Chapter 6: Stitching Together the Shattered Fragments

Chapter 6: Stitching Together Shattered Fragments

The landscape whizzed past the window, with unbroken ranges of snow-capped peaks stretching on either side. As the preordained moment of "train derailment" drew nearer, the nobles finally panicked.

Heading to the first-class carriage now was no different from walking to their deaths.

"N-now hold on! We were just making conversation—who would actually go looking for those esteemed lords? Don’t take it seriously!"

Several NPCs thrashed wildly, trying to grab onto something to steady themselves, but Wen Sheng and Zuo Yi manhandled them from either side, forcing them forward like prisoners.

Wen Sheng didn’t even lift his eyelids, his hand pressing down on an NPC’s shoulder as unshakable as bedrock. "Sorry, but I’m the type who has a literal mind."

Zuo Yi, who usually carried an air of perpetual nonchalance, now shed her languid demeanor. Her gaze was razor-edged, a cigarette dangling from her lips, and her high boots stomped with gangland authority.

She tilted her head, studying the growing more panicked by the second nobles for a moment before scoffing. "Scared, aren’t you? You condemned them to that train for eternity, but their resentment trapped you here, unable to escape, repeating this cycle over and over. But soon, all this vicious cycle will end."

"—Guess how much they hate you, after dying countless times at that cliff?"

As soon as she finished speaking, the nobles—who had still looked human moments ago, with normal breathing and heartbeats—began to rot. Flesh barely clinging to their bones peeled off in chunks, and they let out ear-splitting, guttural shrieks: "Aaaah—Conductor! Ticket inspector!"

"We paid you, so much money! You promised we’d live—come kill these insolent peasants!"

"These nobles really have no fight in them," Wen Sheng remarked, unsurprised. "No wonder they went to such lengths to lure players to their deaths instead of acting themselves."

From the staff break room nearby came the blood-curdling scrape of nails at the door, as if something was hauling its dead weight up from the ground. Nails scraped against the wood before the door swung open.

The conductors emerged in the form of shambling undead, their movements sluggish. They grinned at the nobles—a rictus grin tinged with sycophancy.

Their withered, hollow throats seemed connected to damp underground caverns, every exhale carrying a grave-chilled, cloying exhalation. "Of course, honored guests. Serving you is our privilege."

Zuo Yi took a long drag from her cigarette before pulling it out and casually jamming the lit end into an eye socket of an NPC trying to flee. The searing pain of the embers made the man howl like a gutted animal.

Just as another conductor swung down with three-inch claws, Zuo Yi seamlessly used the NPC—still clutching his eye—as a human shield, kicking him into the path of the attack.

Unexpectedly, though the conductor had time to stop, it struck without hesitation. Its claws punched clean through the skull of the very "guest" it had just been fawning over.

The NPC let out one last dying gurgle: "Why... you people... were born to serve us..."

After a brief moment of surprise, dawning comprehension lit in Zuo Yi’s eyes.

These conductors, too, had been doomed to haunt this train forever because of the nobles’ scheme, never reaching their destination.

Did they truly harbor no resentment toward the masterminds behind it all?

More likely, the rules of the dungeon forced them to keep up the charade—until the mask was torn away.

Wen Sheng blinked in and out between creatures, using his Ability to teleport behind them and stab with his knife, his movements so fast they left motion blur. Zuo Yi shot him a glance. "Why not just move the knife directly into their heads?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Only packed the one blade this time. The condition for my Ability is 'contact.'"

In other words, he could deliver a strike—but not retrieve the blade.

"Next time, strap on an arsenal before heading out."

Perhaps amused by his straightforward answer, Zuo Yi’s lips curled slightly, her tone uncharacteristically light.

Through the slaughter, the two fought their way to the carriage door—only to see the chain connecting the two carriages gradually fading from existence, like ice melting in sunlight.

With a shriek of tearing steel, the carriages abruptly separated, the gap between them widening rapidly.

"Impossible," Zuo Yi muttered, dumbfounded. "We stopped their plan..."

Halfway through her sentence, the terrible truth hit her. Her expression darkened as she fell silent.

—It was the loop.

Everything on this train was repeating the past.

So even though no one had tampered with the chain this time, it still disappeared at the designated moment.

No wonder a mere C-rank dungeon had remained unconquered for so long, with no one achieving a perfect clear... Because the method to truly end it theoretically didn’t exist!

Unless—unless they could go back years, to when this tragedy first unfolded, and alter fate’s course.

"Changing the past from the present... How is that even possible?"

Zuo Yi stared ahead, her face grim as she scoured her mind for solutions—only to find nothing.

—Such power, to reverse the flow of time itself... How could mere players possess it?

Wen Sheng’s first instinct was to seize Zuo Yi’s arm, ready to teleport at any moment. The bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes made him look weary as he sighed. "Seems this dungeon is out of our league."

The only thing they could do now was survive and escape.

At least Wen Sheng could report the dungeon’s details to the Anomalous Affairs Bureau—that was something.

Just as the atmosphere grew stifling, the door of the opposite carriage suddenly opened.

A raven-haired with piercing blue eyes young man stood leisurely behind it. He knelt on one knee, phantom links coalescing in his outstretched palm.

