Chapter 5: Transition Dungeon – The War of the Nobles

Chapter 5 Transition Instance - War of the Nobles

The bulky locomotive sliced through the dense fog, its antiquated steam engine resembling something from the distant 19th century. Like a ghostly black shadow, it silently pulled up beside the station.

Two players had already been waiting at the station for some time.

A curly-haired woman with an air of aristocratic boredom held a cigarette between her fingers, taking lazy puffs as she studied the man standing a few meters away with an intense gaze. Her eyes lingered on the high-tech smartwatch strapped to his wrist. "An official Ability user? You got here fast."

"Well, the commotion on the forums was hard to ignore. Aren’t all corporate drones the same? When the boss gives an order, what else can you do but work overtime?"

Wen Sheng kept one hand in the pocket of his white coat while the other rubbed the short stubble on his chin, said with a friendly smile. "Don’t worry, my mission is just to investigate the train—though if I can resolve this dungeon along the way, even better. We want the same thing."

He paused, then turned his gaze toward the depths of the mist.

The rolling fog obscured vision, making the faint footsteps louder.

"Tap, tap…" The unhurried steps grew closer, and the figure gradually came into view.

It was a tall, slender young man with slightly curly black hair and a pale complexion that suggested he rarely saw the sun. His features suggesting mixed heritage were accentuated by deep-set, ocean-blue eyes.

He walked leisurely, as if strolling through his own garden, eyes glued to his phone screen like any phone-addicted pedestrian—perhaps chatting with someone.

But the more casual he appeared, the more it made others hesitant to underestimate him.

Wen Sheng watched the newcomer closely, his guard instinctively rising.

Yi Fengchu’s real body was safely hidden elsewhere; the young man before them was a projected duplicate "replicated" by his phone through mysterious means.

Unfortunately, the phone couldn’t yet create a convincing long-distance duplicate, so Yi Fengchu still had to personally move to a nearby, secure location to remain undetected.

Yi Fengchu walked slowly, gradually adjusting to this new body, stopping ten paces away—the unspoken safe distance among players—and gave a lazy nod at the two, casually introducing his alias: "Chu Fu."

"Wen Sheng."

The curly-haired woman pushed a curl behind her ear and gave a cool nod. "Zuo Yi."

The train doors creaked open, revealing a bloated, corpse-pale ticket inspector standing ominously in the doorway. "Tickets, please."

A flash of crimson nails flickered through the air as Zuo Yi magically produced a yellowed ticket stub from thin air, handing it over before either man could react.

"An expired ticket…" The inspector’s lips curled into an exaggerated, unsettling grin, radiating malice. "Proceed, madam. Lower-class carriage, bunk B042."

He then took Wen Sheng’s ticket, croaked in the same rough voice, "Lower-class carriage, bunk B043."

When it was Yi Fengchu’s turn, the inspector suddenly froze like a glitching machine, shuddering violently—enough to make one worry his half-dislodged eyeballs might fall out.

After accepting Yi Fengchu’s ticket, the inspector smoothly bowed, his voice full of fawning respect. "Welcome, honored guest. Serving you is my privilege. Your room is in the first-class carriage, suite A006. If you wish, I would be honored to escort you. Have a pleasant journey."

Zuo Yi and Wen Sheng, still lingering outside, fell into silent shock.

How could the treatment differ so drastically for the same type of ticket stub? This guy looked frail—who was he really?

Instantly, their gazes toward Yi Fengchu shifted.

Yi Fengchu stayed calm, nodding politely. "Thank you, but I can manage on my own."

He had visited real-world dungeons a few times before. The creatures inside either fled in terror or prostrated themselves under his phone’s influence—he was used to it.

It was only the sharp contrast with ordinary players that made the effect so… explosive.

All three boarded the train, but instead of heading to their respective carriages, they lingered, sharing silent looks as tension built in the air.

Wen Sheng broke the silence first, studying Yi Fengchu carefully. "I assume you’re no longer just a player?"

Since recordkeepers rarely appeared in dungeons and judges were too detached from reality, Zuo Yi hazarded a guess: "An Inquisitor?"

