William spun around, letting blood from his wound splatter toward the three ghost players. Entranced by the scent, their expressions turned rapturous as they reached out to touch their faces, then licked their fingers like addicts savoring a fix.
Seizing this fleeting opportunity, William bolted.
After dashing a dozen meters, he saw a player ahead waving at him, shouting, "Over here! There's a back door!"
But William didn't trust others. The ghost players' reactions had already betrayed his secret. Ignoring the call, he swiftly used a basic medkit to regenerate his arm, then vaulted over the wall without hesitation.
"Shit!" the beckoning player growled, face contorted with frustration, and climbed after him.
Back at the original spot, the four ghost players had finished lapping up the blood. With renewed hunger, they resumed the hunt.
Yet a few paces later, one ghost player stopped abruptly. Its lifeless eyes stared blankly off in another direction before it turned and wandered away.
At the wall, another halted, pivoted, and left.
In a narrow alley, Joshua was panting, spent, but his eyes gleamed with joy as he looked down at a severed hand in his grasp. It was not his own, of course—it was a ghostly hand he had acquired at a blind massage parlor.
Unbeknownst to William, Eric had used the "eye" and "hand" retrieved with Joshua to lure away half of the ghost players, significantly easing the pursuit. William could feel the thinning of their numbers even if he didn't know why.
Grasping this stroke of fortune, he broke through their encirclement and, after swimming across a stream, was granted a brief moment of respite.
"This can't go on," he muttered. Though the "tooth" was a searing burden, he couldn't bring himself to abandon it. To discard a potential key to clearing the game for a sliver of safety was folly. He believed—if he could endure—this tooth would lead him to salvation.
Yet as he fled the ghost players, he also had to stay wary of the living. Most who followed him, including former ally Brian, were likely after the tooth.
He could trust no one. He had to rely solely on himself.
*Splash, splash, splash...*
The sound of ghost players sprinting through puddles echoed behind him. William drew a deep breath, bent low, and darted into the shadows of an alleyway.
Meanwhile, Eric had tracked the ghost players to Joshua. She remembered him—the unlucky soul assigned to share a room with one of the ghost players, prompting a hasty room change.
Joshua, utterly spent, had been caught off guard by the ghost player and nearly lost his head. He'd already used a medkit. Now, clutching the ghost hand to his chest, he fled through the rain.
Eric chose to help, occasionally revealing the "eye" to tempt the ghost players and send them into fits of indecision.
These ghost players were no longer human—only instinct remained.
Faced with a choice between a stationary target and one that continued to flee, the former always prevailed. They did not feel frustration at being toyed with—if a prey vanished, they simply picked a new target.
Thanks to Eric's interference, Joshua finally pulled ahead, earning a much-needed reprieve.
Night fell. Eric couldn't keep this up forever. She caught up to Joshua and, seeing the suspicion in his eyes, offered a measured, confident smile. "Hello. What did you get? I'm the one with the eye."
She pulled out the eyeball, now lively and bouncing inside a small bottle wrapped in a plastic bag.
Joshua's eyes widened in disbelief.
"You have one, and so do I. We're not competitors. Let's collaborate—pool our ideas to figure out how to use these things."
Joshua's wariness softened.
"Alright. Mine's a hand." He displayed the gloved appendage. "It tries to run away if I take the glove off."
"I get it. My eye jumps when it sees light. I was nearby during your escape. You probably saw me."
"I did. But… how did you manage? Why didn't it chase you?"
"Oh, it tried. I just kept flashing the eye at it now and then. Otherwise, do you think you'd have made it out?"
Joshua's astonishment gave way to delight.
"You're saying… if we work together, I might actually stop being hunted?"
"I have an item," Eric said calmly, lying with perfect ease. "It doesn't attack, but it masks the aura of objects. Useless to me—until I got this eye."
"That black plastic bag?" Joshua asked eagerly, eyes fixed on it.
"…No, this towel."
The towel, wrapped around both bottle and hand, seemed to vanish into her backpack, but had in fact been smuggled into a supermarket bag. Thirty minutes passed. No ghost players arrived.
