A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

"If you see this letter, it means new servants have arrived. I am Lin Yuan from the ninth batch. Su Wan and I are the only ones who survived to the seventh day. But we couldn't leave—the manor owner won't let anyone go. He gave us a 'gift'—to merge with the manor. Su Wan accepted. I refused and was locked in this study. I hid the second key in the drawer, hoping someone else would find it. Behind the iron gate is the true master of the manor. It's not a ghost, but more dangerous than a ghost. The third lock needs to be opened with blood, but once it's opened, you either kill it or take its place. There is no third option."

At the end of the letter was a simple symbol, like some kind of mark.

Zhou Lang stared at the symbol for a few seconds, then took out the management manual from his pocket and flipped to the last page—the same symbol.

"Lin Yuan is not dead," Zhou Lang said.

"What?"

"He said Su Wan had merged, and he refused to be locked in the study. But he didn't say he was dead." Zhou Lang tapped the desk. "Moreover, the state of this letter suggests it was kept for at most two or three batches of servants. If it was written by the ninth batch, and now it's the eighteenth, with nine batches in between—assuming each batch takes thirty days—this letter has been kept for at least half a year. But the oxidation level of this paper is wrong; it's too new."

Han Yingying frowned: "You mean, this letter was only recently put in?"

"Someone is guiding us."

Zhao Qiang shuddered: "Leading us to our deaths?"

"Or to guide us to do something." Zhou Lang folded the letter and put it away.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Not the elusive feeling of a ghost—but the real, distinct sound of human footsteps.

The three people exchanged a glance.

Zhou Lang made a shushing gesture and stepped to the side of the door. The footsteps grew closer and stopped at the study door.

The door was pushed open.

Standing at the door was Xiong Batian.

He was dressed in a servant's uniform, his expression tense, and his forehead covered in sweat. He paused for a moment when he saw the three people in the study.

"You're here too?"

"How did you get here?" Zhao Qiang asked in return.

Xiong Batian glanced around the study, his gaze lingering on the booklet in Zhou Lang's hand and the tin box on the table.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came out for a walk."

This reason was so flimsy that even Zhao Qiang didn't believe it.

Zhou Lang observed Xiong Batian's reaction—his gaze kept searching for something, finally landing on the tin box.

"You're looking for this?" Zhou Lang picked up the tin box.

Xiong Batian's pupils contracted slightly, then returned to normal: "What? I don't know what that is."

Zhou Lang opened the tin box.

It's empty inside.

There was nothing there.

However, there is an inscription on the bottom of the box: "This item is only to be seen by the owner of the manor."

interesting.

Zhou Lang closed the box and looked at Xiong Batian: "You saw something in the box?"

Xiong Batian didn't answer. He took a step back, his hands awkwardly tucked into his pockets.

"Everyone go find your own way, don't block the way." After saying that, Xiong Batian turned and left.

When he walked out of the study, Zhou Lang noticed that his right pocket was bulging and shaped like a key.

"He has a problem," Han Yingying said.

"It's more than just a problem." Zhou Lang put the tin box back on the table. "He knows about the basement, and he has something—maybe another key, or maybe some other prop."

Zhao Qiang tensed up: "Could he be a ghost?"

"He's not a ghost; ghosts don't sweat," Zhou Lang said. "But he could be a 'mole' planted by the manor—there might be someone from the manor mixed in with every batch of servants."

How did you know?

Zhou Lang waved the management manual in his hand: "It's written in the booklet. Each batch of servants consists of twelve people, one of whom is the 'Manor Eye,' responsible for monitoring all the servants' behavior and reporting to the manor owner."

Han Yingying's expression turned serious: "Does he already know we opened the first lock?"

"Highly likely."

"Then wouldn't we be—"

"So we have to hurry." Zhou Lang gripped the silver key in his hand. "We'll open the second lock tonight."

Zhao Qiang: "...Are you serious? How much oil is left in the lamp?"

Zhou Lang glanced at the oil lamp. The green flame had noticeably shrunk; it could probably last for another twenty minutes.

"That's enough. Let's go."

The three of them returned to the basement.

This time, the ghosts in the corridor were noticeably more restless than before. They no longer obediently made way, but instead kept probing at the edge of the oil lamp's light. Some even stretched out their hands—grayish-white hands with knuckles bent backwards—only to retract them the instant the green light shone upon them.

Zhao Qiang walked in the middle, his legs trembling like leaves. Han Yingying walked behind him, her expression calm, but her hands gripping her sleeves tightly.

After going down to the basement, Zhou Lang went straight to the iron plate.

The red light from the crevice was brighter than before, and its breathing rate had increased. Whatever was locked inside, it was waking up.

Zhou Lang took out the silver key and inserted it into the second silver lock.

The key and the lock fit perfectly. He turned the key—

Click.

The silver lock snapped open, and another crack appeared in the iron plate. This time, the crack was larger than the last, about twenty centimeters wide. Red light surged out from the crack, illuminating the three people's faces, turning them blood red.

At the same time, a tremendous sense of oppression spread from the gap.

Zhao Qiang immediately squatted down, clutching his head with both hands: "What was that... my head hurts so much..."

Han Yingying's face also turned pale, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on her forehead.

Zhou Lang was in slightly better condition, but he also felt it—the oppressive feeling wasn't physical, but a crushing pressure on a mental level. The level of the thing inside was far beyond what he could currently handle.

He quickly pulled the two of them back a few steps, away from the area shrouded in red light.

The feeling of oppression instantly lessened.

Zhao Qiang gasped for breath: "Boss, what's locked up in there? S-class?"

"Hard to say." Zhou Lang stared at the crack. The red light dimmed again after he stepped back, resuming its previous intermittent flashing rhythm. "But at least A-level or higher."

This instance itself is rated B. A B-level instance contains a strange entity that is rated A or higher—either the instance's hidden boss or an outsider sealed here.

Neither of them are things they can afford to touch right now.

"Don't open the third lock yet," Zhou Lang decided.

Zhao Qiang was granted a general amnesty.

Han Yingying nodded, but then glanced at the crack again: "The letter said the third lock is opened with blood. After opening it, you either have to kill it or replace it. Our current fighting strength is simply not enough."

"So we need to figure out what that thing is and where its weaknesses are first," Zhou Lang said. "There should be more information in the management manual; we'll take a closer look when we get back."

The three returned the way they came.

When I reached the lobby on the first floor, the oil lamp went out.

The moment the green light disappeared, darkness descended all at once. Zhao Qiang almost cried out, but Zhou Lang quickly covered his mouth.