Chapter 35: The 1924 Train Murder Case (8)

It seems impossible now.

“Check the casualties among all the passengers.”

Every carriage of the train was opened. The attendants went through each one, section by section. In the end, it was concluded that most passengers had suffered only minor injuries, with no major accidents reported. However, when the attendants reached the VIP section and approached the passenger dressed in a heavy fur coat and a black cap, the situation suddenly took a bizarre turn.

“Sir? Sir?”

“Wake up.”

“We need to check if you’re injured, sir.”

There was no response. When the attendant finally moved him, it became clear that this strangely dressed guest had long since met with misfortune. He was no longer breathing. His body was already somewhat stiff, as if he had been dead for some time.

At that moment, the system interface for every player on the train displayed the following message:

Before the viaduct is reopened, you must identify the murderer. You have only three chances to vote for the killer. Guess correctly, and everyone clears the game. Guess wrong, and everyone fails. There is no distinction between players and NPCs. NPCs may also vote, and they outnumber the players. NPCs will use their voting rights to keep players trapped here forever.

The clock starts now.

72:00:00.

71:59:59.

71:59:58.

Time slipped away, second by second. The train was plunged into an uncanny silence.

This game was different from the last. Players had no way of knowing who was a fellow player and who was an NPC. There were no names or identifying markers above anyone’s head to reveal their identity. Thus, while searching for the murderer, the players also had to be on guard against NPCs causing confusion and deliberately casting false votes.

“Well then. That’s the situation as it stands.” Lady Ottilia was the first to speak. “This oddly dressed man has died in a most peculiar way, right here on the train—right under our noses. Where is the conductor? Can we throw this corpse off the train, so it doesn’t rot here and further ruin what little mood we have left?”

“Lady Ottilia, you truly have no empathy,” remarked the writer, Gilles, picking up his feathered fountain pen, his tone tinged with excitement as he surveyed the scene. “The murderer is among us! Someone has committed murder before our very eyes. This is a rare case—a murder on board the train! If I could detail every cause and consequence in a story... Oh, thank heavens, my royalties this month will be quite substantial!”

Gilles’s words drew frowns from the other VIP passengers. He accused Lady Ottilia of lacking empathy—yet was he really any better?

“No, no, Mr. Gilles. You can’t just turn an unlucky soul’s death into your material. After all, isn’t a picture more vivid than words when it comes to capturing reality?” The painter Hunter chimed in. “I think I could paint it, exhibit it at the London Art Show... With such a sensational subject, the crowds might just crush each other for a look!”

Both the writer and the painter seemed a touch unhinged. Yet they were hardly the only odd ones.

Eli lifted his wrist to show the time on his watch. “It’s now three o’clock. We must identify the murderer before the firefighters, soldiers, or doctors arrive to rescue us. Otherwise, this will seriously damage the reputation of the Hail Train—a blow the Hail family cannot afford.”

“For caution’s sake, we’ll reason through this three times. Cast your votes every morning at eight o’clock.”

“I have a question.” The arms dealer, Bartholomew, toyed with his collector’s firearm and spoke coldly, “No one knows who the murderer is. Even if we vote correctly, how will we know if we’re right or wrong?”

“There are cameras on the train,” said Eli, “but due to the accident earlier, the surveillance system is down. It won’t recover the data until the very last second of the third day. By then, it will be too late, won’t it? The rescue teams could find us at any moment. If we can’t catch the murderer before they arrive, this train may not have a future.”

Eli continued, “To perfectly safeguard their reputation, the Hail family has installed a self-destruct device on every train. It’s only triggered when absolutely necessary. But just now, when I checked it, I found it’s already counting down.”

“The time limit is seventy-two hours.”

“Does anyone have any other questions?” Eli looked around at the group.

At the sound of Eli’s voice, they all fell silent once more—a silence thick with foreboding.

They had many questions.

Yet an invisible force compelled them to follow the script laid out by the game.

“Oh, heavens, this is simply dreadful, absolutely terrifying,” Lady Ottilia pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to catch her breath, as if suffocating. “I want to get off this train now! Open the doors at once!”

She ordered her butler, Jim, to gather her beloved poodle and head for the door. Confronted with her unreasonable demands, Eli’s face darkened.

“Madam, please return to your seat.”

But Ottilia ignored Eli, instructing Jim to find something heavy to smash the train’s doors and windows.

As Jim acted, the train’s alarms blared, a spiraling warning echoing again and again.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!”

“Due to foreign object impact, self-destruct countdown reduced by two hours. Time remaining: 69:57:12.”

Ottilia could not accept this outcome. She continued to strike the doors and windows, and with each impulsive act, the remaining time on the self-destruct device diminished further.

“Time remaining: 67:57:04.”

“That’s enough, Lady Ottilia.” The arms dealer, Bartholomew, raised his gun and pressed it to her forehead. “Try one more move, and I’ll blow your brains out. Believe me?”

But this time, Ottilia was not so easily cowed.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Bartholomew. You said yourself there are no bullets in your gun.”

“There may not be bullets, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put the gun down and give you a good beating. After all, your useless husband certainly won’t come to your rescue.”

Furious at the threat, Lady Ottilia flushed as if she were boiling in water, as red as a cooked shrimp. But in the end, under Bartholomew’s intimidation, she had no choice but to restrain her temper.