Joshua exhaled in relief. "So, shall we head back?"
"Not yet. There's one more person." Eric told him about William. "Let's find her—another mind means more ideas."
Joshua raised no objection.
They found William an hour later. He had already burned through four basic medkits to restore his stamina. The small town had fallen into slumber, wrapped in rain, lights extinguished one by one—his escape now harder than ever. With Eric concealing the eye and hand, all four ghost players were again pursuing William alone.
Other players, seeing the chase, tailed close behind, shouting for William to hand over the item so they could help. But William didn't waver. Fortunately, they couldn't catch him, and were unwilling to kill him before snatching the item—risking a loss to the ghost players.
Eric brought out the hand and sent Joshua to lure away some of the ghost players, while she approached William.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them sat huddled in a park corner beneath an umbrella, rain drumming overhead as they whispered their plans.
"Thank god for your item," William said, exhausted. "I don't know how I'd have lasted without it."
"There aren't more than ten players after you," Eric reassured. "They want the prize for themselves, so for now they probably won't tell the others."
"There's only one inn in the town. I'll try to find a local home to stay in—I won't go back to the inn for now. Let's meet here again tomorrow at 8 a.m., and figure things out together. Sound good?"
"Perfect. I need some rest." Joshua yawned.
After agreeing to cooperate, the three parted. Eric and Joshua returned to the inn, where they encountered Brian and the others in the lobby. Brian rushed over.
"Eric, did you find William?"
Several players looked their way. Eric quickly scanned them—these were the same ones who had chased William.
She shook her head. "No luck. Did those four… come back?"
Brian nodded warily. "They're back. Already in their rooms. Are you sure you didn't find William? I think I saw you. I just want to help. He can't keep running like this—it's time to work together. But he's too paranoid. No matter what I said, he wouldn't listen."
Eric sneezed and rubbed her nose sheepishly. "It's been a long day. I need a hot shower."
Brian, unconvinced, returned to his seat, frowning.
Other players exchanged thoughtful glances. Kenneth sidled up to Brian and muttered, "Bro…"
Eric ignored the whispers below. She drew hot water and returned upstairs, not to the bathroom, but to her room to wash off.
Thus ended a long and harrowing day. She collapsed onto her bed, utterly drained.
**Day Three of the Dungeon. Torrential Rain.**
As Eric descended the stairs, the four ghost players were already at breakfast.
She left the inn pondering: what exactly *were* the ghost players now? They no longer seemed human, yet moved as if they were—eating three meals a day, retiring to their rooms at night. Eric's room was 305, and she'd noticed that the 205 room below was completely silent after dark.
Yet yesterday, they had chased William and Joshua relentlessly…
Eric stopped walking. The rain drummed insistently against her umbrella. Slowly, she turned to glance back at the inn, as if she could see the four of them inside again.
Had she fallen into a trap of her own assumptions?
Their grotesque appearance and abnormal behavior had led her to classify them as "ghosts" without hesitation.
But why had they come back?
She had once believed it was a function of the dungeon's design, perhaps warning of the shrine's danger. No one could prove they had entered it, but supernatural games were full of cryptic clues cloaked in fog.
Yet now… a different idea had taken root.
What if they *wanted* to come back?
They moved like players. Returned to the inn. Ate at mealtimes. Slept at night. Pursued those with clues—just like the rest of them.
Their routines *mirrored* those of living players.
Eric cursed herself. She had judged too quickly—had fallen into a binary mindset. But they were still players.
Even her use of "ghost player" emphasized their death, subconsciously erasing their identity as participants.
She bit her lip and strode faster toward the park.
She had a new theory now.
She used to think the ghost players pursued William's tooth because the game dictated it—to keep things difficult.
But now, she saw it differently.
They weren't so different from Brian and the others.
They were chasing the clue because they *knew* it mattered.
And perhaps… just perhaps… they knew how to *use* it.
If the ghost players could chase clues to pass the game—then so could she.
And perhaps, just perhaps, she could use *them*.