Chapter 24: Setting Twenty-Four

Setting Twenty-Four: Monster Hunter (Part 6)

Shan Ziwei and Sha Polang climbed the stairs. Even while checking the Multi-Function Panel, Shan Ziwei could feel Sha Polang’s unabashed stare.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ah, I’m just a bit surprised. I didn’t expect you to be capable of something like that.” Sha Polang smacked her lips. “I never thought you’d be so ruthless as to kill my grandfather—”

“I didn’t kill him.” Shan Ziwei stammered. “I-I was just threatening him.”

On Sha Polang’s back at that moment, an old man cowered pitifully, using his granddaughter’s back as a shield as much as possible, terrified of appearing in the white-haired youth’s line of sight.

“You would have. My gut instinct is rarely wrong—if Grandpa hadn’t given in immediately, you would’ve done it without hesitation.” Even hearing his denial, Sha Polang was certain. Then, as if afraid he’d misunderstand, she added: “I’m not saying you did anything wrong—I’m just surprised. My first impression of you was soft, but you’re actually pretty decisive.”

“Personally confirming safety” was a cage the system had built for players. Once a player had this setting, they had to stay by their relative’s side, constantly confirming whether they were safe or in danger. Because as long as the player wasn’t watching, the relative existed in a superposition of “safe” and “in danger”—like Schrödinger’s cat, in a state between life and death.

How did you break this uncertain superposition? The simplest way was to open Schrödinger’s cat box and see the cat’s state with your own eyes—just like players staying by their relatives to confirm their safety. The other option was using “absolutes” to break the box’s dilemma: if you removed the cat from Schrödinger’s box entirely, it would always be “alive”—that was the method Xiao Shuai and the others had used, sending their relatives out of the monster-infested hospital so they’d always be “safe.” That was the correct approach, but since the system was using it to stall, Shan Ziwei had to choose the other path.

If you threw a dead cat into Schrödinger’s box, even with the box closed, you’d absolutely know it was “dead.” By the same logic, as long as the relative died before the player’s eyes, they could confirm the relative was always “in danger,” even if they left their side. That was the situation with Shan Ziwei—Maria had died before his eyes, so even after leaving his wife, he didn’t lose any SP. Compared to making relatives “safe,” making them “in danger” was far simpler. The only catch was that players couldn’t harm their own relatives—so when the old man lay on the ground playing dead, the white-haired youth had simply drawn his gun, telling him he’d make that “playing dead” into the real thing.

Hearing Sha Polang’s words, Shan Ziwei paused, then shook his head. “…I wouldn’t have.”

Sha Polang let out a soft “Huh,” as the white-haired youth continued.

“I can’t kill your relative.” Shan Ziwei indicated he had no desire to learn the game’s habits the hard way. “I have a strong feeling that if I killed your grandfather, the system would very likely add a ‘avenge your relative’ setting for you.”

Sha Polang blinked, obviously not considering that angle. “It wouldn’t be that cruel…”

Having been through bitter experience, Shan Ziwei’s eyes were dead: believe me, the system is exactly that cruel.

Little Gaia, lying on Shan Ziwei’s shoulder, silently turned its head away.

After climbing a few more floors, Shan Ziwei turned to Sha Polang, who was still staring at him. “Anything else?”

“I was going to ask—did something scrape or pull your hair? There’s a patch in the back that’s shorter.”

“…” We’re about to go deal with the culprit who pulled that hair.

Shan Ziwei silently turned back. He stopped climbing upward and looked instead at the stairwell above. Sha Polang asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Earlier, a nurse was blocking people from going up here. She’s gone now.” Shan Ziwei looked at the empty stairwell—his intuition told him he’d soon see something anti-human. “The monster is on the floor above.”

Specifically, right in front of Maria’s ward. The monster had clearly come back after he left. And now the Multi-Function Panel only showed one moving blue dot—the dot in Maria’s ward was gone. What that meant went without saying.

Shan Ziwei couldn’t say he felt sadness or anger at the monster eating Maria. What he felt was more like empathic dread. Earlier, when Reconnaissance-ing the monster, it had shown a relationship—”Adoration (Active).” He’d never seen a “Adoration” Relationship Setting Card before, so he didn’t know what it entailed. But at the very least, the monster’s “adoration” for its mother seemed to manifest entirely as appetite…

“We’ll charge up there. I’ll pull aggro, you provide fire support from the stairwell—exactly as we discussed.”

“OK~”

There were seven minutes until the monster’s second evolution. At Shan Ziwei’s signal, Sha Polang set her grandfather down. They both began coating bullets with the solution, preparing for battle. Shan Ziwei exchanged with Little Gaia for [2 Mirror Image] and [2 Magic Mirror] Setting Cards—with only the two of them, summoning the mirror image was a safer bet.

The mirror image, identical to Shan Ziwei, materialized. Sha Polang pulled her goggles down over her eyes and whistled at the two identical white-haired youths.

“Cool~ Is that a complete copy? Can it use your skills and equipment?”

“No.” Shan Ziwei looked at the mirror image, which wore the exact same tactical gear and carried the same Tracking Marker Gun—unfortunately, all for show. “The image’s equipment and items are just decorative. It doesn’t have skills—only normal attacks with its hands.”

That made sense. If the image could duplicate all his equipment, items, and skills, the skill would be an infinitely multiplying bug.

Preparations complete, Shan Ziwei gripped his gun, took a deep breath, and gave the order.

“Go!”