Yi Fengchu hadn’t yet worked out this cover identity’s backstory, so he merely responded with an enigmatic smile—leaving them to their own speculations.

Before parting, he suddenly looked up from his phone and said, "One piece of advice: Don’t let first impressions limit you."

Wen Sheng frowned, about to press further, but the man had already waved him off and melted into the shadows.

Passing through the first-class carriage, Yi Fengchu noticed how completely different it was from the lower-class sections. The air carried a faint floral fragrance, and thick red carpets lined the floor.

The passengers dining by the windows were dressed in finery, their tables laden with lavish dishes and desserts. Crystal glasses refracted dazzling light under the chandeliers.

Were these the "nobles" referenced in the dungeon’s name?

Had his phone not warned him earlier, he might’ve taken it at face value. But now, as he studied them, an unsettling dissonance crept in.

Their eyes were lifeless, their expressions numb with a deathly stillness—as if they were savoring their final meal.

Despite their elegant attire, they didn’t carry themselves like privileged aristocrats but rather like broken people too broken to resist life’s cruelty.

Even more jarring were their hands. Despite the layers of lace sleeves, Yi Fengchu could see the weather-beaten hands, the creases from hardship, the sun-scorched marks.

Deep in thought, he quietly closed the door and proceeded to his first-class suite.

"Tell me," Yi Fengchu sprawled on the sofa, suddenly tapping the wall, "is there anyone next door?"

After a pause, the phone replied, "Yes. Only the lower and first-class carriages are part of the dungeon, isolated from the rest of the train. Even if the dungeon explodes, the other sections will operate unaffected."

"The remaining carriages serve real passengers. Didn’t you notice most compartments in second-class were locked from the inside? Those are genuine ticket-holders."

Yi Fengchu fell silent, then caught the inconsistency. "But if this became a dungeon, doesn’t that mean an incident happened here? Who’d dare ride such a train?"

"Only humans worry about such things. This is the sole train connecting reality to the Shadow Realm. Beings from the shadows rely on it to traverse worlds."

"In the occult, there’s a saying—the Shadow Realm exists not in any physical world, but within the closed eyes of the great Goddess of Misfortune, the Mother of Shadows. Unless granted her permit, all beings—living or otherwise—can only cross via this train…"

"This train’s history runs deeper than you think," the phone said meaningfully.

Ah, so it was a monopoly. No wonder the train could stay in business no matter how shoddy it was.

Yi Fengchu understood now.

After a beat, the phone suddenly warned him: *That Ability Management Bureau agent also experienced your gaze earlier. You’d best avoid revealing any unusual abilities in front of him—lest he connects you to the ‘Narrator’ identity.*

"But if I live in this world, completely avoiding them is impossible," Yi Fengchu mused, resting his chin on interlaced fingers. "So far, all my displayed abilities come from you. They’ll eventually notice the pattern."

*What’s your plan, then? Let them uncover that the ‘Narrator’ is just a fabricated myth? Let them find your true identity and control or suppress you?* the phone mocked.

Yi Fengchu, long accustomed to its sarcasm, replied leisurely, "If they love investigating… let them."

He chuckled softly. "Clever types like them trust their own deductions blindly. Give them a nudge in the wrong direction, and they’ll stubbornly chase false leads."

"Now I know how to flesh out ‘Chu Fu’s’ backstory."

Yi Fengchu lifted his gaze, his blue eyes glinting eerily under the light. Yet the phone seemed to see past them—to the true Yi Fengchu’s dark, bottomless eyes, cold and gleaming like obsidian. "If I can’t avoid the ‘Narrator’ connection… then I won’t."

"Let them know from the very beginning, clearly and unmistakably, that this identity's Ability comes from whom, hence the strikingly similar traits."

...

As soon as Zuo Yi stepped into the carriage, she frowned.

"What's wrong?" Wen Sheng looked at her.

The passengers in the third-class seats were curled up in their seats, drowsy, each allotted only a very cramped space. In the corner, a few unkempt figures were holding children and sobbing quietly, while others nearby impatiently puffed on cheap cigarettes.

