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

They walked slowly for four hundred meters. They encountered two more groups of low-level ghosts and a lone crawler, all of which were eliminated. But everyone was exhausted and under immense mental strain.

Finally, the entrance to the underground passage came into view. A rusted iron door with a faded skull and crossbones symbol sprayed on it.

The door was open. Inside were downward-facing stairs, the darkness so intense it felt almost tangible.

"This is it." The middle-aged player took a deep breath. "According to plan, we'll go down and meet up. Be careful, there might be a Ghost King down there."

The line filed in. The stairs were narrow, allowing only two people to walk side by side. The air grew colder, and their breath turned into white mist.

After walking down about three floors, I heard sounds of fighting and shouting ahead. There was also light, the red glow of signal flares.

"Hurry!" The middle-aged player quickened his pace.

Emerging from the stairwell, a vast underground space stretched before them. Abandoned machinery, pipes, and containers were piled everywhere. Red flares hovered in mid-air, illuminating the chaotic battlefield—the other two teams had arrived and were locked in combat with two three-star stitched corpse demons.

But there were more than two.

Further away, atop the pile of machinery, crouched a figure. It was taller than the stitched-together corpse demon, shrouded in black mist, with only a vague humanoid outline visible. It didn't move, just crouched there, overlooking the battlefield below.

Ghost King.

The intelligence report mentioned a four-star monster.

"Forget about those two stitched-together corpse demons!" the middle-aged player roared. "Everyone, focus your attacks on the Ghost King!"

Nobody moved. Everyone could tell that thing was dangerous.

The Ghost King moved.

It stood up, black mist churning and forming countless tentacles that swept towards the crowd below. Wherever the tentacles swept, steel was corroded with holes, and people who were entangled instantly withered, as if they had been sucked dry.

The screams were continuous.

"Retreat! Retreat out!" Li Feng's voice came through the communicator, hoarse. "Mission paused! Exit the instance!"

Zhou Lang was pulled backward by Zhao Qiang. He glanced back at the ghost king—its scarlet eyes were staring at him from within the black mist.

It's not about staring at the crowd.

She was staring at him.

The retreat was a nightmare.

Two stitched-up corpse demons were left behind to cover the retreat, blocking the entrance to the passage like two walls of flesh. Tentacles continued to spread from the direction of the Ghost King, and more people were being pulled away. Li Feng ordered grenades to be used, the explosions deafening, sending rubble and blood flying everywhere.

The passageway was packed with people. Zhou Lang was swept along, his feet covered in a sticky liquid, indistinguishable between blood and something else. He nearly fell several times, but was pushed forward by the people behind him.

Finally, they broke through the underground passage and returned to the surface factory. It was daylight, but the light was dim; they didn't know if it was due to the cloudy day or a problem with the instance itself.

"Take a headcount!" Li Feng shouted.

His face was covered in blood, and his uniform was torn in several places, but he was still standing.

Zhou Lang leaned against a rusty machine tool, panting heavily. Zhao Qiang and Han Yingying squeezed in, both in bad shape. Zhao Qiang had a dislocated left arm, and Han Yingying was deathly pale—their medical staff had run out of options.

"Our team... has fourteen left." The middle-aged player finished counting, his voice dry. "Nine have gone out."

Five people died.

This is not even the third basement level yet.

Li Feng walked over, glanced at the survivors, and said coldly, "Mission failed. But your performance data has been recorded. Rewards will be calculated based on kills and distributed when we get back."

"What should we do about the Ghost King?" someone asked.

"Someone will handle this," Li Feng said. "Your mission is complete. Dismissed."

After saying that, he turned and left, followed by the soldiers, leaving behind a mess and a player who was still in shock.

Zhou Lang watched Li Feng's retreating figure, feeling that something was off. The Ghost King's last look at him... it wasn't a look, it was a "lock-on." As if he had recognized something.

"Let's go." Zhao Qiang patted his shoulder with his uninjured hand. "It's good enough that we got out alive."

The three walked out of the factory. Several buses were parked outside, there to pick people up. Not many people got on the buses, and most of them were injured and remained silent. No one spoke.

On the way back to the city, Zhou Lang kept his eyes closed, his mind filled with the eyes of the Ghost King. Crimson, cold, and carrying a certain... scrutinizing quality.

What is he examining?

The car stopped in the city square. The players got out one after another and dispersed. Zhou Lang, Zhao Qiang, and Han Yingying walked to the roadside.

"What do we do next?" Han Yingying asked.

"Focus on recovery first," Zhao Qiang said. "I need to get my arm reattached at the clinic. What about you?"

"I have something to do," Zhou Lang said. "You guys go ahead and contact me later."

Zhao Qiang glanced at him but didn't ask any further questions: "Okay, be careful."

The two left. Zhou Lang stood by the roadside, waited for a while, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. He didn't go back to his rented room, but went to another place—an abandoned residential area on the outskirts of the city.

This was a temporary stop he stumbled upon, an unfinished, abandoned building with three floors and a wide view, suitable for observation.

He climbed to the third floor and found a corner to sit down. He took out the intelligence document from his backpack and opened it again.

"The Demon King's weakness: unknown."

Unknown. This word seems particularly jarring now.

He recalled the details of the battle. The Ghost King never personally engaged in combat, only attacking with its tentacles. Those tentacles... were condensed black mist, but they seemed to possess consciousness, actively tracking their targets. It crouched high up, as if observing, or perhaps waiting.

Waiting for what?

Zhou Lang closed the file and rubbed his temples. Exhaustion washed over him like a tide. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

Before falling asleep, his last thought was: I need to go to the exchange tomorrow, sell the records of this battle, and get some money. Then I'll continue my investigation. The Ghost King's eyes—that was definitely not a coincidence.

He was woken up by the cold.

I opened my eyes to a three-story abandoned building, dimly lit. But it wasn't the kind of darkness you see at night; it was a different kind of darkness—as if a gray filter had covered the world.

Zhou Lang suddenly sat up.

No. The timing is wrong. He remembers arriving in the afternoon, and maybe taking a nap for an hour or two at most. But now the sky outside the window looks like dusk, yet also like dawn. And there's a faint, ozone-like smell in the air.

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked outside.

The city was still there. But the streets were deserted. Cars sat abandoned on the side of the road. The streetlights were off, and the whole city was shrouded in an eerie silence.

"Bandages," Zhou Lang said softly.

"Here." The bandaged man's voice rang directly in his mind. "You've been pulled into a dungeon."

"What?" Zhou Lang frowned. "I didn't receive any notification."

"It's not that kind of dungeon." The bandaged man's tone was a little strange. "This is... an S-rank mandatory dungeon. There's no preparation time, no choice. You were already inside when you woke up."

Zhou Lang's heart sank: "Why me?"

"I don't know. But based on my limited information, S-rank dungeons are usually only triggered under specific conditions. For example... you come into contact with something you shouldn't have."

Ghost King.