The anomaly at Position 1 brought a glimmer of hope to Lilian.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared her composure. Among their group was a player named Robert, experiencing a paranormal dungeon for the very first time.
The success of the first group had lulled him into complacency—perhaps these supernatural dungeons weren't as difficult as rumored. Since the dungeon entrances had merged, maybe their difficulty had dropped as well?
His optimism didn't last long.
The disaster that befell the second group, followed by the third's narrow escape, left Robert anxious and uneasy.
In standard dungeons, survival relied on sheer physical endurance—fleeing for one's life amid sudden catastrophe. But this dungeon was different, like being flayed slowly with a blunt knife. The mental strain was relentless. Robert's mind grew muddled as he counted laps.
He was internally reciting the corner positions when, suddenly distracted, he couldn't remember whether he had counted to "three" or "four."
*Was it 3? Or 4?*
His face turned ghostly pale.
His thoughts were a tangle of confusion, but his hands moved on instinct. While his mind scrambled for clarity, his arm lifted automatically—he reached out and tapped the person ahead.
The figure he touched moved forward. Robert took two steps, positioned himself in the corner, and then—suddenly—it hit him.
That touch… it had been ice cold.
Like a bucket of icy water dumped over his head, the realization struck with paralyzing clarity. Sweat broke out across his skin. In that sealed, silent room, his body felt as though it had been plunged into freezing water.
A whirlwind of thoughts surged through his mind, but one memory surfaced above the rest: the panicked screams and pounding on the door from the second group.
*I have to get out! I can't end up like them—I have to escape!*
The primal urge to survive overrode everything else. Robert no longer cared about the other three players.
He bolted toward the door. His hand found the doorknob—he wrenched it open—
And it opened!
Light spilled in from the outside, illuminating Robert's face, awash with the elation of a man narrowly escaping death.
"He's out!"
"Did they clear the dungeon?"
"Look!"
That hope lasted but a heartbeat.
Erik, watching from outside, saw countless arms slither from the shadows like water serpents, wrapping around Robert's limbs and dragging him backward just as he lifted one foot beyond the threshold.
"Aaah!" Robert screamed, reaching toward the outside. "Help me! Please, help!"
*SLAM.*
The door slammed shut with a thunderous crack. His right hand was still clinging to the frame when it closed—severing his fingers.
Four broken fingers thudded to the ground.
The players outside were struck speechless.
Then—something more horrific.
They collectively backed away, retreating from the door, from the room, unwilling to stand even one step closer.
The four fingers lay there for a second, then the door—like melting ice cream—softened, absorbed the blood and flesh, and restored itself to perfect condition within seconds.
*Aaaah!!!*
A scream, bloodcurdling and sharp, echoed from within the room.
Giselle murmured, "So… that's how the second group disappeared."
Erik's mind returned to the memory of those arms. Could it be that Position 1 didn't just host a *single* ghost, but *many*?
How many unseen eyes had watched her in the dark, as she passed that corner, as she placed each hook along the wall?
Which hand had plucked them away?
Or… had they simply been *devoured by the wall itself?*
She rubbed her arms. A deep chill ran down her spine.
The screaming soon stopped. The room became deathly silent—like a sealed coffin.
"The light circle's appeared!" Jameson shouted.
Erik turned. In front of the table where the game rules had been laid, a glowing exit circle now shimmered.
The players surged toward it, eager to leave—and so did Erik.
> \[Player Erik has cleared the supernatural dungeon: Four Corners. Reward: 44 Points.]
Back in the dungeon, the door remained shut. Faint whispers occasionally drifted from within—low, murmuring, indecipherable.
Had Erik still been there, she might've recognized a few voices—clearly belonging to those who had entered the dungeon with her.
But as time passed, all those voices—regardless of age or gender—merged into a single, festering emotion.
Like rot at the bottom of a swamp.
Hidden from the light.
Drenched in hatred.
Then one day, the door creaked open.
And all the whispering ceased.
In the small hall outside the room, one person appeared—then another.
Twenty in total.
"Huh? There's a sheet of paper here… 'Four Corners Game'?"
---
Erik decided to return to the inn for rest. After nearly a hundred rounds in the game, her body and mind were utterly drained. She desperately needed sleep.
As she exited the task hall, she brushed shoulders with a girl named Shirley. Out of the corner of her eye, Erik noticed Shirley was holding a thick stack of papers—but paid it no mind.
The task hall often served as a community board—flyers were common. Some sought missing persons, others sought revenge… some even posted matchmaking ads.
Back at the transit hub, Shirley had spent three days adjusting and recovering from her dungeon experience. Finally, she had time to search for the owner of a letter she'd brought out from the game.
