The two of them chatted idly as they entered the inn. The main hall was crowded with players eating dinner.
Brian waved them over. "Over here."
As Erik and William sat down, Brian handed them two empty bowls and pairs of chopsticks. "Help yourselves to the porridge. Eat quickly—before the ones from 205 and 206 come down."
"Thanks," William said, taking the bowl.
"Appreciate it, but I already ate outside," Erik replied with a smile, waving his hand.
"No worries. Are we heading out tonight? We wasted last night, and I think we might uncover something different about this town after dark. How about we team up for a night patrol?" Brian got straight to the point, his eyes faintly anxious. It was already the second day—in a supernatural dungeon, to gain nothing by now was akin to waiting for death.
"Alright."
"I'm in too. I'll head upstairs first."
Before William returned, Erik took out the eyeball to study it. As soon as the pouch was opened, it began bouncing wildly—she feared it might punch a hole through the mineral water bucket.
But how was one supposed to *use* it?
Before she could make sense of it, William arrived.
After resting in their room for a short while, there came a knock at 7 p.m.—Brian.
Descending to the second floor, they suddenly came face-to-face with a rigid, corpse-like visage. Leading the group, Brian stopped short, breath tightening.
Blocking their path was one of the ghost players from Room 205, staring at them intently for reasons unknown.
Something felt wrong. Brian shifted subtly and saw that the ghost player's gaze wasn't on him—it was fixed behind him.
Behind him stood… Erik and William.
What was going on?!
Erik's heart pounded. The man exuded the stench of rot, and his lifeless, chaotic stare was like that of a dead fish. But she soon realized the gaze wasn't aimed at her—but at William beside her.
William clenched his fists, forcing calm. "Brian, let's go. Don't just stand there."
Grateful for the prompt, Brian squeezed past the ghost player, who ignored him entirely. Erik followed easily as well. But just as William took a few steps forward, the ghost player moved too. His heavy footsteps thudded ominously against the wooden floor.
William's face instantly stiffened. He could feel the ghost's eyes boring into his chest—where he had sewn an inner pocket to conceal a crucial clue.
Why was it staring right there?
Alarms rang in his mind. The moment the ghost began advancing, William turned and bolted upstairs.
**Thud-thud-thud-thud!**
The ghost gave chase.
Brian was stunned. "What the hell?! Why is a ghost player chasing him like that?" Then he gasped, "William must have found something important!"
Erik, who had her own clue hidden from the supermarket, was baffled. "I don't know! He never mentioned anything."
"Let's go—we have to see this through." Brian dashed upstairs, Erik quickening her pace behind him, three steps in two.
William reached the third floor in moments, dashing into his room and locking the door behind him.
He cautiously approached the window, opened it, and positioned himself beside it, watching the door.
**Bang bang bang!**
Someone was pounding on the door.
"Who's there?" he asked, though he knew it was useless.
"Open… the door… open it!"
William's expression darkened. No doubt about it—the ghost was after *him*, or rather, what he had: that cursed tooth.
When he'd pulled that string, he'd taken a nasty fall. The tooth wouldn't stop struggling—it was small, but strong enough to drag him through the mud. It wasn't until he bound it with the string that he could subdue it.
Something so hard-won—almost certainly key to clearing the dungeon—how could he let it go?
The door rattled violently under repeated blows, making the entire building tremble.
Other players came upstairs to investigate. The innkeeper peeked out from the kitchen, smiling. "Take it easy, guests. Play nice now!"
Erik, watching the ghost slam against the door, grew concerned. "That wooden door won't hold much longer. I'll go downstairs to help him."
"I'll come with you!" Brian responded instantly.
They rushed out of the inn and around to the side of the building.
Looking up, they saw William perched on the windowsill.
"Why hasn't he come down yet?" Erik began to call out—then spotted a strange figure approaching stiffly. Her face changed—it was another ghost player.
"There—three of them now!" Brian grabbed her arm and pointed urgently. Erik looked—and it was true.
With the one upstairs, that made four.
"William, come down now! There are three ghost players heading your way!" Erik shouted.
Inside, William had been testing the tooth against the door. The closer it got, the more agitated the ghost became. Confirming the effect, he pulled back and moved to the window.
Just as he was about to descend, he heard Erik's warning. His face paled.
