The villagers secured the door and descended the wooden stairs. Brooks watched their shadows flicker across the steps, rainwater dripping steadily into his eyes.
He rubbed them dry, then silently observed the group disappear into the darkness. When they were out of sight, he crept back up the stairs and pressed himself against the door, peering through a narrow gap. Inside, it was pitch-black—nothing was visible.
Yet, knowing there was someone within, he couldn't shake the dread that a pair of eyes might suddenly meet his through the crack. The ominous presence of the building itself kept him from daring to break in and investigate.
By the time he descended and tried to track the departing fishermen, they had already vanished—likely returned to their homes. Left with no choice, he turned back.
On the way, he passed a group of children catching tiny fish and shrimp by the stream. Their laughter was bright and innocent, their joy pure as they scooped at the water with nets, cheering at every small catch.
But Brooks could not muster even the ghost of a smile. Instead, his brow furrowed deeply as his gaze fixed on the children's simple nets.
And then it struck him.
That stilted house—seen from above—was shaped like one of those fishing nets.
Meanwhile, Delilah had followed the two fishermen who had left the group early. They seemed to be brothers and entered the same stilt house. From above, an elderly voice echoed down.
"…You're finally back! I've been worried sick. The river's center is dangerous—that's Dragon King's domain."
"All went smoothly. We caught plenty… with the Dragon King's blessing, of course."
"You'll have to go again first thing in the morning. It's exhausting!"
"Just a few more days. Is there anything to eat, Ma?"
It appeared to be an ordinary household. Delilah, uncertain of what Brooks or Erik had uncovered, decided to stay and listen for more.
Unfortunately, the family spoke only of mundane matters—marriage prospects and daily life. After dinner, the brothers announced they were going to bed, needing rest before another pre-dawn trip to the river.
"All right, all right—get to sleep. You'll need energy for the morning…"
The old woman washed the dishes in the kitchen, then returned to the sitting room to weave straw shoes. Just as Delilah was about to slip away, she heard the old woman sigh.
"How much longer must this go on… such sin, such suffering. Once every twenty years… again and again… When will it end? Yinghua… haven't you let go of your resentment by now?"
*Yinghua?*
Delilah repeated the name in her mind—when a sudden crack of thunder split the sky.
**Boom!**
Startled, Delilah flinched. The elderly woman inside was so frightened she dropped the half-finished shoe, slipped from her chair, and fell to the floor with a loud *thud*.
Delilah crept closer, peering through a gap in the door. Through the slit, she saw the woman's face, frozen in terror.
On a whim, Delilah whispered, "Did you call for me—?"
"Ah!! Yinghua, don't come for me! It wasn't me who wronged you!"
"You… it was you…"
The woman wept, her pallor ghostly white. Tears and mucus streamed down her face. Her lips quivered as she choked out, "No… no, it wasn't me… The one who hurt you has already paid, I swear! I even spoke in your defense… I never meant for you to die—!"
Overwhelmed by fear, her frail body could not bear the weight of guilt. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed.
"Ma?!"
"Ma, what's wrong?!"
Her sons burst from their room, but Delilah was already gone.
She and Brooks returned to the house moments apart. After changing out of their soaked clothes, they joined the others waiting in the living room.
"Aren't you going out?" Emery asked Erik.
"I am," Erik replied.
Emery breathed a small sigh of relief. Silas and the others had whispered that Erik had hidden in her room ever since returning, clearly withholding any intelligence she'd gathered.
"We're new here! We don't know anything, no experience at all—if we tag along, we'll just hold them back. They're veterans. Shouldn't they be the ones taking the lead? Why be so stingy?" Silas had said indignantly.
Though Emery felt uneasy about his entitlement, she couldn't help but partially agree.
Erik and the others *should* be more open.
Still, with Erik willing to step out again, Emery was somewhat reassured.
Erik headed next door to Delilah's room. Delilah, hearing her voice, opened the door with a smile.
"Josephine told me—you got back before us."
"Yes. Brooks should be ready by now. Let's go."
Brooks opened his door, and the three entered without so much as acknowledging the others waiting outside.
Silas cried out, "Hey! What's the big idea?! We've been waiting for you!"
