Chapter 58: The 1924 Train Murder Case (31)

“Miss Dale, who enters the ‘Ultimate Escape’ game without being strapped for cash?”
Compared to Dale’s wild, almost desperate desire to survive, Eli was nearly devoid of emotion.
“No matter who it is, everyone must follow the rules.”
Eli raised his right hand, thumb pressed against his middle finger, and snapped his fingers.
“It’s time for you to go.”
...
Bang!
Once again, a body swelled grotesquely and burst apart.
Dale didn’t even have the chance to struggle or roar in anger.
Her blood, intestines, and all manner of remains sprayed across the train.
But this time, everyone, owing to their physical condition, could only stay obediently in their seats.
They kept their eyes tightly shut, refusing to look at the blood-soaked scene aboard the train.
Even if sticky, warm bodily fluids or flesh might have landed on their faces or bodies, they all pretended not to feel it.
For the NPCs, scenes of death were nothing unusual.
For the players, unless you were new, you should have long since grown used to such things.
“Do we have to vote again for the third round?” Jill was still clutching his fountain pen. Even though anthrax had ravaged his body—neck, arms, legs, everywhere festering and swollen—he would not let go of his pen.
Even though he knew he wouldn’t last much longer this round...
And that in the next round, when the game reset, he might even forget certain details from this one...
Still, his attachment to that fountain pen was unwavering.
He reclined listlessly in his seat, eyelids drooping, his grip on the pen weak, but his lips still mumbling something under his breath.
“Ah, even though only one player will survive this round, I still want to say it. If only I hadn’t died in 1924... perhaps a few years later, my name—Jill, the famous author—would have appeared in magazines everywhere.”
It had been his lifelong wish, but he would never see it fulfilled by his own hand.
Now, all he could do was grumble to the players.
The players, too, were unrecognizable from the torment of anthrax.
Unlike Dale, who had fought until her last breath, Adra and Hert Arnold were so spent they couldn’t even speak—
They knew death was near and had lost even the will to live.
Now, only one thought remained in their minds:
To be chosen by the Queen of Spades, to become a dungeon NPC or a Black Attendant. At least then, they could continue to exist in another form.
“What’s that worth?” Hunter the painter muttered behind him, “My paintings... they still haven’t reached the London exhibition. If the gallery never receives them, they’ll be replaced with someone else’s. Unlike your uncertain fame, my fame... should have arrived today!”
“What a pity... such a pity.” Though Hunter sighed, his voice grew ever fainter.
While these NPCs lamented their lives that should have been different—

Tang Mu, too, was slumped weakly against her seat.
She still had a little strength left.
So she struggled to look over at Eli.
“Eli,” she murmured his name softly.
He answered her gently, “I’m here.”
“You’re so far away. Could you come a little closer?” At this moment, Tang Mu was frail and weary, her vulnerability plain to see.
Though Eli knew he should save his last bit of strength for eliminating the remaining players, he obeyed her request—
He forced himself up on his cane, inching over to her.
But as he drew near, Tang Mu gave him a bittersweet smile.
“Is my face already ruined by the anthrax? Don’t lie to me... I can feel the burning pain in my cheeks.”
Ignoring the festering, swollen skin on the left side of her face, Eli’s expression didn’t change. “You’re just as beautiful as before. Nothing has changed.”
“Really?” Tang Mu’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“Mm.” Eli replied calmly.
But his next words were, “I have to eliminate the rest of the players now. Once they’re dead, you can leave the game, return to reality, and be restored.”
“Oh.” Contrary to Eli’s expectations, Tang Mu showed little excitement.
He frowned, disliking the sight of her unhappiness. So he tried to distract her with a change of subject.
“Today’s vote allowed NPCs three votes each. That creates a logical paradox. Why didn’t you let things play out?”
Tang Mu suddenly burst out laughing, though the exertion made her cough.
Even so, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“I did it for you, Eli.”
She went on, “Don’t the Black Attendants have to meet their quotas? If you only reap one soul this round, the Queen of Spades will blame you.”
Cough, cough, cough...
By the end, she was overcome by another fit of coughing.
Eli didn’t want to see her so weak—he felt she could die in front of him at any moment.
So he raised his right hand once more, thumb and middle finger pressed together, and snapped.
“All players can be eliminated now. When the game ends, I’ll send you out.”
Tang Mu was silent for a moment, then said, “Alright.”
Two more bodies ballooned and burst.

The air was thick with more bacteria than ever.
When the clinging flesh stuck to their already decaying skin, the NPCs felt even weaker.
At the same time, a black, yawning doorway, like a hole in space, appeared in the dungeon—
Just as it had at the end of the previous game.
Tang Mu knew this was the sign of clearance.
But she hadn’t the strength to walk over.
“Eli, do you still have any strength left?” She looked pitifully at the man before her—Eli, whose face, though ravaged by anthrax, still retained its unbowed spirit. Deep down she was sure Eli was Yan Xingwen.
Just as she’d thought Xue Fen was, in the last game—
But Xue Fen’s final actions had convinced her otherwise.
Eli looked at her in silence. His eyes were now oozing crimson, infected beyond repair—he could no longer see any of Tang Mu’s expressions.
The anthrax had progressed too rapidly—
In just a few minutes, his vision was almost gone.
Yet as long as Tang Mu asked, Eli would do his utmost to comply.
“Alright.”
He reached out his right hand toward the blurry shape before him. At first, he missed, but soon, guided by memory, found her arm and pulled her up, step by step, toward the exit he remembered.
Tang Mu’s eyes still worked.
So every movement, every expression Eli made after losing his sight, was visible to her.
As they neared the exit,
Tang Mu suddenly said, “Eli.”
“Mm?”
“We’re here,” she whispered, “I’m about to leave.”
“Mm.” His tone was flat, betraying no hint of regret.
Tang Mu was dissatisfied with his indifference.
She pressed on, “I’m really going now. I might never return to this dungeon.”
Eli’s reply was still dispassionate. “I know.”
“Don’t you want me to stay, even a little?” she asked, unwilling to let go.
In contrast to her reluctance, Eli’s response remained rigid and unyielding.
“Those who clear the game survive. That is the rule.” His voice was so emotionless it was nearly cold.