This is a bizarre rule, isn't it? It's supposed to grant me many children and good fortune

The cover of the manual was covered in dust, but the inner pages were well preserved, with neat but old handwriting.

Evelyn turned to a page, pointed to a line, and looked up at the crowd.

"This is the maintenance manual. Each piece of armor has its serial number, name, and maintenance schedule recorded in detail."

The seven names corresponded perfectly to the ones August had read aloud.

Evelyn closed the booklet and dusted off the cover:

"August is right, there is indeed a second solution."

Lin Feng continued, "The fourth rule is that the object must not be left unattended during transport, nor can it be returned to its original position."

"If you let go halfway through, or put it back in its original place, the ceremony will be interrupted."

"No one knows, and no one wants to know, the consequences of the interruption."

Park Tae-rang's expression turned chillingly thoughtful: "Then... what if the armor suddenly moves halfway through the move, or suddenly becomes incredibly heavy?"

"What else can we do?" Lin Feng said calmly. "We'll all work together and lend a hand."

"The rules only say that you can't let go of your hands or put them back in their place, but they don't say that multiple people can't work together to move them."

Everyone nodded slightly, feeling a little more at ease.

"Fifth rule: When leaving the West Wing, if you hear footsteps behind you, do not turn around, do not run, and do not stop until you have left the West Wing."

Marcus, the Black man in room 304, scratched his head:

"This feels like a freebie, doesn't it? Just don't look back, it's that simple."

Mark scoffed; he knew there was another person in the room who was even simpler-minded than himself.

Lin Feng shook his head: "Given away for free? Quite the opposite, this one is the most insidious."

"If the footsteps get closer and closer, so close that you can feel their breath—your legs will run on their own, instinct will defy the rules."

"This rule doesn't test whether you're obedient or not, it tests whether you're afraid or not."

Marcus's mouth hung open; his earlier nonchalance had long since vanished, replaced by a sense of utter submission after being thoroughly humiliated.

"...The boss is indeed a boss."

Lin Feng clapped his hands, decisively saying, "Let's get to work now. First, let's clean all seven suits of armor, then move them over one by one."

As soon as he finished speaking, Evelyn's fingers gently pressed against his forearm.

Lin Feng turned his head away.

Evelyn didn't say anything, but simply opened the maintenance manual, turned to a certain page, turned the manual around, and pushed it in front of him.

There was a passage of writing on the page, the ink of which was darker than the rest, as if the writer had used extra force when putting pen to paper.

These seven bodies must never be moved.

The things it suppresses are unnameable, indescribable, and cannot be released.

Lin Feng's pupils contracted slightly.

August had somehow gotten closer, adjusted his glasses, glanced down at the line of text, and his eyes were serious.

Wasim glanced at it too. He frowned, looked at Lin Feng, then at the manual, and asked directly:

So, should we move or not?

There was a two-second silence in the hall.

Lin Feng closed the handbook and handed it back to Evelyn without hesitation:

"Move it, finish the task first."

He glanced around at everyone and lowered his voice:

"If I'm not mistaken, this task of moving the armor was personally authorized by Victor, the owner of the castle."

"We've only been here for two days; we can't risk arousing his suspicion so soon."

August adjusted his glasses and nodded:

"Agreed. On the castle owner's territory, obedience is more important than cleverness for now."

The thirty people were divided into seven groups, each group responsible for wiping one set of armor.

Lin Feng, Evelyn, Vassim, and Tasia formed a group and were responsible for the first body—Windix.

August, Park Tae-rang, and Hisana Kazuko, along with two Black men, were in charge of the second body.

The other five groups quickly separated and dispersed, heading towards their respective assigned armor.

Lin Feng picked up the cotton cloth Evelyn had found, dipped it in water, and started wiping from the top edge of the breastplate.

The armor's surface was rougher than expected; the dark silver oxide layer resembled a thin scab, and when a cotton cloth was rubbed against it, it brought down a wisp of fine powder.

Evelyn stood on the other side, wiping her shoulder armor.

She moved very gently and carefully, using the corner of a cloth to pry open each nail seam and turn it around.

Vassim and Tasia stood to the left and right, one wiping his leg armor and the other his back armor. Neither of them spoke, and the only sound in the hall was the rustling of cotton cloth scraping against metal.

Lin Feng's group is progressing very smoothly.

Wendix's visor remained lowered, and behind the peephole was complete darkness; there was nothing unusual.

Twenty minutes later, the thick layer of dust and rust on the surface of the armor was completely cleaned away, revealing its original subdued dark silver metallic base color.

The wiping work is nearing completion; only a few final details and gaps remain before it's finished.

Just then, a short, abrupt scream came from the other end of the hall.

Everyone stopped.

Lin Feng turned his head sharply—the voice came from the fourth group.

At this moment, Singh, the chosen one from India, was standing in front of the armor, less than half a step away from it.

His right hand was still holding the cotton cloth, suspended in mid-air, and his whole body was frozen—as if someone had pressed pause.

His eyes were wide open, but not because the rules required him to "open his eyes wide".

It's because of fear.

The visor is opening, as if slowly pushed open from the inside by an unseen hand, revealing what lies beneath—

There is a pair of eyes inside.

Blood red.

No eye sockets, no eyelids, no structure whatsoever that an eyeball should have—

They were two pure, thick red blotches, like two bloody marks dug out from behind a wall with fingernails, embedded in the darkness inside the helmet.

Those eyes are moving.

Looking at Singh.

Singh's lips moved incessantly, but he couldn't utter a single sound.

The pupils suddenly contracted, and the muscles around the eyes spasmed violently and uncontrollably.

The brain is torn between "wanting to see clearly" and "wanting to close its eyes," eventually losing complete control.

His eyes closed.

Just this one moment.

The other three members of the fourth group didn't even have time to exclaim.

"Jie—"

A sinister laugh emerged from the darkness behind the mask.

The laughter was dry and harsh, like fingernails scraping against the inside of a coffin, drilling into everyone's eardrums, and scraping all the way down to the top of their heads.

Then, beneath those eyes, the darkness cracked open.

One mouth.

There were no lips, no teeth outline, only a deeper black line, slowly opening, like the abyss itself grinning.

An irresistible suction force suddenly erupted from that mouth!

Singh's body suddenly stiffened, his feet leaving the ground, as if he were being lifted up by the back of his collar by an invisible giant hand.

His skin was visibly sunken and withered, and he tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The water, blood, and life force in his body are being frantically and greedily drained away by that mouth.

Just two seconds.

A burly man, standing at 1.8 meters tall, deflated like a punctured water bag, his skin and flesh clinging tightly to his bones, shrinking into a skeleton covered only in skin.

"Click."

Suction suddenly stopped.

The shriveled corpse fell straight backward with a dull, dry thud—like a bundle of dry firewood hitting the ground.

The mask closed up on its own.

A soft "click".

The crimson blood behind the sieves slowly faded, as if nothing had ever happened...