He didn't even pause to look for the ghosts—he jumped straight down.
He landed deftly, agile as ever.
"Thanks!" he shouted breathlessly, scanning the area before sprinting in the direction free of ghosts.
Three of them gave chase.
**Crash!**
The door burst open. Erik took a step back as a figure plummeted from above, landing like a giant weight, making the ground shudder.
He ignored the spectators and ran after William.
"What the hell did he find?" Brian muttered, caught between envy and anxiety. Whatever it was, it was vital enough to draw such pursuit. Danger and opportunity came hand in hand—and Brian would gladly trade places.
Unwilling to be left behind, he chased after them.
Maybe… just maybe… if William fell, he could pick up where he left off.
Others had the same idea. Erik watched their retreating backs, her brow tightly furrowed.
Doubt creeping in, she hurried upstairs. The door had indeed been smashed to pieces. She went to fetch the innkeeper.
"Our door's broken. Can you fix it?"
The owner examined the damage and frowned. "It'll need a full replacement."
"Then get it done. The one in 205 did this—you should ask *him* for compensation. I paid for a proper room, and I need to sleep tonight. You're responsible for making that happen."
The innkeeper looked her over.
"I've already paid," Erik said firmly. "You're obligated to provide a suitable environment."
"…Fine."
Half an hour later, the door had been replaced—but William had yet to return.
She closed her own door and quietly slipped down to Room 205. The ghost player hadn't locked it.
She took out the eyeball, ears alert.
Now, to test her theory—would this attract a ghost player?
Twenty minutes passed. Then—**thud… thud… thud…** Heavy footsteps climbed the stairs.
Closer… closer…
**Bang bang bang!**
It worked!
Her eyes lit up. Confirmed! She tucked the eyeball back into the supermarket space.
Outside, the ghost fell still again, dazed. Another player peeked from the stairs.
Erik climbed out the window and returned to Room 305, slipped out the door, and descended to the lobby.
She heard the ghost's footsteps upstairs, but kept walking, opened her umbrella, and stepped into the rain.
Seconds later, the ghost emerged—she followed swiftly.
William… was he still alive? Did he still have the clue?
She had to help him. He couldn't die—not now.
They both held crucial clues. They were best suited to cooperate. Two minds were better than one—together, they could figure out how to use what they had.
Back at the inn, the ghost lingered a moment longer—then lumbered down and followed William's trail again.
"Let's see what's inside."
A few players skilled in lockpicking quickly cracked open Room 205. They searched every corner—but found nothing.
"Then why was he banging on the door earlier? Something was definitely here."
One of them looked toward the window, which was closed. She opened it—rain lashed her face. Looking down, the ground showed no signs of disturbance—William's tracks had already been washed away.
She closed the window, took a few steps, then turned back and opened it again—this time, scanning side to side, and up above.
All the windows were shut. But were they really sure no one was in those rooms?
For seasoned players, climbing across floors wasn't difficult.
Angela grew suspicious and began knocking on doors. Others joined in.
They were a group who'd returned only after William left—they had no idea what had happened thirty minutes earlier.
Otherwise, they too might have chased after the ghost.
Meanwhile, before Erik had even taken out the eyeball—
Elsewhere in town, William fled through the rain, ghosts in relentless pursuit. They began to surround him—
And finally, they caught up.
He drew a weapon—a kitchen knife he had purchased.
Facing the four ghost players, his expression turned murderous. Instead of retreating, he charged.
Every blow he struck was meant to kill. But the ghosts were impervious—nerves dead, skin like iron. He hacked at their necks, their hearts, their eyes—
All to no effect.
After a dozen strikes, his blade was notched and ragged.
Unable to force them back, his dodging faltered—and one ghost seized his arm.
"Ahhh!"
It felt like a metal clamp had snapped shut—his bones cracked audibly.
The pain was excruciating.
Not only were their bodies tough as steel, their grip strength was terrifying.
William knew instantly—he couldn't break free. Without hesitation, he redirected the knife—
And slashed his own trapped arm.
The cut was clean and vicious—blood sprayed across his face.
Familiar agony tore through him, and darkness edged his vision—but he remained lucid.
He even saw the ghost hesitate, stunned as his blood splattered across its face.
He had found a way.