The mission hall was less crowded than usual today. Eric didn't dwell on whether players were reducing the frequency of their dungeon runs or if the number of active players had simply dwindled. Without giving it much thought, she picked a random stone pillar and stepped into the glowing circle at its base.
In the blink of an eye, she arrived at an open space in front of a grand villa. Looking around, she saw dense foliage all around—this dungeon seemed to be set in a secluded mountaintop estate.
Two players had already arrived. Eric greeted them casually. No one rushed to introduce themselves—there were only three of them for now, and clearly more players were expected.
As anticipated, after a short wait, fifteen more players arrived one after another, bringing the total to eighteen.
As the last player entered, a voice echoed in Eric's mind:
**\[Miss Sweetie's birthday is drawing near. She has invited her dearest friends to the holiday villa for a celebration. She has prepared diligently for this special day...]**
"Miss Sweetie's birthday banquet?" Eric murmured, piecing together what little information she had. It wasn't much—just that this was a supernatural dungeon tied to the birthday party of an NPC named Miss Sweetie.
"Let's go in," Amy said, striding confidently toward the open doors of the villa.
The eighteen players filed into the mansion.
The exterior of the villa looked aged, but the interior was luxuriously adorned. The grand hall on the first floor was lavishly decorated for the celebration—everything was pink, from streamers and balloons to oversized ribbons. A pink balloon arch framed the transition from the hall to the dining room.
"Welcome, honored guests, to Miss Sweetie's birthday banquet."
A voice, hoarse and aged, rang out behind them, startling the group.
Turning, they saw an elderly man in a butler's uniform emerge from the shadows on the left. Eric composed herself and asked, "Good evening. And you are?"
"I am the butler of this estate. I've arranged Miss Sweetie's birthday banquet."
So this was the guide NPC for the dungeon's narrative.
Amy followed up, "And Miss Sweetie? When does the banquet begin? Is there anything we need to prepare?"
She made no effort to conceal her probing.
The butler smiled with practiced courtesy. "Miss Sweetie will be arriving shortly. The banquet begins at precisely six o'clock. In the meantime, please feel free to go upstairs to freshen up and change."
Eric glanced at the ornate clock on the wall. It was 5:20 PM.
They had forty minutes.
"Guest rooms are on the second floor. Take the left staircase. I must return to the kitchen to prepare the meal. Please, make yourselves at home." With that, the butler disappeared once more into the shadows. Eric caught the aroma of cooking—likely from the kitchen to the left.
The grand staircase in the center of the hall branched in a Y-shape. From the outside, the villa had three floors. The left staircase led to the guest rooms on the second floor, and the right one presumably led to the third—where Miss Sweetie's room was located.
Eric ascended the left staircase. As she climbed, she noticed two players heading up the right. She averted her gaze, uninterested in seeking out Miss Sweetie just yet. They would meet her soon enough.
Upstairs, the players began choosing rooms.
There were nine rooms—perfect for two players each. Eric entered the third room with a player named Cynthia. Cynthia opened the wardrobe and gasped. "All gowns! So the butler meant for us to wear these?"
"Seems like it. There's nothing else to wear," Eric replied, opening another cabinet to find matching shoes, headpieces, and accessories. The vanity was stocked with cosmetics, and a drawer revealed an array of luxurious jewelry.
This wasn't the simple costume change of previous dungeons. Never before had she had the chance to dress so formally in-game.
Still... "Running for your life in something like this would be terribly inconvenient," Eric muttered, letting the delicate lace slip through her fingers.
"Very," Cynthia agreed. "But can we really refuse, after the butler insisted?"
Eric shook her head without hesitation. "We must change. We're guests at a birthday banquet. The hostess has gone to great lengths to prepare these gowns—we should honor her efforts."
"True. And in a supernatural dungeon like this, even sneakers wouldn't guarantee escape if danger came."
They each selected a gown—choosing the simplest styles available. But even the simplest left Eric feeling ten pounds heavier, bound and restrained.
Erring on the side of caution, she completed the ensemble with the matching shoes, headpiece, and jewelry. Despite choosing the pieces herself, the final look was cohesive in color and form. She applied a light touch of makeup at the vanity.
Both she and Cynthia had short hair, so they chose glittering diamond headbands as finishing touches.