The moment Zuo Yi and Wen Sheng entered the carriage, they attracted many furtive glances. Those resting with hats over their faces peered out from under their hat brims.

Feeling the stares, Zuo Yi didn’t answer Wen Sheng’s earlier question. Instead, she flicked the ash off her cigarette, deliberately raised her voice, and cursed angrily, "Damn it, how dare you betray me? Don’t even think about showing your face in front of me again today! Who’d fall for your pretty lies?"

With that, she slammed the door shut. The rickety door bounced violently from the force, nearly hitting Wen Sheng’s nose.

Wen Sheng stood frozen in confusion in front of the door but quickly realized Zuo Yi was helping him find a believable pretext to linger in the carriage, allowing him to blend in with the other passengers and gather information through casual conversation.

After all, no matter the era or culture, marital spats were always a topic people loved to gossip about.

Understanding this, Wen Sheng’s face played through a range of expressions: surprise, panic, and anger, before settling on a look of humiliation and resignation. He paced anxiously in front of the door before finally sitting down in a seat.

"Had a fight with your wife?" someone nearby asked curiously. Soon, Wen Sheng was engaged in conversation, hoping to extract background details about the instance's backstory.

Fortunately, the man was talkative, so Wen Sheng didn’t have to work too hard to learn much. Unfortunately, the man was *too* talkative, and Wen Sheng nearly drowned in a sea of irrelevant chatter.

"You asked if anything big has happened recently?" The passenger, though dressed in threadbare clothes, spoke eloquently. After a moment’s thought, he smiled. "Well, there is one thing—everyone in town knows about it."

Sensing he’d touched upon a key element of the instance’s background, Wen Sheng pressed further, "What is it? Sorry, I’m from a very distant country and don’t know much about these things."

"Ah, a foreigner. I can tell."

The man squinted at Wen Sheng. Given his distinctly non-European features, he didn’t doubt the claim. A glint of shrewdness flickered in his eyes. "In our country of Irland, political power has always been contested by parties backed by various religious factions, with terms lasting twenty-two years. This year marks another election, and the victorious Lunar Faction has banished all the aristocrats of their greatest rival, the Solar Faction, from the capital."

Mentioning this, the man couldn’t help but grumble bitterly, "But the ignorant Lunar Faction doesn’t understand—‘sunlight’ can never be extinguished... No matter how many times, the sun will always rise and illuminate all things."

It seemed this was a system where secular power and divine authority were tightly intertwined. Wen Sheng wasn’t surprised—such arrangements weren’t uncommon in worlds where gods walk. Even if the mysterious beings themselves had no interest in mortal wealth and glory, their mortal devotees would offer everything to them.

The passenger before Wen Sheng appeared to be a staunch supporter of the Solar Faction, seething with resentment and hostility toward the Lunar Faction.

After chatting a while longer, Wen Sheng asked, "I’d like to learn more about your country, but I don’t want to trouble you further. Are there any newspapers or similar publications available here?"

"There are some near the first-class compartment. But if you go to take one, make sure you don’t get caught by the conductors—they *hate* light-fingered riffraff." Though the passenger’s words sounded like a friendly warning, his eyes twinkled with malicious glee, as if anticipating a spectacle.

After bidding him farewell, Wen Sheng left the carriage but remained cautious. He deliberately lingered before slowly heading toward the first-class compartment, stopping at a corner.

Two conductors were searching near the carriage door.

"Check again—is anyone hiding over there? We can’t let those slum-dwelling vermin taint the newspapers!"

"Nothing... The papers don’t seem disturbed. We’ve waited so long without seeing anyone—that good-for-nothing thief probably isn’t coming."

"No, I’ll go check if anyone’s approaching from that side!"

One conductor strode toward Wen Sheng’s direction. He turned into the dim corridor but found it empty and had to leave disappointed.

By then, Wen Sheng had already blinked back to his room.

*Got you, didn't I?* He had an Ability—spatial manipulation.

