On the other boats were three more sacrifices—villagers personally chosen by the chief. They had also consumed the headfish broth, and now their bellies bulged grotesquely, distended beneath their rain-soaked clothes. Faces pressed against their taut skin as though clawing to be born, an eerie and terrifying sight. These three made no pleas for mercy, nor did they scream. They simply wept in silence, their eyes lingering wistfully on the distant village.
They had chosen this fate willingly.
Gradually, the wind and rain subsided. The dark clouds scattered, revealing the setting sun in the west. A blaze of amber and crimson spilled across the heavens, painting the sky with brilliance—an unexpected rainbow arcing faintly above.
The contrast between this breathtaking celestial beauty and the solemn, blood-soaked ritual below was staggering. The river reflected the scarlet hues of dusk, and fishing boats cut across its shimmering surface. If not for the agonized screams of the sacrifices, it would have seemed like a dream.
Erik gazed blankly upward. The rain had come and gone like a ghost, leaving behind a sky of such stunning splendor it almost hurt to look at.
Was this... what Yinghua once longed for?
Perhaps it was on an evening like this, after a sudden storm, that she too was ferried to Dahe Village by boat.
Such natural beauty, yet it marked the prelude to a life of tragedy. After that, there were no more rainbows in Yinghua's eyes—only unrelenting storms and endless mire.
So now, in her vengeance, she ensured the villagers of Dahe suffered as she once had. She would plunge them into terror and despair beneath the pouring rain, and feast upon her offerings beneath the twilight glow.
Fate reversed.
This was Yinghua's aesthetic of revenge.
In the river's heart, a whirlpool formed. From its depths emerged Yinghua, dragging her black-scaled tail behind her. Her face was veiled in a shroud of black mist, rendering her features invisible—yet each onlooker could *feel* her gaze, a cold and pitiless presence slicing through the soul.
The villagers dropped to their knees at once.
The chief felt the blood in his veins freeze. His teeth chattered uncontrollably before he finally found his voice. "P-Present the sacrifices!"
"No! Please, no—spare me!"
"Help! Someone help!"
The players screamed as they were hurled into the water. The three village-born offerings stepped off the boats on their own, silent and resigned.
The Dragon King remained motionless, its gaze frigid. The villagers knelt, petrified, not daring to stir. Only once the water fell silent did the chief dare lift his head.
The Dragon King had vanished. So had the whirlpool.
The chief knew it had descended to torment the offerings, and once satisfied, would bring them ashore—to the abandoned house—to dine in peace.
"Go, go, go! Back to the village!"
The boats returned safely. The villagers guarding the dock sighed with relief, helping one another to stand.
But the chief stopped them from going home. "Everyone—get to the shrine. Pack in tight!"
His word was law in the village; none dared defy him.
The harpoon was missing. The chief feared that if the Dragon King noticed, it would lose control and destroy them all. A decoy had been placed in its stead. But for added security, the entire village was to hide inside the shrine—a structure rumored to repel the Dragon King, having been designed by a great master. Even if the missing harpoon was discovered, the creature would not set foot within.
Meanwhile, Erik and Brooks slipped away to the abandoned stilt houses along the riverbank. No portal could be found.
"The Dragon King Festival isn't over yet. I doubt the portal has appeared at the shrine either," Erik said. "The NPCs have all left the dock—it's the perfect time to steal a boat. We'll prepare for phase two."
Brooks nodded in agreement.
Stealthily, they snuck to the dock and took a fishing boat, hiding it beneath a tall tangle of wild grass nearby.
Just as they finished, Erik saw the water's surface churning violently—waves building, drawing closer. A dreadful, inhuman pressure accompanied them.
The Dragon King was coming.
"Run!"
They bolted. Erik glanced back to see the surging waves nearing the village, glints of scales flickering among the foam.
They ran at full speed, narrowly outrunning the crashing tide as the Dragon King came ashore.
*Whooosh!*
Water surged up the bank, forming a wall nearly three meters high, then crashed down with a thunderous roar, flinging mist into the air.
From the haze emerged a towering figure. Its fish-like tail slapped the ground as a thick shroud of black fog masked its upper body. It slithered toward the cluster of abandoned houses, dragging behind it seven crawling, misshapen humans.
All seven bore grotesquely swollen bellies, their stomachs scraping the earth as they crawled on all fours. Fear and agony shone in their eyes, yet their faces were eerily calm—an uncanny and horrifying juxtaposition.
Erik and Brooks took cover in a stilt house they had scouted beforehand. From a side window, they could observe the central hall of the main abandoned house.
With the villagers all hiding in the shrine, now was the perfect moment.
Just as they settled, footsteps echoed nearby. Brooks's expression hardened. He gestured silently for Erik to look.
