?”
“Of course,” she replied without hesitation.
She used to watch the horror films she wrote—now she was just as eager to see what her dungeon would become.
She’d experienced it firsthand, sure—but when you’re in the thick of it, you miss a lot. Only from a god’s-eye view can you spot the flaws and the brilliance.
The next morning, right on time, Su Shisan sat in front of the big screen in her lazy chair, popcorn in hand.
“So?” she asked, voice lively for once. “Has it started?”
“It has.” The system floated a few loops around her, clearly intrigued.
“Your file says you’re emotionally detached. But I barely notice it! You act totally normal.”
Aside from her creative dungeon designs and the occasional glimmer of cold ruthlessness, she seemed… ordinary.
Su Shisan didn’t even flinch at the comment. Her smile remained perfectly unchanged:
“I just don’t feel much beyond fear. That’s all.”
“You’ve read too many novels—emotional detachment doesn’t always lead to serial killers or genius billionaires. Some of us just live quietly, like everyone else.”
It didn’t affect her life much.
Sure, she didn’t quite understand why people laughed or cried—but she could mimic them well enough.
And she’d found her own way to experience joy, one that didn’t break any laws.
She always made sure her life was lived well.
With that simple statement, she turned her attention back to the screen.
Inside, six players were ready, following NPC Thirteen into the room.
Clearly, they’d already read the dungeon rules and planned their strategy.
One man, carrying a camera, eagerly grabbed the NPC’s hand and pulled her into the bedroom to “study.”
The rest stayed in the living room, dividing tasks as planned.
One monitored a tablet, two cooked, and another scouted the room for clues.
Su Shisan lost interest in a single glance.
“Trying to cheat? How insulting.”
It was obvious the tablet could record video—someone outside the room was trying to monitor the babysitter NPC in real time.
A smart move, meant to conserve each player’s sanity value.
But really, did they think she hadn’t considered that?
Her dungeon would soon be open to the public—why would she leave such a massive loophole?
Contamination didn’t need direct contact. It could spread through sound. Through visuals.
Streaming the NPC’s learning session in the living room?
They were basically broadcasting a diluted version of the corruption to everyone else.
She didn’t need to think twice.
They were already dead.