The Deterioration of the Instance

In a secluded corner of the small town, Eric met up with William and Joshua to share her thoughts.

"You're suggesting we find another… item like this and hand it to one of the ghost players, just to observe how they use it?" William slowly repeated her idea.

"That's right."

Joshua was taken aback. "But these things are incredibly rare!"

"There are still four days before the parade celebration. If we split up and search separately, we should be able to find one," Eric replied with determination. If William and Joshua refused to join, she would proceed alone. Naturally, she wouldn't hide anything for free for non-allies—she demanded a paranormal healing kit as her protection fee.

William nodded. "Your analysis is sound, and it seems highly feasible. I'm in. I've disguised myself well enough to avoid Brian and the others." Though they'd only known each other for two days, their familiarity was limited. William was confident he wouldn't be recognized, which meant he could finally move around freely.

Joshua scratched his head, hesitated, and eventually agreed to join them.

The trio spent the entire day searching separately. Along the way, Eric ran into Brian and his companions. They hadn't given up on locating William, but were also making contingency plans, rummaging through the town in search.

That afternoon, a player named Angela discovered an eyeball. The four ghost players at the inn simultaneously turned their heads, stood up in unison, and strode out the door.

While fleeing, Angela was forced to throw the eyeball away, and Brian caught it. Under siege from the ghost players, Brian drew a rusted fruit knife and drove it into one of their hearts.

The supposedly invincible ghost player had its chest pierced by the rusted blade, its heart skewered.

Its body collapsed with a crash and rapidly decayed under the torrential rain. Rotting flesh was washed away, leaving behind a clean white skeleton.

Dead.

Gasping for breath, Brian retrieved the item, heart aching at the deepened fracture in its surface. There was no time to mourn—he took off running again.

Eric had no idea Brian had obtained an eyeball. After an entire day of searching, she found nothing. At dusk, the three regrouped, all empty-handed.

"We'll try again tomorrow. I suspect some players already found something—this afternoon, I heard ghost players running, sounded like they were chasing someone," William said.

Players acted independently during the day and only regrouped at night to take stock of numbers.

"Only three ghost players returned? Where's the fourth?"

"We've lost three players. Do any of you know who they were?"

Eric counted. Indeed, three were missing—Brian among them. Her eyes flickered. So Brian hadn't returned? Had he stumbled upon a great opportunity—or met with peril?

Just before they dispersed, Angela limped in from outside. She scanned the hall with a pale face and asked, "Is Brian here? Has anyone seen him come back?"

Brian?

The players who had chased William with Brian yesterday reacted at once. "He hasn't returned. Why are you looking for him?"

Angela pursed her lips. "It's nothing. He helped me earlier—I just wanted to thank him. By the way, which room is his?"

After getting her answer, she ignored their questions and went upstairs.

Kenny, deep in thought, casually followed her up.

The atmosphere in the inn grew increasingly tense. Eric returned to her room in silence.

That night, she didn't sleep well and was awakened at dawn by screams.

A player was discovered dead in Angela's room. Angela was nowhere to be found.

"The body reeks! In this weather, how did it rot so fast?"

"Where's the innkeeper? Tell him to come deal with this."

"I smelled it before sunrise..."

Eric rushed over. A quick glance confirmed it: the corpse had already begun to rot and was swarming with maggots. She remembered this player—he was one of those who had questioned Angela the night before.

"Who was staying in this room?"

"There were two women. One came back late last night, and the other's unfamiliar."

"Neither of them are here? Where would they go so early?"

The innkeeper pushed through the crowd, grumbling, "This weather makes disposal a hassle." He seemed utterly unbothered that a guest had died in his establishment.

He hoisted the corpse and left. Players exchanged looks—clearly suspicious of the innkeeper.

Joshua walked up beside Eric, frowning. "Something felt... off about him."

Eric had been watching the innkeeper closely. She murmured, "He's acting less and less like a living person. When he spoke, his tone shifted, but his expression didn't change. And did you notice how he walked?"

At her prompt, Joshua glanced over—and his expression turned grim.

She was right. The innkeeper walked like one of the ghost players.

His knees barely bent, his gait stiff. Joshua called out, "Boss!"

"What is it?" The innkeeper turned his head—his body didn't move at all.

Joshua subtly inhaled, forcing a smile. "What's for breakfast today?"

With a stiff grin, the innkeeper replied, "Noodles and soup dumplings!"

