Chapter 173: A Game

Chapter 173 A Game

It must be said that Shadow of the Mind's unusually candid attitude had indeed piqued Elius's interest.

With a hint of curiosity, Elius watched the figure gradually sink into the depths of nightmares before suddenly speaking up: "What does it feel like to walk between dreams?"

Shadow of the Mind paused mid-step, the edges of her burial shroud cutting an arc through the darkness as she turned to answer earnestly: "There's nothing particularly special about it... If I had to describe it, dreams feel closer to death—dark and cold, where normal laws of time or space don't apply."

"Since you've experienced death before, you should understand, right?"

Elius nodded.

She wasn’t the true Ill Fate Witch and hadn’t died by the hands of the old gods, but she thought of the countless years her true self had spent dormant within the black goat—

In that state of absolute isolation, personal emotions and memories were so fragile that even the concepts of life and time would eventually erode, swallowed by terrifying silence.

Perhaps this was what death felt like?

Whether it was Elius' imagination or not, she noticed that upon receiving affirmation, Shadow of the Mind's entire posture relaxed considerably. The burial shroud rippled without any wind, dancing with unexpected lightness.

Faced with shared experiences, Shadow of the Mind seemed to gradually regard Elius as one of her own kind, even overcoming her innate aversion to social interaction to make an offer:

"If you don’t mind... would you like to experience walking through dreams yourself?"

Elius didn’t hesitate: "Yes."

For one, she found this gloomy figure hidden beneath layers of cloth far more intriguing than she had expected.

For another, this was a rare opportunity to get closer to all members of Longinus...

No one would know the identities, locations, and mental worlds of each member better than the Surveillance Division leader—not even their leader.

And so, amidst the boundless darkness of nightmares and countless bizarre dreams, two figures moved through the dream world one after the other.

The floating burial shroud ahead was eerie and sinister, like the fleeting hem of a ghost’s robe.

Meanwhile, the witch’s dark crimson hair streamed behind her like dark fire, briefly illuminating one dark dreamscape after another.

Shadow of the Mind was by nature quiet, so after a long silence, Elius was the first to speak:

"I’m curious—why do you work for Longinus? You don’t seem like the type to pursue their research."

"Because the leader saved me."

Shadow of the Mind answered calmly. "When I was first born, the Nightmare Church declared me a blasphemous spirit defiling the Pope’s corpse and hunted me without mercy... When I was backed into a corner, the leader helped me escape and taught me how to stay hidden from my enemies."

"I had nothing to offer in return. Fortunately, the leader is a good person. He said I could work for him to repay the debt."

"So I joined Longinus. Under his orders, I became the so-called 'Surveillance Division leader'... The job description sounds complicated, but I think it just means patrolling the members’ dreams all the time?"

Shadow of the Mind pondered slowly.

Elius: "..."

Wasn’t this just the leader swindling a high-tier laborer for free?

A being of Rank 7 like her would be hotly contested by powerful factions outside, all offering fortunes!

Elius hesitated, feeling as though she had just heard a tragic tale of *A Naive Amnesiac Country Bumpkin Tricked into Years of Exploitative Labor by a Capitalist*—especially since the "victim" in question was, strictly speaking, a newborn who had never received any education or guidance...

Just then, Shadow of the Mind halted and looked in a certain direction: "Ah, we’re here."

"The dream of a young painter under Eternal Canvas."

She led Elius into the dream, where the scene was an enlarged version of an office workspace. The oversized desks and chairs loomed oppressively.

Amid towering stacks of equally enlarged documents, the dreamer struggled to crawl out from under a sea of white papers before fleeing in panic.

Behind the painter, blank canvases and art supplies floated menacingly, pursuing her relentlessly.

"AAAAAHHHH!" the painter shrieked. "Stop chasing me with deadlines! I don’t want to work anymore!"

"Quit—I want to quit!"

Hearing the keyword the leader had drilled into her, Shadow of the Mind immediately grew serious.

She manifested before the painter, dispelling the chaotic art supplies, then lowered her cloth-wrapped head to ask: "Did you just say you wanted to quit?"

"Ah... yes."

Dreamers couldn’t lie—they could only voice their true thoughts.