She didn't know where "Little Flower" was—but now that she was still inside the game world, she couldn't waste this opportunity. If she waited until resurrection, she might never find her again in the real world.
So she came up with an idea:
Post missing-person notices.
She bought a pack of A4 paper and a pen from the bookstore, and during her downtime, wrote out dozens of flyers, preparing to paste them on the outer walls of the task hall.
Whether by fate or bloodline, it seemed destined:
Just minutes after passing Erik, a passerby bumped into Shirley and knocked the papers from her hands. Sheets flew into the air, scattering in every direction.
"Watch where you're going!" Shirley snapped.
She was wrongly blamed—and furious. But she had no time to argue. Frantically, she crouched to gather her flyers. Paper was expensive here!
One sheet drifted directly onto Erik's head.
She caught it instinctively.
"Thank you, thank you!"
"Sorry—that's mine…" Shirley's voice came from behind.
Erik turned to see a tall, slender female player gratefully accepting a couple of sheets from another bystander.
"Yours?" Erik handed her the paper.
"Yes—thank you so much!" Shirley said breathlessly. But when she saw one page had been trampled into mush, her heart ached.
Erik noted her distress—so genuine—and grew curious.
What kind of notice was worth this much effort and expense?
She glanced down.
And froze.
It was a flyer—half text, half sketch.
The text read:
**Looking for: Erik (nickname: Little Flower)**
Below was a crude drawing of a red moon over a sea of crimson blossoms.
The art was rudimentary, but the illustrator had clearly poured their heart into the image.
As Erik stared at the painted flowers, a wave of long-buried memories surged up. She tried to catch them—and this time, saw a stone.
Yes. There had been a large rock in that flower field, as tall as she was. She used to draw and write on it.
The dam broke.
She remembered herself, carving into the stone. Stroke by stroke, filled with joy. Three round-headed stick figures appeared… alongside a crooked line of childish text:
**"Little Flower and Mommy & Daddy."**
"…"
Erik opened her mouth—but no words came out. Tears fell silently.
Shirley was startled.
*Why is she crying at my drawing? Is it… that bad?!*
"Are you okay? Did something get in your eye?" she asked.
"I… I'm Erik." She clutched the flyer tightly, wiped her tears, and asked, "Why were you looking for me?"
Shirley stared at her, dumbfounded.
*She found her? Just like that?*
It felt… miraculous.
---
Outside a private room at the inn, Shirley watched Erik leave. She glanced at her personal account—two supernatural medical kits had been added.
Erik had been so kind, so generous. She'd given them as thanks for delivering the letter, and even promised to compile notes from her dungeon experiences to give to Shirley later.
Shirley had only completed three dungeons—regular ones at that. She'd never faced a paranormal game, and that made her nervous. But with those two supernatural kits, her heart felt steadier.
Back inside, she noticed a mysterious bag had appeared on the floor.
She opened it—inside were dozens of chocolate truffles wrapped in foil.
"So many!" she gasped.
They easily weighed over two pounds. At market rate, they'd cost at least a hundred points—since each one sold for one point individually. It was outrageous.
This had to be Erik's doing.
Shirley was on the verge of falling in love. Erik was polite, considerate, and *so* generous.
Then came the guilt.
All she did was deliver a letter. How could she accept so much?
She swallowed hard, stored the chocolates carefully, and resolved to return them next time they met. Points were hard-earned—she couldn't take advantage.
But if Erik knew what Shirley was thinking, she'd have told her to keep them without hesitation.
Because Shirley hadn't delivered *just* a letter.
She had brought news from the long-lost past—clues about Erik's parents.
Erik had long suspected her parents were tied to the game, but she'd never had any leads. Searching for them had been like looking for a needle in a cosmic haystack.
But Shirley had brought their letter.
Back in her room, Erik locked the door, hands trembling slightly as she reopened the envelope.
Shirley had apologized for opening it earlier—she'd planned to memorize it after leaving the dungeon. But when she first looked inside, the page had been soaked in blood.
Not a single word remained.
They had both seen it. The paper was blank—bathed in crimson.
And yet Erik couldn't shake the feeling that this letter *hid something*.
It had survived the dungeon. It wasn't just a letter.
Could it be a tool? A special item? One that didn't require binding?
Erik decided to consult Justin.
But he wasn't around.
She took a deep breath. *Stay calm. Don't rush.*
She placed the letter carefully in the supermarket storage, bathed, changed, and went to sleep.
When she awoke, it was already past 2 p.m.
After a late lunch, she set out once more—returning to the task hall, recharged and ready.