Chapter 014 - Moonlit Mirage 01

  After the white light faded, Elliot and No. 137 were nowhere to be seen.

  I stood alone in an endless void of white—boundless, silent, utterly devoid of substance. There was no sky, no ground, no sense of direction. When I glanced down, I saw that I was still wearing my white shirt and black trousers, the only remnants of familiarity in this strange, empty expanse.

  With a sigh, I sat cross-legged on nothingness, closing my eyes to regain both my strength and my frayed spirit.

  This game was beyond bizarre.

  The gruesome, resource-starved, merciless trials of the first round still haunted me. It was like a brutal survival game where the only options were to die in some horrific manner or claw your way forward, desperate to stay alive. Kill or be killed. Fight or perish. The rules were simple, yet utterly ruthless.

  Time lost all meaning. For all I knew, I had been sitting here for an eternity, drifting in and out of a dazed half-sleep, until a strange melody suddenly shattered the silence.

  It was eerie—soft, yet chilling. A woman’s voice hummed the tune, low and ghostly, carrying undertones of darkness, crows, and withered trees. The haunting song sent shivers down my spine, an unsettling prelude to what came next.

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  Then, as expected, the cold, mechanical voice returned.

  “Congratulations on passing the preliminary selection of the first round. You may now choose whether to continue the game.”

  I barely cracked open my eyes and muttered, “What happens if I choose not to continue?”

  “You will die.”

  I: “…”

  A dry laugh escaped me. “Then what exactly are you offering?”

  “I am merely stating the facts and providing you with a choice.”

  I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to curse. “Fine. Continue the game.”

  “Very well.” The voice was devoid of emotion. “Sylas Turing, Number 32. Commencing the second round.”

  Wait. Number 32? Was this another designation, like No. 137?

  Who exactly was behind all of this? Who controlled everything—the environments, the mechanics, the very transportation of human beings?

  Before I could even form another question, an invisible force seized me, hurling me violently through the void.

  I didn’t scream. I didn’t panic. I simply maintained my usual smile.

  And in my mind, I silently cursed that damnable voice—and whatever faceless puppet masters lurked behind it. May they rot in the deepest pits of hell, suffer every misery imaginable, and choke on their own twisted games.