Josephine's expression darkened. As a veteran, she had expected to be included. That Erik and the others would exclude the newcomers was one thing—but to leave *her* out as well? That was a slap in the face.
"Stop knocking. It's embarrassing," Weston muttered as Silas kept banging on the door.
Silas rolled his eyes and stomped back to his seat.
"Aren't you tight with your roommate? Why didn't *she* invite you in?" he said to Emery, who sat silent, fidgeting with her sleeves.
Inside the room, Erik, Delilah, and Brooks sat cross-legged on the floor, whispering rapidly and piecing together their findings into a coherent picture.
"We can surmise that the Dragon King Festival is linked to someone named Yinghua. The mother of those two fishermen recognized the name—she must know what happened years ago. The villagers catch bizarre human-headed fish using nets possibly stored in that strange stilt house. Viewed from above, the house resembles a scoop net. That has to be symbolic…
"And the villagers went out in the rain, in the dark, to catch these creatures. The boy's grandmother then prepared the fish into soup and served it to *us.* It's clear—we seven players are offerings to the Dragon King."
"Refusing to eat the soup is simple—just endure three days. But is that really enough to survive?" Erik said, unconvinced they had yet found the vital key to everything.
Their clues remained scattered, and the missing link still eluded them.
"We can't rely on them. Not enough manpower," Brooks added grimly.
If they had more people, they could've followed the villagers after the net delivery, perhaps uncovering more. One man, who seemed to lead the others, clearly held some authority in the village. Brooks had to choose between investigating the house or tailing them—and now, regret gnawed at him, along with frustration toward the other players.
The trio fell silent.
In the hours since entering the instance, the information they had gathered was far too fragmented. They had some grasp of the setting—but that wasn't enough.
Investigation was only the beginning. What they truly needed was a way to survive.
"Still too few clues. I'm not sure we'll make it through the night," Delilah said. "Are we really not going to share anything with them?"
"Let's see if we survive tonight," Erik replied. "If they're willing to cooperate tomorrow, then we'll talk."
Braving the rain and sneaking through hostile territory was dangerous. If the villagers found out they were the offerings, the players could easily be bound and tossed into the river when the festival arrived.
If they wouldn't share the risks, then they didn't deserve the rewards.
It had to be made clear—if only three of them were willing to act, then only those three would earn the fruits of it.
"Alright. Then we hold fast. Tonight, try to talk to Josephine," Delilah said. She had the most grievances with Josephine—of all people, *she* should have stepped up, not cowered like a rookie.
But even veteran players feel fear.
"I've only cleared one horror instance!" Josephine paced the room, agitated. "I'm still adjusting—are you really condemning me already?"
Delilah lay down, pulling over a musty blanket retrieved from the wardrobe. It smelled of rot and cockroaches, and shaking it sent insect eggs tumbling to the floor. Disgusting—but not using it wasn't an option.
"No one's condemned you," she said. "We'll see how you do tomorrow."
"I—!"
"I'm exhausted, alright? That storm soaked my clothes for two hours before I could change."
Delilah stared at her until Josephine looked away.
In their room, Erik and Emery lay side by side. Emery said nothing, but her restless breathing betrayed her unease. Listening to it, Erik drifted into a troubled sleep.
In her dreams, it rained endlessly. She was already tense and didn't sleep deeply. So when she heard something odd beneath the patter of rain, she woke instantly.
She didn't open her eyes right away, but stilled herself, straining to listen.
*Pat, pat, pat.*
Footsteps.
In the living room.
She opened her eyes slowly. In this instance, there was no electricity, and only a few candles. Of course, they wouldn't burn them while sleeping.
In the darkness, she saw the shadow of Emery still beside her. The breathing matched—she was asleep.
Erik sat up quietly and listened again.
*Cre-eak.*
A door opened. Footsteps moved onto the corridor… then onto the stairs.
Someone had left the house.
Was it one of the players?
Erik's guard rose. Barefoot, she slipped from bed.
She waited, listening at the door, then crossed the living room to the main entrance.
The door was ajar.
*Slurp, slurp, slurp—*
Someone was eating just outside. It sounded greedy, like someone licking the last drops from a bowl.
*Crunch, crunch—*
Then gnawing. The sound made Erik's teeth ache.
What food was there in the corridor?
None.
But there *was* an empty bucket that had once held fish soup.