Wen Sheng pondered. The two conductors had clearly been tipped off, waiting in advance to search the area. It was hard not to suspect the man who’d urged him to steal the newspaper.

*As expected of instance mobs—whether conductors or passengers, they’re all working hand in glove when it comes to screwing over players.*

But judging by the conductors’ attitude, lower-class passengers were seen as less than human, not even regarded as equals...

*Then how did that man contact the conductors so quickly? Why would the conductors, who look down on the ‘rabble,’ heed their words and rush to inspect the moment they heard someone might steal a newspaper?*

The more Wen Sheng thought about it, the more something felt off.

Unable to figure it out, he rubbed the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes and lay down on the hard wooden bed for a brief rest.

When he heard Zuo Yi’s door open next door, he went out as agreed, under the carriage’s prying eyes, and knocked on her door.

"Dar—" Wen Sheng awkwardly paused before calling out, "Darling, are you still angry?"

Silence from inside. Wen Sheng steeled himself and continued the act, adopting a pleading tone. "I can explain—can you let me in first? I’ll make amends, whatever you want..."

Just as whispers and whistles began to rise in the carriage, the door suddenly opened a crack just wide enough for one person. A hand yanked Wen Sheng inside before the door slammed shut again.

Inside, there was no crying, arguing, or fisticuffs as others might have imagined. The two sat facing each other, both calm and composed.

Zuo Yi laid out her discoveries. "The moment I entered the carriage, something didn't add up—it was *too* clean. With so many people crammed together, there wasn’t even the smell of days-old body odor, which doesn’t match these passengers’ identities."

"I slipped into the conductor’s office and found a wire. It instructed the conductor to tamper with the first-class carriage—to disconnect its coupling when the train rounds the mountain curve, sending it careening off the cliff."

"The following carriages would jackknife from the whiplash and crash into the snow, but the passengers would be prepared in advance, so loss of life would be slight."

Zuo Yi laid it out plainly. In return, Wen Sheng didn’t hide what he’d learned either, recounting his experiences in detail.

"So the conductors treat the poor so horribly, yet the wire tells them to spare the lower-class passengers and send the so-called nobles to their deaths?"

Zuo Yi snorted derisively. "*Don’t let first impressions fool you*... I think I understand now. Without the hint, it’d be easy to be taken in by it."

Wen Sheng connected the dots and continued her line of thought. "No wonder this scenario is only Class C. The answer is simple—the lower-class and upper-class passengers *switched identities*."

"Given the story of the faction struggle, being expelled from the capital couldn’t have been the Solar nobles’ final fate. Their enemies wanted them dead—exile was just the beginning."

"Those temporarily fallen aristocracy couldn’t have been oblivious. So they came up with the idea of swapping identities with the poor, using the paupers as sacrificial lambs. And to thoroughly reassure their watchful enemies, the Solar Faction planned to orchestrate the subsequent ‘train accident,’ ensuring no survivors from the first-class carriage... Choosing to plummet into the abyss was likely to obscure the victims’ true identities."

Zuo Yi smiled nonchalantly. "I suspect the real nobles in the lower-class carriage will soon start planting ideas in your head, trying to provoke you into causing trouble in the first-class carriage. The more chaotic things get, the better for them."

As she spoke, her nicotine cravings resurfaced. She pulled out a cigarette and toyed with it but didn’t light it in front of Wen Sheng.

Zuo Yi’s prediction was correct.

The next day, while chatting with others in the dining car, Wen Sheng found several people subtly—and not-so-subtly—badmouthing the first-class nobles, egging him on to "show them their place."

Just as he was about to refuse, the system unexpectedly pinged with a new task.

The system had, at this critical moment, issued a *"Kill the Nobles"* mission. Unaware players would likely assume these instigators were harmless NPCs meant to trigger the quest.

Cursing the scenario internally, Wen Sheng kept a straight face and agreed enthusiastically, smiling as he grabbed their hands. "Sure, why wait? Let’s go stir up some trouble today, *together*?"

He emphasized the word *"together."*

The instigators, caught off guard, exchanged bewildered glances: "...???"