"Great, great. I'll be down in a bit. You go on."

The strangeness hadn't gone unnoticed by others either, and unease spread among the players.

On the fourth day of the instance, the innkeeper began to mutate—signaling the environment's decline.

Despite the noodles and dumplings, Joshua didn't dare touch a bite. After seeing the rotting corpse, he'd lost all appetite for anything from the inn. "Let's go see where the innkeeper took the body."

Eric nodded.

Several players trailed behind the innkeeper. He walked into the rain without an umbrella. The innkeeper's wife, serving breakfast, didn't even glance up.

To everyone's surprise, the innkeeper walked straight toward the ancestral hall.

A welcome discovery!

No one had dared enter the hall before—not even the NPCs. If the innkeeper truly went there, it might be a golden opportunity to uncover clues.

Eric's spirits lifted. Could they finally see what lay within?

Unafraid of wind and rain, the innkeeper carried the corpse to the hall.

The windows and doors were locked. The outer wall stood over three meters tall. A massive old locust tree grew within, its dense foliage blotting out sun and moon alike. From the highest vantage point nearby, players still couldn't pierce the leafy canopy. Only a glimpse of dark gray roof tiles peeked through.

Under everyone's hopeful gaze, the innkeeper heaved the corpse over the wall—tossing it into the ancestral hall.

Disappointment spread like a wave. Some players cursed under their breath and trudged away, unwilling to waste time on dead ends.

Joshua looked like he'd swallowed a fly. "What a waste of time!" He turned to Eric, who stood dazed. "Hey, are you alright?"

Snapping from her thoughts, Eric shook her head. "I'm fine."

They went their separate ways to resume their search.

Just as she was about to leave the area, Eric looked back. A fleeting thought had brushed her mind—blurred, indistinct—but it slipped away before she could grasp it.

At last, some progress. That evening, the three regrouped at the park. William's face was bright with excitement as he shoved something into Eric's hands. "Quick! I got chased for blocks by ghost players!"

Eric didn't ask. She wrapped it in a towel and tucked it into her backpack.

To William and Joshua, it looked like nothing more than a bundle.

Joshua looked at William with admiration. "What did you find?"

"A braided lock of hair," William said, exhausted but thrilled. "Got it off a young female NPC. I tied it with a rubber band I snatched from her. That's the only way it calmed down."

"Everything's in place—we just need the wind to rise. When do we try it?"

"No time like the present. Tonight," William answered. Though she wasn't staying at the inn, she'd noticed NPCs mutating too. She was lodging with a solitary elderly woman who, that morning, had bitten into her own false teeth while eating porridge—then cheerfully asked if William wanted more.

When she left the house, she looked back and saw the old woman waving at her with a stiff hand.

"Alright, tonight it is."

Brian had spent the entire day running, even the night brought no respite. Still, he didn't regret deceiving Angela for the item.

Healing kits that merely restored stamina were cheap—he could burn through them without guilt. If he survived this instance, he had hope. If he died, all the points in the world would be meaningless.

He had expected another night of flight. But ten minutes passed—the longest he'd ever bought himself—and no ghost players appeared.

Twenty minutes. An hour. Still nothing.

"Did another player get one of the items?" Brian speculated, relaxing slightly.

He seized the moment to rest. One hour. Three hours. Still no sign of pursuit.

He had killed one ghost player with his rare item. That left three.

Were those three now chasing someone else—or had they all been eliminated?

\[Indeed, all three were dead—but not by any player's hand.]

That night, Eric and her companions conducted their experiment. They laid the braid on the ground. Within minutes, three ghost players arrived.

The trio stepped back, eyes wide with anticipation.

The ghost players lunged at the braid, vying for possession.

Three ghosts, one braid—it was bound to end in violence.

It was Eric's first time witnessing them fight. They didn't dodge or retreat—only traded brutal, unrelenting blows. Ordinary weapons had no effect on them. But in their brawls, each strike tore through flesh.

The smallest of the three was the first to "die"—beaten into a pulpy mass.

The remaining two kept fighting until another fell. The survivor was barely recognizable: its skull caved in, spine shattered, limbs mangled—a grotesque, twitching lump of flesh.

It picked up the braid, pressing it where its skull once was.

Eric could feel its "joy" emanating. Watching its lurching, satisfied departure, she followed.

It came to a stop before the ancestral hall, huddled in a corner, motionless.

From afar, it resembled a discarded hunk of rotting meat.