Peering through a crack, Brooks saw Delilah quickly climbing the stairs and slipping into the hall. He relaxed—her thinking aligned with theirs; she had chosen the same hiding spot.
"Here," Brooks whispered.
Delilah, startled at first, was soon relieved. She tiptoed over. "The Dragon King has arrived!" She had left as soon as she saw the villagers returning. Along the way, she had caught sight of the creature and the offerings. The scene had nearly frightened her to death.
The three of them clustered by the window, eyes fixed on the opposite house. The Dragon King seemed to float inside, settling in the center of the hall. A heavy stench of death radiated outward, prickling Erik's skin from meters away.
At the foot of the stairs, the offerings crawled upward like beasts. Among them was Silas. Erik realized then that he *had* tried to escape by water—but had failed, only to be dragged back and sacrificed.
The sight of the four players in that state was unbearable. Erik had to look away.
The offerings crawled forward obediently, finally kneeling before the Dragon King.
Erik saw the creature nod with solemn restraint—and then, the bellies of the offerings exploded.
They *literally* burst open.
Flesh and blood sprayed the walls as screaming, flailing headfish erupted from within.
Each fish was only the size of a palm, but the sight of them flopping to the ground in droves was grotesque. Erik swallowed hard to suppress the wave of nausea.
And that was only the beginning.
Amid the swarm of writhing headfish, the Dragon King began to feast on the freshly "delivered" offerings. Occasionally, a headfish would leap onto a body, and the Dragon King would snatch it up, bite off the head, and carelessly toss the body aside.
So *that's* how the house came to be littered with fish bones.
The scene grew unbearable. Erik turned away.
But she could still hear it—the wet, gnawing sounds of consumption.
The Dragon King's upper half remained shrouded, and Erik couldn't discern which part of it was feeding. But the chewing never stopped.
It took its time, savoring the meal. The offerings did not die quickly—they remained fully conscious, aware of their own bodies being eaten.
Silas's eyes bulged in agony. The pain was maddening. He longed for death. *Why hadn't he died yet? Why?*
No—he *had* died. So why this suffering even in death?
It wasn't fair. He could not accept it.
A cloud of darkness hovered before his eyes. Within it, a black hole swirled, its razor-like teeth just visible.
Silas widened his eyes eagerly, desperate for the release of death.
*Please—please! Kill me!*
*Crunch.*
His wish was granted. His head was bitten clean off.
The three villager offerings also prayed for death. For their families' safety, they had drunk the broth willingly, unflinching in their sacrifice.
But the pain afterward was beyond comprehension. The Dragon King hadn't eaten them right away. Instead, it had dragged them repeatedly to the brink of drowning, only to haul them back—again and again.
Only when it was done playing did it drag them ashore. Their bodies, bloated and broken, no longer obeyed them. Crawling like beasts, their distended bellies scraped against the rough floor. Inside them, the unborn things clawed to be free. The pain was unbearable.
They didn't regret their choice—but they wished only for death. A swift end.
And yet the Dragon King saved them for last.
When it was finally their turn, they realized it wasn't the end—but the beginning of a new torment.
Each bite taken from their bodies was excruciating. Every nerve screamed as flesh was torn. Their minds remained alert, bound in agony too vast to comprehend.
Unable even to scream, they wept blood from their eyes.
The Dragon King devoured the sacrifices one by one. Erik thought it would return to the river—but then it turned, directly facing their window.
Her heart slammed in her chest. Though its eyes were hidden, she *knew* it was staring straight at them. Her soul froze.
"Run!" Brooks rasped from the depths of his throat, turning to flee.
Erik didn't hesitate. She leapt from the window, breaking her leg and elbow on the landing. She immediately used a basic healing kit, rolled, and forced herself up, sprinting with all her might.
This—this was *so* like Yinghua.
They had long suspected that the players were reincarnations of the Dragon King's enemies. They could hide from the villagers, but not necessarily from the Dragon King.
And yet, until now, it had ignored them—letting them witness everything from the other side of the river.
But now she saw: it had *wanted* them to watch.
To witness their fate.
If she weren't bound by this character's setting, Erik would've applauded Yinghua's revenge—so poetic, so utterly cathartic.
After running over a hundred meters, Erik finally stopped and looked back.
The sun had fully set during the Dragon King's feast. Night now cloaked the world in dimness.
She saw neither Brooks nor Delilah—nor the Dragon King.
Had she been lucky enough not to be chosen first?
But relief didn't come. If the Dragon King had gone after Brooks and Delilah, then *she* would be next. There was no escape.
Brooks had the harpoon. Delilah had items.
She had nothing.
She needed a plan—and fast. Perhaps she could find Brooks. If the harpoon protected him, maybe it could protect her, too.