One step, two, three—Shan Ziwei sprinted up the stairs in a few bounds. Even though he’d mentally prepared himself, the moment he saw the corridor, he was still horrified. He couldn’t tell if he’d somehow wandered into a giant’s body—the hallway was completely covered in tendons. Red flesh lined every surface—ceiling, walls, floor—pulsing faintly like a living organ.

The little monster with the white hair accessory was bouncing around on the flesh-membrane. Seeing Shan Ziwei, it stopped and patted the elastic pad with its tentacles, like a child showing off its handiwork to its parents.

As the father, Shan Ziwei was thoroughly impressed—and gave it a burst of gunfire.

The little monster smacked the membrane with both tentacles and used its elasticity to dodge quickly. It stuck to the ceiling, feeling its goodwill had been trampled. Angrily, it ripped the white hairs off its head, slapped them onto the ceiling, then rolled its round body over them, grinding them flat.

Sha Polang, equally startled when she came up, watched the monster’s antics as she aimed. “What’s it doing?”

“…Heh.”

The little monster smacked the membrane and dodged Sha Polang’s attack again. It landed on the pad, its flesh loosening—then suddenly contracting.

“Splat!”

Shan Ziwei and Sha Polang watched the fluid land just a meter in front of them, not even touching them. Sha Polang commented: “I think it’s spitting at us.”

“…Change of plans. Use incendiary rounds.” Shan Ziwei’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. “With these things in the way, we can’t hit it.”

“OK.”

Sha Polang swiftly swapped to red bullets and aimed with her rifle-like weapon deep into the corridor.

“Bang—”

The red-hot bullet tore through the corridor, igniting a patch of flesh-membrane when it struck. At the same time, Shan Ziwei and his mirror image charged into the tendon-wrapped hallway. He raised his gun and forced the monster back as it tried to put out the fire.

The monster dodged the bullets. Seeing Shan Ziwei, it abandoned the flames, smacked its tentacles together, and charged straight into his chest. The mirror image stepped in front of him and took the hit, slammed against the fleshy wall. This particular sufferer’s scalp tingled as he watched the image pinned to the wall—silently apologizing to it for the hundred-and-first time.

Whoosh—

The sparks began to spread. Flames exploded across the flesh-membrane. Shan Ziwei quickly retreated to the corridor entrance to avoid getting caught. The membrane was more flammable than expected—the system had deliberately left them a weak point. The red tendons blackened, charred, and turned to ash under the flames. But no matter how fast the fire burned, it would take at least twenty minutes to fully clear the corridor—and by then, the monster would have evolved eight times over.

“Oh dear, this isn’t working.” Sha Polang watched the fire and smoke. “I can’t even see the monster, let alone aim at it.”

“No.” Shan Ziwei denied, a smile spreading across his face, his eyes brightening. “We can see it.”

He slung his gun over his shoulder and raised his hand, activating the Multi-Function Panel on his wrist. Without hesitation, he selected Mode 1.

“35 degrees left-forward, distance 13.4 meters, height 0.1 meters. Aim and fire!”

Sha Polang instinctively followed his instructions, firing into the flames: “Bang!”

The bullet pierced the fire—the parted flames quickly closed again. From the other side came a very soft pop.

“Did we hit it? Did we hit it?” Sha Polang asked, even more excited than Shan Ziwei.

He didn’t answer, immediately relaying the next coordinates: “34 degrees left-forward, distance 13.8 meters, height 0.1 meters—”

Before he could finish the instruction, Sha Polang had already acted on her own. She fired, exclaiming excitedly, “It actually works!”

“33 degrees left-forward, distance 14.1 meters, height 0.1 meters.”

“Bang!”

“35 degrees left-forward, distance 14.3 meters, height 0.1 meters.”

“Bang!”

After a few rounds, Sha Polang realized why she was hitting the target.

“Why is the monster moving so slowly?” She loaded her gun, puzzled. “Is it afraid of fire?”

“I don’t think so. The bald man made it clear—only the solution can hurt the monster. It’s clearly not afraid of fire.” Shan Ziwei checked the panel and gave another set of coordinates before continuing. “I’ve seen it use a skill where it protects itself with its tentacles—it’s probably in that defensive stance now. But there are still 3 minutes until evolution—enough time for us to deal damage.”

“Alright~”

Sha Polang happily whistled and fired a few more shots. She waited, but the next coordinates didn’t come. She turned to Shan Ziwei. “What’s wrong?”

Shan Ziwei stared fixedly at the radar scan on his wrist. Sha Polang glanced over—the blue dot was gone.

Excited, she asked, “Is it over?!”

In contrast to her excitement, Shan Ziwei’s face was pale. He scanned the radar over and over until his eyes nearly bored a hole through it, but the vanished blue dot didn’t reappear.

His shoulders sagging, he interrupted Sha Polang’s cheers: “No… I made a mistake.”

“Huh?”

“A Chess Piece hit by the Tracking Marker Gun stays visible on the panel even after death.” Shan Ziwei’s expression was pained. “Now that the blue dot is gone, there’s only one explanation: the monster’s mark has expired.”

“But… isn’t it not time for its evolution yet?”

“It’s not, but I coated the bullets before it evolved.” Shan Ziwei said flatly. “We remembered the evolution timer, but forgot the expiration timer. Once the solution expires, the monster melts the marker bullet inside it—so of course we can’t find it…”

Sha Polang was speechless.

“I’m sorry.” Shan Ziwei somberly announced the fate awaiting them: “We’re about to face a fully healed monster.”

As if echoing the white-haired youth’s words, the flames—as if someone had breathed on them—suddenly burst open.

Scattered embers fell to the ground and quickly died out, like their fragile hopes. Now, before Shan Ziwei and Sha Polang, stood a white creature with red markings—its rank: Bishop.