Chapter 126: Please Bet Your Flesh and Blood to Step Through This Door.

Chapter 126: Step Through This Door—But Stake Your Flesh and Blood.

Two shadows streaked swiftly through mirror after mirror, one chasing the other.

If a casual observer happened to catch a glimpse, they might dismiss it as a fleeting play of light—or perhaps, by tomorrow, a brand-new urban legend would begin circulating.

The Person in the Mirror could feel the terrifying presence behind it, its demeanor mocking and indifferent. At times, it deliberately slowed down just as it was about to seize its prey, as if reveling in its struggles, its fear, its desperate attempts to escape.

The witch-clad humanoid was unbearably cruel, like a cat toying with a panicked mouse, deriving sheer delight from its prey’s torment.

It—it had to escape...

In its overwhelming panic, the Person in the Mirror's thoughts grew muddled and sluggish. But then it wondered—where could it even flee?

Never before had it been reduced to such a wretched state!

As an urban legend bound to mirrors, it could instantly teleport to any reflective surface in the world, always slipperier than an eel in oil. No human or urban legend had ever been able to truly harm its essence.

...Until Elius appeared.

Because she, too, existed in every mirror.

No matter how desperately the Person in the Mirror fled, in every reflection around it—large or small—the witch’s crimson hair, like dark fire reeking of the metallic scent of rust and blood, was always there.

The vivid color was like a death warrant issued by Death itself, making the Person in the Mirror tremble at the mere sight of it, to the point where it never wanted to see anything red again.

There was no escape...

For the first time since its birth, the Person in the Mirror tasted despair. Its features twisted like warping wax, its gaping mouth releasing a soundless scream.

She was everywhere—!!

Finally, Elius slowly opened the ebony box before the Person in the Mirror, like unveiling a miniature black coffin. The damp chill of the graveyard and the stench of death oozed out, heavily enveloping the trapped entity.

Inside the ebony box lay a mirror as bright as the full moon.

And within that timeworn "moon," the Person in the Mirror saw its own shattered reflection.

"Crack!"

In an inconspicuous corner of the city, a mirror suddenly shattered, its fragments scattering noisily across the floor.

Strangely, from the broken mirror’s backing, thick, crimson blood slowly oozed out. Viscous strands clung between the countless shards, as if what had shattered wasn’t just an ordinary mirror—but something alive...

The blood seemed like the Person in the Mirror’s final, desperate cry for help in this world.

Among the shards, the figure of the witch holding the ebony box flickered past. The wide brim of her hat cast deep shadows, swallowing her face—only her eyes, burning with madness, remained visible.

After the hunt, the witch possessively stroked the ebony box, humming a strange, disjointed tune as she gradually faded into the mirror.

She would wait patiently.

For the summons of humans—and for the players to discover her existence.

---

"Thud, thud..."

A middle-aged Investigator D walked with heavy steps, a briefcase in hand, stopping at the bus stop for Route 414.

The urban legend known as "Mirror-Image Bus Route 414" originated from a severe traffic accident.

According to the onboard surveillance footage, a drunk passenger had engaged in a violent altercation with the driver, which quickly escalated into physical conflict. As the two struggled, the steering wheel was wrenched sharply, causing the bus to accelerate through the guardrail and plunge into a frigid river with thirteen innocent passengers aboard.

After days of failed recovery efforts, the bus was sighted again.

The witness who reported it claimed to see it driving along the road—completely empty, with no driver or passengers, like a ghost that had risen from the riverbed.

Because the vehicle’s appearance was a mirror-flipped version of the original, some investigators speculated that it might be the reflection of the old Route 414 bus, captured on the water’s surface just before the crash.

At first, it was just an old, rickety ghost bus, wandering aimlessly through the city with no discernible purpose.

Later, it gradually began mimicking the schedule of a normal bus, following a fixed route, making stops, and even manifesting "passengers."