So the painter looked up dazedly at the eerie figure before her and nodded.

Upon hearing the answer, Shadow of the Mind’s form grew taller, her voice turning cold as winter frost: "Let me confirm—you wish to betray Longinus, is that correct?"

"What else?"

The painter regained her wits, clutching her hair in frustration as her furious roar echoed through the dream, even causing the scenery to flicker and warp like a failing screen.

"This damn organization—I can’t take it anymore! Insurance? Overtime instead! Vacation? Just more meetings! Never a word about pay, but endless talk about sacrifice!"

"At the end of the day, what does the organization’s so-called ideals and ambitions have to do with us?!"

Shadow of the Mind recoiled at the outburst, her form shrinking back as her voice weakened: "O-oh... The leader would be angry if he heard this, wouldn’t he?"

"The leader... would execute...?"

The painter’s gaze grew distant as she lowered her head, muttering to herself: "Right, my thoughts can’t reach the leader or the others... I’ll die. I’ll die! I’ll be 'disposed of'!"

Elius watched Shadow of the Mind quietly, curious about what decision she would make next.

Shadow of the Mind seemed to recall her own experience with death, and with empathetic understanding, she understood the painter’s fear: "Fear is normal. Death is lonely... and painful."

"What should I do?" the painter asked desperately. "I have this feeling—the organization is in chaos. If I stay, I might end up sacrificed... And am I supposed to stay here forever?"

Those deep in dreams were prone to emotional swings. In the blink of an eye, hot tears rolled down the painter’s cheeks before escalating into uncontrollable sobbing, her tear-streaked face reflecting Shadow of the Mind’s grotesque and monstrous form.

"Don’t... don’t cry!"

The burial shroud shivered uneasily as Shadow of the Mind took a few nervous steps backward before hinting: "I could... not tell the leader about this. If you, uh... What do humans call it? 'Bribery'?"

She stretched upward until her head nearly brushed the ceiling, towering over the cowering human as she adopted her most menacing demonic whisper:

"Yes, bribe me!"

"Describe the world as the living feel it. Bribe me with living sensations, and you won’t die."

"..."

A moment later, Shadow of the Mind and Elius left the painter's dream.

Elius couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you going to report everything you observed to the leader?"

"Do I have to?" Shadow of the Mind seemed even more surprised than Elius. "Didn't the leader just ask me to monitor dreams?"

After a stunned pause, Elius suddenly laughed.

So, in Shadow of the Mind's understanding, holding the position of a supervisor meant nothing more than occupying the role? And "patrolling" simply meant glancing over things and moving on?

Thankfully, the leader had no power related to dreams—otherwise, if he found out about his supervisor's approach, he'd probably be furious enough to die on the spot.

Shadow of the Mind stared at Elius's reaction and realized, "So... that wasn't what I was supposed to do?"

She murmured with regret, "Your way of communicating is so complicated. Dreams and corpses—they never act like this."

Elius gradually understood. In Shadow of the Mind's world, dreams always revealed the truth without reservation. And as for corpses like her, they neither spoke, lied, nor concealed anything—let alone spoke in half-truths that required interpretation.

The leader was accustomed to conversing with "clever people" or "ambitious schemers."

But Shadow of the Mind was merely a consciousness not of this world born from death, dreams, and corpses.

She was like a blank slate, or a stone—unable to comprehend the unspoken rules established by intelligent life.

Having figured this out, Elius knew how to make Shadow of the Mind defect from Longinus.

With a subtle smile, Elius kindly asked, "Are you curious about the world of the living?"

"...Yes."

The sudden shift in topic made Shadow of the Mind pause for half a beat before nodding. "Truth Key researches death, but I'm only curious—what being 'alive' feels like?"

"Would it be warm? Would it be happy? Or would it be sad? I've witnessed countless dreamers weeping..."

Since her birth, death had always accompanied Shadow of the Mind. She had experienced it enough—so compared to death, living beings fascinated her far more.

Having long existed wrapped in funerary wrappings, "living" was a taste she had never savored.

Elius pondered. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to steal Shadow of the Mind away from Longinus.

"If you stay in Longinus forever, you'll never truly understand life—because this place itself scorns living things."

