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

"Boss, where have all the kids in this town gone? Is the school far from here?"

The grocery store owner, a man in his fifties, paused for a moment upon hearing this.

"Children?" He thought for a moment. "They're probably all at school. The school is in the next town, and they're boarding students."

"All boarding school?"

"Yes, there are no schools in our town; all the children are sent away."

Logically it made sense, but Zhou Lang felt the answer was too smooth, like a memorized line.

He visited a few more shops and chatted casually. The information he received was largely the same—the town was peaceful, and nothing unusual was happening.

Peace has returned. A town where a dungeon invaded by an S-rank mystery should have shown some unusual signs.

"Maybe the whole town is part of a dungeon," the bandaged man said.

Zhou Lang stopped in his tracks.

This idea is terrifying. If the entire town were a dungeon, what would all these people on the street be?

NPC? Or... something eerie?

He looked across the street. A middle-aged woman carrying a shopping basket walked across, her steps steady and her face expressionless. She stopped in front of a butcher shop, chatted with the owner for a few words, and bought a piece of pork ribs.

Completely normal daily behavior.

But Zhou Lang remembered her face.

He decided to check back that night to see if these people were still there.

It was already 4 PM when we got back to the guesthouse. The students were returning one after another, and they were all in good spirits.

"This town is so beautiful, I'll start painting it tomorrow."

"I found an abandoned old house, it has a really nice vibe."

Zhou Lang sat in a corner of the lobby, his drawing board open on the table, his pencil scribbling randomly on the paper. He couldn't draw, but he could at least pretend.

"What is Teacher Zhou drawing?" Fang Chen leaned over to take a look.

Zhou Lang looked down at his "work"—a tangled mess of lines.

"Abstract art," he said.

Fang Chen's expression was a little subtle, but he still nodded politely: "I have a feeling."

"If you want to praise it, just say it's ugly." Zhou Lang put away his drawing board.

Fang Chen laughed: "Okay, I really don't understand it very well. Teacher Zhou, what do you teach?"

"Theory," Zhou Lang made up.

"No wonder." Fang Chen nodded knowingly. "It's normal for a theory teacher's drawing skills to be a bit lacking."

At six o'clock, Sister Chen called everyone to eat.

The food was laid out on two tables, and the dishes were very home-style: braised pork, stir-fried vegetables, hot and sour shredded potatoes, and egg drop soup. The portions were generous, and the taste was quite good.

Zhou Lang ate two bowls of rice. The bandaged man told him not to eat, saying he wasn't sure if the food was safe, but Zhou Lang had been starving all day and couldn't care less.

"It's all normal food," Zhou Lang said, chewing on a rib. "It's edible."

"You can't even taste the poison, yet you say it's edible."

"I can taste it, it tastes like pork ribs."

The bandaged man fell silent.

After the meal, some students went back to their rooms to rest, while others chatted and played cards in the lobby. Sister Chen cleared away the dishes, and Old Chen went to the backyard to smoke.

Everything was as peaceful as a vacation.

But it got dark very quickly. We finished dinner at 6:30, and by 7:00 it was completely dark. Not a normal darkness—it was a clean, clear darkness without any afterglow.

Zhou Lang glanced out the window; the streetlights were on. The town's streetlights cast a warm yellow glow, but the illumination area was small, leaving large shadows between them.

"Go back to your room," the bandaged man said urgently.

Zhou Lang stood up.

"Dear students," he began, "get some rest early tonight and don't wander around outside."

Lin Xiaolu glanced at him: "Teacher Zhou, it's only seven o'clock."

"I know," Zhou Lang came up with a reason, "There are many places in town without streetlights, and the mountain roads are difficult to travel. Just for safety reasons..."

"Teacher Zhou is right," Fang Chen chimed in. "Don't wander around in unfamiliar territory."

Several students nodded, not taking it too seriously, but at least no one said they wanted to go out.

Zhou Lang went upstairs.

The third-floor corridor was quiet, and the doors to rooms 302 and 303 were tightly closed. He didn't hear any movement inside—no, those two rooms shouldn't be occupied.

He reached out and tried the doorknob of 302.

Locked.

"Don't touch it," the bandaged man said.

Zhou Lang withdrew his hand, grabbed 301, and locked the door from the inside.

The room was lit by a regular incandescent bulb, casting a yellowish light. He leaned his cane against the bedside, and the oil lamp sat on the table but was unlit. The protective talisman remained on the doorframe, showing no unusual reaction.

"The first day should be safe." Zhou Lang sat on the bed, opened his notebook and began to record the observations from the day.

Are you sure?

"Not sure. But the document says the first two groups all survived the first three days."

"The first two groups of people didn't expect they would die either."

Zhou Lang didn't respond and continued writing his notes.

There are no children in the town. Residents are behaving normally but mechanically. No abnormalities were observed during the day. Guesthouse owner Sister Chen and Old Chen – to be observed. Rooms 302 and 303 on the third floor are vacant – suspicious.

After he finished writing, he stuffed the notebook under his pillow.

Eight o'clock. The noise downstairs gradually subsided. Students went back to their rooms one after another. The wooden stairs creaked with footsteps. One clatter, then two, then three.

Then it fell silent.

Zhou Lang turned off the lights, lay down on the bed without taking off his clothes.

In the darkness, he stared at the ceiling. His ears were perked up, catching every sound.

Nine o'clock.

The sound of a faucet being turned on came from downstairs; it was Sister Chen washing the dishes. Then came the sound of a mop being used, a steady rhythm, going back and forth a few times. Finally, the sound of the back door closing.

ten o'clock.

It was completely quiet.

The entire building seemed to be muted. There were no insects chirping, no wind, nothing at all.

"Did you sense anything?" Zhou Lang asked.

"There's something," the bandaged man said. "Downstairs. More than one."

Zhou Lang reached for his cane.

Are they moving?

"No. It's right there. Not moving."

"Where is it located?"

"The lobby on the first floor... no, it's outside each of the rooms. The corridor on the second floor."

Zhou Lang's heart skipped a beat. The second floor, the floor where the students lived.

He silently got out of bed, walked barefoot to the door, and pressed his ear against it.

I can't hear anything.

But the feel of the bandages had changed. The strips of cloth wrapping his arm tightened slightly, as if the bandaged man was tense.

"Don't open the door," the bandaged man said in a low voice.

"I don't plan to open it."

Zhou Lang retreated to the bedside, picked up his cane, and sat on the edge of the bed.

11 o'clock.

A very faint sound came from the hallway. It wasn't footsteps, but more like something being dragged across the floor.

The sound moved from one end of the corridor to the other, pausing briefly as it passed the door of room 301.

Zhou Lang gripped his cane tightly and breathed as shallowly as possible.

Three seconds later, the dragging sound continued forward and disappeared at the end of the corridor.

"I'm leaving," the bandaged man said.

Zhou Lang breathed a sigh of relief, but did not put down his cane.

"What is it?"

"I can't see it, I can only sense it. It's filled with resentment, but it's not aggressive." The bandaged man paused. "Today, I was indeed just on patrol."

"Inspection." Zhou Lang repeated the word.

It's as if they're confirming which room the new prey is staying in.

Zhou Lang didn't sleep much that night. The dragging sound appeared twice more, pausing for a few seconds each time it passed the door of 301 before moving on.

After 3 a.m., the bandaged man said he could no longer sense anything.

Zhou Lang then closed his eyes and slept for less than three hours.