By the time they stepped back into the lobby, the reception desk stood completely abandoned. The pale, corpse-like woman was nowhere to be seen.
A scattering of surviving Players lingered around the foyer, their numbers noticeably thinner than before. Most looked like walking nightmares, bruised and bleeding.
"I can’t handle this shit," one guy muttered, his hands trembling as he pressed them against his face. "The difficulty spike is insane. We’re not surviving this."
Hysterical chatter bled through the room as paranoia took root.
Zhihan ignored the noise. Panic was a luxury for people who planned on dying early.
His dark eyes snapped to two figures striding across the polished floor elegantly.
A tall man with vibrant crimson hair and sharp chestnut eyes walked alongside a woman dressed in a high-slit, black traditional qipao. Intricate floral embroidery climbed along her exposed thigh, contrasting sharply with her sleek, glossy bob and dark, blood-red lipstick.
In her pale hand, she carried a paper lantern. She glided up to the front desk and set it down without making a sound. A yellowed, ink-drawn talisman was plastered across its frame.
Her companion pulled out a matching lantern, and hung it onto a wall hook nearby.
Neither exchanged a word. Their faces were cold, carved from marble, completely devoid of the terror suffocating the rest of the room.
Zhihan stared, his dark fringe veiling his eyes. He recognized them from the dining hall earlier, but up close, their presence felt heavy.
"I’d advise you not to stare at those two, son," Elder Bo’s quiet voice sounded from beside his shoulder.
Zhihan didn’t cut his gaze. "Who are they?"
"I shouldn’t even be saying this out in the open, but..." Elder Bo motioned for him to come closer. Zhihan tilted his head slightly, letting the old man lean into his ear.
"They’re Demigod Players."
Elder Bo pulled back with a grave nod, as if those two words explained everything.
Zhihan just stared at him. Demigod Players?
That title raised about fifty red flags and answered precisely zero questions.
"System?"
[I got you.]
[There are four recognized Player statuses within the Infinite Endgame: Newbies, Experienced, Veterans, and Demigods.]
[Newbies are Players who have survived zero to nine Scenarios. They are considered newcomers to the Infinite Endgame and generally possess limited experience, Skills, and knowledge of its rules.]
[Players who have completed ten to nineteen Scenarios and possess sufficient Skills or Blessings from the Witnesses are classified as Experienced Players. They have begun adapting to the rules and dangers of the Infinite Endgame and possess enough experience and resources to survive independently.]
[Veterans are Players who have survived twenty to ninety Scenarios. They possess extensive combat experience, knowledge of Scenarios, and a significantly higher survival rate than lower-ranked Players.]
[Demigod Players are entirely different as not everyone can become one. They are known as the Gods’ Favorites, humans who possess extraordinary strength and have received direct and exceptional favor from the Witnesses.]
Zhihan nodded slowly, his dark eyes unreadable. "How many demi-gods are there?"
[There are currently twelve known Demigod Players within the Infinite Endgame.]
So that was the food chain.
His gaze tracked the red-haired man and the woman in the embroidered qipao one last time, watching the flicker of their talisman-marked lanterns.
High-ranking bastards like that probably already had this entire scenario mapped out, quietly raking in passive participation points while everyone else ran around like headless chickens.
He, on the other hand, hadn’t earned a single point yet, despite falling out a second-story window and nearly getting digested by a potato-shaped monster.
He needed those points. He was never going to grovel, bend his knee, or play the desperate victim in this game. Power was the only currency that always mattered.
His attention shifted back to the paper lantern resting on the marble front desk, its ink-drawn seal humming with subtle, protective energy.
He Zhihan strode over. The warm, golden glow cast sharp angles across his pale face, reflecting off his dark, empty eyes.
He raised his long, tattooed hand, his fingers hovering mere inches from the parchment.
He had no intention of touching it.
He simply wanted to see what would happen.
At the exact moment he pulled his hand back, the red-haired man, who had been walking away, stopped dead in his tracks.
"What do you think you’re doing?" He strode forward, his heavy boots echoing across the lobby as his sharp voice drew every eye in the room.
Zhihan immediately raised both hands in a mock gesture of surrender, his expression lazy and utterly unimpressed as the man closed the distance looking every bit like he was about to grab him by the collar. Find the original chapter at NovelPing.
"Hold on, big guy." He took a step back. "You don’t have to get so close."
The red-haired man’s jaw tightened.
Zhihan casually dropped his hands, letting them rest near his pockets. "I just wanted to check out the lantern," he drawled, casting a brief, dark glance toward the talisman. "I figured we were on the same page."
"You’re a Newbie." The man’s gaze swept over him with cold disdain. "Which means you’re going to end up a corpse before sunrise anyway. There’s no way in hell—"
"Did you run into a potato-sack monster?" The humor vanished from Zhihan’s dark eyes.
"We did," a smooth, melodic voice interrupted.
The woman in the black qipao stepped forward, her high heels clicking softly against the tile. Up close, her aura was suffocatingly intense. Obsidian-dark eyes gleamed beneath perfectly arched brows, her dark bob framing a face carved from pale porcelain, sharpened by those bold, blood-red lips.
"Are you referring to the Class-A Abyssal Worm?" she asked softly, her tone deceptively innocent.
He Zhihan studied her sharp profile. "You’ve already classified it."
"Yes, and we—"
"Don’t bother talking to him, Ah-Mei," the red-haired man snapped, throwing her a sharp warning glare. "We’re not in the business of running a charity for dead men walking."
Zhihan ignored him. "I was attacked by one."
The red-haired man’s eyes narrowed into slits. "You were?"
"Did you make direct eye contact with the wall of eyes?" Ah-Mei asked, her gaze locking onto him like a hawk.
"Yeah. Stared right at them."
The two Demigods exchanged a look. A silent dialogue passing between them through micro-expressions and shifted postures.
When they turned back to face He Zhihan, the dismissive arrogance was completely gone.
Ah-Mei stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his chest. "Raise your shirt, He Zhihan."