The entire morning was spent combing through the facility from top to bottom. The search had been exhaustive—painstakingly so—yet they still found nothing. Not even the faintest thread to explain what had happened here decades ago.
One of the veteran trainees, a B-rank who had once studied cryptography, spread out the library catalogue together with every clue the subteams had collected throughout the asylum, including the strange sequence discovered in the ward. He stared at the papers until his eyes reddened, turning possibilities over and over in his head, but still failed to reach any conclusion.
“Logically, a former military base like this should have left behind classified records.”
He circled the line of letters on the page with his pen.
“I’ve already tried several decryption methods, but none of them work. The only possibility left is that the base developed its own cipher system.”
Ordinarily, when confronted with a meaningless string of letters inside a military facility, the first assumption would naturally be that it was some kind of code.
[Weird. How have they still not cracked it after all this time? Could it be symbolic instead of encrypted?]
[I was wondering the same thing. But I still think it’s probably a cipher. Did you notice the bookshelf over there? It’s filled entirely with cryptography books. The Holy Son’s group must’ve noticed it too—that’s why they’re treating this as encoded text.]
“Could it require a key?” Messiah mused. “Something like a Vigenère cipher?”
After a moment, he shook his head.
“Stop here for now. Either we’re pursuing the wrong direction, or we’re missing a critical clue.”
Standing nearby, He Jianlan frowned deeply.
It was nearly noon, yet the investigation had made almost no progress. Everything remained exactly where it had been the previous night—as though they had slammed into an invisible wall and could advance no further.
Continuing like this would only waste time.
And time was precisely the thing they could least afford to lose.
If they still failed to uncover additional clues by tonight, then regardless of the risks, they would have no choice but to take action themselves.
Just as He Jianlan was weighing that possibility, hurried footsteps suddenly thundered down the corridor outside.
He rose immediately and walked to the door.
“Y-Your Holiness!”
A C-rank trainee stood there, bent over and gasping for breath from running up the stairs.
“Something happened!”
By the time Messiah arrived with the others from the library, a crowd had already gathered.
Veterans and newcomers alike stood clustered together, whispering nervously among themselves. None of them could conceal the fear on their faces.
The moment they saw the golden-haired Holy Son approach, visible relief swept through the crowd.
“Your Holiness.”
“Thank God the Holy Son is here.”
Messiah nodded calmly and walked forward as the crowd instinctively parted for him.
They were standing beside the stairwell leading from basement level one to basement level two.
Nobody dared descend.
Several trainees lingered near the entrance, stretching their necks to peer into the darkness below, only to recoil moments later as though afraid the abyss itself might swallow them whole.
The stairway to basement level two was badly deteriorated. Crumbling concrete lined the walls, and beyond the first few steps there was no light whatsoever—as if the darkness itself had been deliberately arranged to repel intruders.
Messiah looked down into that black void.
No one knew what might be lurking beneath.
“What happened?” he asked while turning toward Qin Ye, who had been overseeing the search in this section.
Qin Ye answered quickly. “I was leading a team through the wards on basement one to double-check for overlooked clues. Then one of the newcomers reported hearing strange noises from the stairwell, so I gathered people and came over.”
Messiah raised a hand, signaling everyone to stay silent.
The corridor immediately fell quiet.
At first, there was nothing.
Then, after nearly a full minute of silence, they finally heard it.
Scrrrape.
The sound came irregularly, without rhythm or pattern. It resembled metal grinding violently against metal—the kind of shrill scraping that sent chills racing down the spine and made teeth ache instinctively.
The livestream chat exploded.
[This instance has been way too peaceful. It’s already noon on day two and they still haven’t encountered anything major.]
[That’s because the Holy Son is too good at organizing everyone. In other instances, the veterans would already be fighting among themselves. Someone would get isolated sooner or later.]
[Exactly. Aside from the guy who died alone in the washroom, everyone’s been moving together this whole time. There’s barely any tension left. As long as they follow the Holy Son around, nothing happens.]
[They won’t stay comfortable forever. If they can’t find more clues, they’ll eventually have to go down to basement level two.]
Shock flashed across He Jianlan’s eyes.
“There’s… something alive down there?”
Meng Tianlu’s face had turned pale.
Psychics were especially sensitive to spiritual disturbances, and after last night’s encounter, his nerves had already been stretched to their limit. Even hearing that noise now made his scalp crawl.
Fortunately, he hadn’t faced an emergency alone. Mental exhaustion for psychics was an extremely dangerous thing.