Elius gazed at her like an innocent child, patiently guiding her. "Have you ever thought about leaving here and going to a wider world?"

"But I promised the leader..."

Instead of bluntly pointing out that her role as supervisor was practically nonexistent, Elius posed a series of pointed questions:

"How long have you worked here? Do you have proper compensation and leave benefits? Did the leader ever clearly tell you the duration of your service? How long must you work to repay your debt?"

"Even I, who have only recently come to awareness, know a little about these conditions. Did the leader really never discuss them with you?"

Shadow of the Mind froze.

She suddenly realized she had never considered these things—because the concept of time was already vague to her!

"If I had to guess, the leader hasn't mentioned your debt in a long time, has he?" Elius said confidently. "Also, after Truth Key angered me, the leader immediately ordered you to monitor me... Perhaps in his eyes, you're no longer as 'valuable' as before. He just hasn't found a subordinate with similar abilities and rank to replace you—otherwise, he'd replace you without hesitation."

Elius even suspected that the Research Institute might have already been working on a replacement for Shadow of the Mind.

Among the higher-ups, Shadow of the Mind clearly held no actual influence. Her only advantage was her rank—though in Elius's memory, every enemy she'd faced had an extremely high rank. But in the wider world, beings who reached Rank 7 were vanishingly rare, and even fewer had abilities that exactly suited Longinus's needs.

Even if such powerful individuals existed, most were shrewd and cautious, choosing to join the church or other legitimate organizations. None would inexplicably get drawn into Longinus like Shadow of the Mind, working for years while remaining "obedient"...

Though this obedience was limited to the strictest literal sense.

"Anyway, all of this proves you've long since repaid your debt. You're free to go anywhere."

Shadow of the Mind nodded blankly. "Then... where should I go?"

"You could join us."

Elius gave a reserved nod. "I promise you won't have to worry about the Nightmare Church's pursuit anymore. You won't need to hide in the dream world—you'll be free to walk in the 'world of the living' you yearn for."

For the second time in her existence, Shadow of the Mind received an offer of employment. She grew serious. "May I ask... what is your organization called?"

Elius hesitated almost imperceptibly.

As the Ill Fate Witch, it probably wasn't appropriate to directly say "Fate Church," was it?

From the perspective of someone growing more skilled as a playwright, this character would need time and a series of developments to truly convert to the faith of Fate.

Besides, Elius recalled that her true self had indeed considered establishing a more flexible, controllable institution outside the official church system...

What should this organization that's just an empty shell be called?

As the leader's confident "Plague Project" echoed in her mind, Elius suddenly decided:

"The Decameron."

"The name comes from *The Decameron* by the human writer Boccaccio. In the book, a group of youths fled the plague spreading through the mortal world—while we resist the plagues and storms of the river of Fate."

Wiser from experience, Shadow of the Mind, though tempted, cautiously asked, "This time... will the job have a time limit, vacation, and wages?"

"Yes. Once you truly leave Longinus, we'll provide you with a clear contract. Whether you accept it, stay, or leave—it's all your choice."

Elius thought to herself, making someone work year-round was illegal...

No—*no one* should have to work year-round!

"Then I'll join," Shadow of the Mind released a frosty sigh, as if relieved. "Thank you for the invitation. You're truly kind."

Elius kept her polite smile in place, though she wasn't exactly thrilled.

She hadn't forgotten—the last "good person" in Shadow of the Mind's words had been the leader of Longinus!

Shadow of the Mind: "Is there anything I can do for the organization?"

"Let me think... First—"

Drawing the words out, a glimmer of mischief flashed in Elius's eyes. "You're quite skilled at crafting nightmares, aren't you?"

......

Hazy light and shadows swayed in his vision, like a drowning man gazing at the distant surface through rippling water.

Gradually, the colors sharpened, defining the shapes of the surroundings. His mind cleared, as though emerging from a foggy dream.

"Hah!" His blank eyes slowly sharpened. Researcher A bolted upright, gasping for air as he scanned his surroundings.

He found himself lying on a cold metal floor in a perfectly cubic room, each side measuring roughly seven to eight meters. It closely resembled the laboratories at their research institute, except it was completely empty, devoid of any complex experimental equipment.