The chain floated between the two carriages, suturing them tightly together—shifting from illusion to reality, like a scene reversed from the chain’s earlier disappearance.

Almost instantly, the train careened around a treacherous curve. But this time, no carriage was flung off the cliff. No one paid the price for the self-styled "elite."

"Hurry over," Yi Fengchu said, glancing at them.

Shaken from their stupor, the two reacted immediately.

Wen Sheng touched Zuo Yi’s sleeve, teleporting them to Chu Fu’s side. His expression was complicated as he offered a genuine nod of gratitude.

"You... are you a Constructor?" Zuo Yi asked in disbelief, her voice hushed, like she’d witnessed hell freeze over.

In the Gods’ Playground, Constructors stood at the very top of the player hierarchy. Most operated under the arrangement or tacit approval of deities, and their Abilities had strict requirements—whether tangible or not, they could, at least superficially, create something from nothing.

Thus, Constructors were exceedingly rare—so rare that most considered them legends.

Unlike players struggling through dungeons, or the dutiful Recorders and Inquisitors serving the gods, Constructors were the ones who created dungeons.

It was said that every Constructor possessed the power to build an entire city single-handedly—a strength that, to most, was no different from that of a god.

As an official Ability user, Wen Sheng considered things from a different angle.

Based on existing intel, their world hadn’t been part of the Playground for long. Even Inquisitors were uncommon, so this Mr. Chu Fu was likely from another world...

If so, what was his purpose here?

Was there a god’s will behind his appearance?

After a day and night of preparation, Yi Fengchu had come fully prepared this time—not only with a well-crafted persona but already fully immersed in his role.

At this very moment, he was immersed in the fabricated lie, a morbid excitement surging through his veins—making everyone utterly believe he was someone else, wasn’t this also a kind of masterfully executed prank?

Amid this indescribable thrill, Yi Fengchu nearly deceived even himself. The fabricated past whispered like the wind before his eyes, unfolding the life of "Chu Fu" as if it were real:

As if he had truly once been a devoted disciple and chosen one of a mysterious deity, possessing formidable abilities and a complex history, only to eventually turn away from that god for some reason, abandoning divine protection...

"Constructor... It’s been a long time since anyone called me that."

Faced with Zuo Yi’s question, a flicker of nostalgia passed through Chu Fu’s eyes. His blue eyes, unfocused, drifted into the distance as if beholding a faraway past: "But that’s all in the past now. No need to bring it up."

"Right now, I’m just an ordinary player," he paused, then held up two fingers for emphasis, "with just a Level 2 Ability."

Wen Sheng felt there was too much nonsense to even comment on, so he chose silence instead.

After witnessing Chu Fu’s earlier display, who would believe such nonsense?

Since when was this considered "ordinary"?

While the group chatted, the speeding train had already arrived at its terminal station.

"The end... We’ve reached the end..."

In the first-class carriage, the NPCs—previously frozen like mannequins, their expressions blank—suddenly stirred to life. The compartment broke into commotion.

Some pressed their faces against the windows, staring hungrily at the station outside, while others, like ordinary passengers in reality, grabbed their luggage and eagerly crowded toward the doors.

The moment the train doors opened, they surged out in a frenzy. Though they melted away like snow the moment they stepped beyond the threshold, fading into transparency until they vanished, every face bore an expression of utter joy. Their empty eyes seemed to gradually fill with a faint glow.

How could they not feel happiness?

This was the destination they had never reached, no matter how many times they had lived and died.

"I’ve always liked a saying from human artists: 'Tragedy is the destroying of something beautiful for others to see.' But the reverse holds true as well. I, too, enjoy piecing together broken fragments, weaving them into an unexpectedly perfect ending."

Chu Fu mused, his voice suddenly dropping to a near-inaudible whisper: "...I will prove it, in the end. He was wrong. The play He scripted for fate was absolutely terrible."

His words scattered in the wind. Had Wen Sheng not been standing close, he likely wouldn’t have caught that murmur.

After much hesitation, Wen Sheng ultimately chose intel over politeness, working up the nerve to ask: "Excuse me... What did you mean by 'the play scripted for fate'?"

When Chu Fu turned to him, he immediately backed down: "Apologies—if you find the question intrusive, please ignore me..."

Chu Fu gave him a long look before looking away, sighing as he gazed at the snowy plains outside the window: "I would have thought His reputation among players like you would be well-known. Just look at the myths across civilizations—deities who control fate, who know the past and future, have always been revered and feared, no?"

Fate... the future...

A sudden realization flashed in Wen Sheng’s mind: "The fate of all beings... the Narrator...?"

Before he could finish, Chu Fu gave him a sharp look, his eyes brimming with warning: "Speaking His name—are you trying to draw His attention?"

Perhaps angered by Wen Sheng’s recklessness, Chu Fu—who had been relatively amiable until now—looked suddenly disinterested. Without even bidding farewell to the other two, he turned and strode swiftly out of the train doors, leaving the instance.

Seeing Chu Fu depart, Zuo Yi had no desire to linger either. She pulled a cigarette from her case and moved to light it.

Passing Wen Sheng, she nodded briefly out of courtesy for their temporary alliance: "See you around." Then, she vanished without a trace.

Wen Sheng was the last to leave the instance, his steps heavy.

Time to file another report...

And just what was that god who controlled fate plotting?