Modeled after the fifteen victims of the accident, blurry humanoid figures began coalescing in the driver’s seat and passenger seats—their bodies like semi-solid gasoline, sometimes collapsing or melting, emitting a pungent odor.

As the driver mechanically turned the wheel, this thick, sludge-like gasoline would drip down, pooling into slick puddles on the floor.

—It was as if Route 414 was reliving its past life, forever accompanied by these phantom passengers and driver.

Driving endlessly.

Every time the Containment Agency observed Route 414, they noted it had grown slightly more intelligent, its mimicry more refined.

Eventually, the semi-liquid gasoline consistency of the driver and passengers faded, replaced by a more human-like skin tone—almost indistinguishable from living humans.

The only differences were their corpse-pale complexions, jerky movements, and the absence of heartbeat or breathing.

After Route 414’s emergence, the Containment Agency made numerous attempts to control or eliminate it.

Countless investigators, through blood and bone, deduced the rules of this urban legend:

1. Route 414 cannot be physically damaged or permanently contained. No matter where it is locked away—even if banished to the depths of the ocean—it will reappear on its route within 24 hours.

2. Fortunately, it is not a highly dangerous urban legend. Generally, as long as there is gasoline in the tank, Route 414 will not actively harm passengers who board by mistake—provided they do not violate public transit etiquette.

At least in the Containment Agency’s records, passengers who angered the bus invariably ended up as fuel in the tank, their corpses powering Route 414’s endless journey.

Thus, the Containment Agency assigned personnel to wait at its stops regularly, ensuring it always had enough *fuel* to continue operating without harming humans.

At the stop, Investigator D nervously glanced at her watch. Dreading her upcoming special mission, her heartbeat quickened, her grip tightening unconsciously on the briefcase handle.

This time, she was here on behalf of the Containment Agency to inquire about the recent abnormal resurgence and activity of urban legends—to extract critical intelligence and prepare for potential disasters.

As a wandering urban legend, Route 414 itself was an excellent source of information. Neither human nor supernatural secrets eluded it.

The vast volume and depth of its knowledge far surpassed what humans could comprehend.

Whenever large-scale anomalies erupted among the city’s urban legends—with unknown origins or causes—the Containment Agency would send investigators onboard the bus to extract intelligence from Route 414.

The lonely, wandering bus rarely refused those who reached out. It was generous with information but never altruistic—every exchange came at a price.

It reveled in a simple, macabre game with investigators: a coin toss.

The investigator had to bring a coin and, upon disembarking, flip it.

If it landed heads, they would toss the coin into the fare box as fare and information payment. The investigator could then safely disembark.

If it landed tails: the investigator would pay an exorbitant "fare"—one coin—and one life.

—To gamble with a fifty-fifty chance of survival, betting on the truth, on a city, on a future.

Investigator D stood rigidly upright, holding her breath as she waited.

Before long, in the distance, a dark red bus slowly approached.

She had imagined and rehearsed this moment countless times in her mind, yet when it finally arrived, she found herself unexpectedly calm.

Investigator D first carefully checked the inner compartment of her briefcase—confirming that the communication device inside was active. This way, even if she were unfortunate enough to remain in the bus forever, the intelligence gained at the cost of her life could still be heard by her colleagues, serving its purpose.

Then, her thoughts settled on her young daughter's beaming smile.

Her grip on the briefcase tightened. Quickly, she opened her phone and sent two messages to a starred contact—

"Always remember to eat properly."

"I love you, sweetheart."

Then, before her vision completely blurred with tears, she swiftly turned off the screen, afraid that even a second’s delay would let her tears fall onto it.

Taking a deep breath, Investigator D—unable to hide her fear but resolute—stepped onto the bus’s boarding step. The folding doors slowly closed behind her, cutting off the fading evening light from the outside world.

Would she ever walk back through these doors and step back into the sunlight?

She didn’t know.

But like so many agents before her, she stepped through those doors without hesitation.