Along the edges of the room, a recessed channel encircled the space, filled with clear water. However, its depths vanished into impenetrable darkness, making it impossible to discern its true depth.

Where was this place? How did he get here?

Researcher A struggled to recall. He had been in the lab earlier, comparing a set of data late into the night. Eventually, he took off his glasses, rubbed his tired eyes, and rested his head on the desk...

Then, the next thing he knew, he regained consciousness, and he was in this strange room.

What had happened in between? Who had brought him here?

Researcher A went on alert and attempted to contact the outside world using his communication device—to no avail.

He then tried paranormal means, but neither his bound Playground System nor invoking the Research Division Director's formal title yielded any response.

After a long silence, Researcher A was forced to conclude—he was sealed in this room with no way out.

With no hope of external aid, Researcher A turned to self-preservation. After inspecting the room, he eventually stopped at another corner.

There, in the corner, was another person.

The figure was tightly wrapped in a pure white straitjacket, with hands and feet bound by heavy-duty black leather restraints. Their face was also covered by fabric, leaving only a pair of confused, darting eyes exposed.

Researcher A was familiar with such straitjackets. The lab often used humans or sentient humanoids as test subjects, and to ensure control, these custom-engineered straitjackets were employed.

Beyond restricting movement, these garments had been imbued with paranormal energy to suppress Abilities, rendering the wearer incapable of resistance, motion, or speech—denied even basic bodily autonomy. Survival depended entirely on specialized facilities like intravenous feeding.

When he first joined, Researcher A had felt visceral revulsion at the plight of his fellow beings.

But after personally processing batch after batch of straitjacketed individuals, dissecting body after body to observe internal organ changes, and analyzing reams upon reams of experimental data...

Over time, he grew accustomed to it. Life seemed to be reduced to mere trivial numbers.

And it wasn’t just him—all the researchers were the same.

Once they grew accustomed to treating test subjects as expendable materials, they even took to calling them "human livestock," no different from lab mice.

Researcher A cautiously observed the straitjacketed figure for a while, confirming their total immobilization. He let out a sigh of relief.

—This meant, for now at least, the specimen presented no danger to him.

In an unfamiliar, unknown space, this was undoubtedly good news.

Researcher A approached the only metal door on the opposite wall. It was flush-mounted into the structure, with no visible keypad, fingerprint scanner, lock, or handle—apparently, it could only be opened by some external activation protocol.

He knocked on the door, but the metal remained unmoved. The metallic banging reverberated through the room.

"Welcome to the Witch’s Box."

As he pondered, a woman’s mirthful voice echoed from above, prompting Researcher A to instinctively look up for its source.

But the room’s six surfaces showed no gaps, nor any sign of a broadcast system—truly isolated from the outside world.

Only the voice itself, as if projected directly into their skulls, cut through with unnatural precision.

"To leave this place, you must play a game with me—"

"With each room you advance through, you must relinquish something. The door to freedom will only open once the required offering is made."

The game sounded suspiciously like a devil's bargain.

Researcher A could easily imagine that leaving might require forfeiting flesh—or even one’s soul.

Parsing the mysterious voice’s words, Researcher A’s azure eyes gleamed with realization. He tentatively asked, "But my companion seems incapable of moving or speaking?"

"That is a matter between the two of you."

The voice replied, "You may choose to free him and decide together, or maintain the status quo, with you assuming unilateral authority... The rules impose no restrictions here."

Researcher A let a predatory grin spread.

That meant, no matter how harsh the door’s demands were, he could offload the cost onto his "companion," preserving himself as much as possible.

After all, it was just human chattel, he thought indifferently.

"Mmph—mmph mmph!"

The figure in the corner, who had been silent, suddenly began convulsing weakly against his restraints—though their movements remained feeble.

Tilting their head up in terror, their panicked cerulean eyes blinked rapidly as he frantically tossed his head, as if trying to signal something to Researcher A.

Researcher A ignored them. He even kicked the figure, snarling at it to stay quiet and not disrupt his thoughts.

Then, the voice outside the wall slowly announced to Researcher A:

"The first door demands—"

"Either a random day of your memories... or your companion's pinky finger."