There had once been a catastrophic incident inside the S-rank instance Ancient Well of Evil Spirits.
Shortly after entering, an advanced psychic had accidentally connected with the most terrifying entity within the instance. In the instant that contact was established, the psychic’s spiritual power was completely drained—and the evil spirit possessed his body.
Not a single one of the three teams that entered that instance survived.
Years later, after the instance reopened, later challengers discovered the final survivor’s diary and learned the truth behind the massacre.
“I can’t sense anything clearly right now,” Meng Tianlu admitted while staring into the darkness below. “But that might also be because of what happened last night. I still haven’t fully recovered.”
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
“Let me try again. If something goes wrong, knock me unconscious immediately.”
There was no alternative.
He was the only psychic inside the entire instance. Even as an intermediate psychic, he had no choice but to push himself beyond his limits.
Meng Tianlu swallowed hard, forcing himself to ignore the trauma from last night as he prepared to extend his spiritual perception downward once more.
“Wait.”
Messiah interrupted him.
“Let’s use the rope instead. Right now, what we need is information.”
The “rope” he referred to was He Jianlan’s special item.
More accurately, its name was the Knotted Lasso—a B-rank prop He Jianlan had obtained in another instance.
Its functions were remarkably versatile. It could attack, restrain, defend, and even scout. It was also the primary reason He Jianlan had managed to earn such a high B-rank evaluation in the first place.
He Jianlan hesitated.
“But what if—”
“It’ll be fine,” Messiah said calmly. “I’m here.”
The golden-haired Holy Son had already summoned the high priest’s staff into his hand.
Fresh green leaves sprouted from the dry wooden branches, and the faint golden glow radiating from it dispelled some of the oppressive tension in the corridor.
Once Messiah brought out an S-rank prop, there was little point in continuing to debate the risks.
He Jianlan finally nodded.
Taking out the Knotted Lasso, he and Meng Tianlu carefully lowered it through the stairwell gap toward basement level two.
The crowd watched in tense silence.
The Knotted Lasso possessed a special effect: once released, it would inevitably bind itself to something.
Whether that “something” turned out to be a person… or a ghost… was another matter entirely.
Under ordinary circumstances, He Jianlan would never have agreed to such a reckless gamble.
But with Messiah present and wielding the high priest’s staff, everyone’s courage rose considerably.
At that moment, Zong Jiu emerged from the washroom.
He paused when he noticed the scene gathered around the stairwell.
Almost simultaneously, Sheng Yu—who had been searching everywhere for him—came rushing downstairs. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted the white-haired young man.
“Jiu-ge!”
His voice rang loudly through the corridor.
Everyone turned.
And immediately saw Zong Jiu standing there with a faint smile in his pale pink eyes.
Ordinarily, that alone wouldn’t have attracted much attention.
The problem was the man standing behind him.
Zhuge An.
The dark-haired strategist stood with his usual icy indifference, his gaze cold enough to freeze the air around him.
Even the livestream viewers were stunned.
[What the hell? How long has it been? The white-haired beauty already switched sides again?]
[I knew it. No way he’d reject the Holy Son’s invitation for no reason. Turns out he’d already lined up another backer.]
[Honestly, I think the mole theory involving Zhuge An sounds more believable than the F-rank guy.]
[Beautiful people really live different lives. He jumped straight between two S-ranks. I’m so jealous.]
If even the viewers could draw those conclusions, then naturally the trainees present could as well.
Over the past two days, Zhuge An had remained elusive, appearing only during meals before vanishing again without a trace.
This was the first time many of them had seen the No. 3 ranked trainee outside the dining hall.
And more shocking still—
he clearly knew Zong Jiu.
Not only knew him, but seemed entirely comfortable around him.
Yet Zong Jiu himself appeared completely unconcerned by the attention.
He casually nodded toward Sheng Yu.
“What is it?”
Sheng Yu nearly burst into tears.
“Jiu-ge, I was looking everywhere for you! I went upstairs and downstairs so many times!”
Zong Jiu’s gaze shifted briefly toward the suddenly taut rope hanging in the stairwell.
“Is that so? Thanks for still trusting me.”
“Senior He—the rope moved!”
He Jianlan snapped his head around instantly.
The lasso in his hands had suddenly tightened.
“Pull!”
Everyone rushed forward together.
Meanwhile, Sheng Yu struggled through the crowd, earning more than a few disgusted looks from nearby trainees.