Eric stared at the unfamiliar woman in the mirror, tugged at her lips, and forced a smile.
"This suits the fairy-tale decor downstairs," Cynthia said. "I'm sure Miss Sweetie will look stunning as well."
They practiced walking in heels for a bit—not because they were unfamiliar, but because ever since entering the game, heels had become utterly irrelevant. Now, putting them back on felt precarious.
Soon enough, it was time. Eric opened the door.
Other players had emerged, too. Some, like her and Cynthia, were fully dressed up. Others had only changed into the dresses or coats. A few hadn't touched the wardrobe at all.
"Haha! You two look ridiculous!" a young male player from the next room burst out laughing. "Your faces look like you're going to war. What a mismatched mess!"
This dungeon had three new players—two women and one man. At the door, the veterans had given them a brief rundown, though Eric could tell they weren't taking it seriously.
She ignored him.
But Andrew, the player who shared a room with the loud newcomer—Paul—frowned. "No one's forcing you to dress up, but if you keep running your mouth, people are going to get annoyed."
"Exactly," Cynthia snapped. "Veterans have no obligation to babysit new players. If you want to die stupidly, go ahead—but stop whining."
Embarrassed, Paul fell silent.
"Let's go," Eric said to Cynthia, not sparing Paul a glance.
The two female newbies, Sharon and Laura, silently followed. They had no experience and wisely decided to stick close to the veterans.
Whether the veterans were exaggerating or not didn't matter—if they were telling the truth, then this was a haunted dungeon. There were ghosts. People could die.
The eighteen players descended the stairs. The scent of delicious food wafted from the dining room. Inside, the space had been lavishly decorated—like the hall, everything was pink. A long table was piled with steaming dishes, and at its center sat a three-tiered pink cake, topped with a tiny princess figurine.
"It's a bit dark in here. Are there no lights?" Sharon asked softly.
Eric took a seat—not too close to the head, but not too far either. The table was large enough for all eighteen players.
Outside, twilight deepened. The clock in the hall began to chime.
Six o'clock.
**Whoosh—**
The chandeliers and wall sconces throughout the villa blazed to life.
**Click-clack, click-clack—**
The crisp sound of heels on wooden steps echoed.
Eric turned toward the doorway—she knew the key NPC, Miss Sweetie, was descending.
Everyone looked toward the door. The veterans were solemn; the newcomers, a mix of curious and nervous.
**Click-clack.**
Measured, graceful.
Eric pictured a poised young lady in her mind.
Moments later, a girl in a pink princess gown entered the room. Her makeup was immaculate. A jeweled crown gleamed atop her head. When she lifted her gaze, she truly resembled royalty.
She smiled sweetly. "You're all here. I'm so happy."
She held her voluminous skirt and glided to her seat, her large eyes scanning each player.
Eric felt Miss Sweetie's gaze linger on her, then move on—as though assessing her appearance.
The girl examined each guest. She frowned slightly at Sharon's unstyled hair. Her smile stiffened at Andrew's sleeves rolled to his elbows. And when her eyes fell on Paul—completely unadorned—her expression fell entirely.
Paul squirmed under her stare. Embarrassment turned to anger.
What was this little girl's problem?
He slammed his hand on the table. "What are you looking at?!"
The sweetness vanished from Miss Sweetie's face, replaced by stormy fury.
"**Butler!**" she cried.
The butler, standing quietly by the door, stepped forward and bowed.
"**Remove him. Who let such a rude man in?! He's not worthy of attending my birthday banquet!**"
"Yes, miss." The butler approached and seized Paul.
Wide-eyed, Paul shouted in disbelief. "Are you serious?! Just like that? What the hell is this game?!"
Seeing that no one was standing up for him, he scowled and tried to break free. "Forget it! I didn't want to be here anyway. What a joke!"
But the butler's grip was unnaturally strong. Paul's protests faded as he was dragged out of the dining room.
Soon, his voice was gone.
Those who had survived many dungeons had seen much. Eric remained unfazed. Everyone processed the game at their own pace. Death didn't guarantee acceptance.
And Paul—he never believed them in the first place. Among the three newbies, he alone had mocked them for "acting." Clearly, he hadn't come to terms with being dead.