After all, both he and Zong Jiu had effectively been branded as suspected moles.
Nobody wanted anything to do with them.
“Jiu-ge… what’s going on?”
Before Sheng Yu could quietly ask about Zhuge An, Zong Jiu suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder with startling seriousness.
“Xiao Sheng-ah, I have an important mission for you.”
Sheng Yu straightened immediately.
“Just say the word, Zong-ge!”
Zong Jiu pointed toward the stairwell.
“Go find out what they’re doing.”
“But…” Sheng Yu looked conflicted. “Everyone avoids me now.”
“Don’t worry. They’re too busy to care about you at the moment. Just squeeze in there, listen carefully, and gather information.”
His pink eyes curved into a smile.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to stick with me? Congratulations—I found you a new thigh to cling to.”
At those words, the “new thigh” beside him cast an icy glance in their direction.
“I’m going to negotiate terms with him,” Zong Jiu continued lazily. “You gather intel. We’ll meet again at lunch.”
The mention of their current situation seemed to reignite Sheng Yu’s determination.
“Understood!”
He saluted dramatically.
“I won’t fail the mission Jiu-ge entrusted to me!”
“Very spirited. Good.”
Zong Jiu offered a perfunctory compliment before giving one last glance toward the crowd struggling with the rope.
Then he turned and entered the nearby ward together with Zhuge An.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Inside the silence of the room, Zhuge An suddenly let out a low laugh.
“Negotiate terms?”
The livestream chats exploded instantly.
[An E-rank negotiating with an S-rank? This is insane.]
[Why do I feel weirdly excited right now?]
[The atmosphere is terrifying. These two are absolutely about to clash.]
Zong Jiu remained perfectly calm.
“Why not?” he said lightly. “Surely someone as capable as you has more clues than you’re willing to reveal.”
“And if you already have spare clues, there’s no need for someone of your status to secretly tail me around either, right?”
Zhuge An said nothing.
His face remained unreadable.
But Zong Jiu continued anyway.
“Coincidentally, I also happen to possess a clue you’d be interested in.”
He smiled.
“A clue related to the S-rank prop inside the operating theater. Am I wrong?”
That was exactly why Zong Jiu had chosen to leave the team earlier.
He had no intention of sharing that information with anyone else.
The clue didn’t merely concern an S-rank item—it was tied directly to the main storyline of the instance itself.
If this thread was lost, the future course of the instance would become completely unpredictable.
And because of that—
the clue had effectively become his life-saving talisman.
As long as nobody else learned the truth from Dr. Chu, Zong Jiu could use this information as leverage against anyone he pleased.
Including Zhuge An.
The strategist narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You seem very confident.”
“Aren’t you afraid I might simply force the information out of you?”
“No,” Zong Jiu replied without hesitation. “You won’t.”
This conclusion came from his knowledge of the original novel.
There had once been a chapter written from Zhuge An’s perspective, and through it Zong Jiu had learned that Zhuge An possessed an ordinary identity card.
But beyond that—
he also understood Zhuge An’s personality.
Arrogant.
Proud.
Cold to the point of eccentricity.
Those details, pieced together from memory little by little, formed the confidence Zong Jiu now relied upon.
Zhuge An studied him silently for a long moment.
Indeed, he would never use such crude methods.
Not because he lacked the ability.
An S-rank crushing an E-rank would be effortless.
Their confrontation in the washroom had already proven that Zhuge An had been holding back. The difference in physical ability between an ordinary person and an S-rank was enormous—like comparing a civilian to a genetically enhanced soldier.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t force the answer out.
It was simply beneath him.
When Zhuge An remained silent, Zong Jiu knew he had gambled correctly.
His smile widened.
“So? Shall we cooperate pleasantly?”
Zhuge An narrowed his eyes.
“Was testing me amusing?”
The corners of his lips curled upward slightly.
“You are somewhat more interesting than the average idiots outside.”
Then, as though granting an extraordinary favor, he extended half a finger and briefly brushed it against Zong Jiu’s hand before withdrawing with visible disdain.
Zong Jiu: “…?”
Seriously?
When this man kept his mouth shut, he looked like an immortal descended from heaven.
So why did every sentence out of his mouth make people want to punch him?
Even though the alliance had technically been established, the atmosphere inside the ward only grew more awkward.
Determined to break the silence, Zong Jiu forced a laugh.
“Well, as expected of someone named Zhuge. Sounds intelligent already. Zhuge Liang, huh?”