Chapter 383

You participated in a reality show, thinking it was a game for a million dollars, but little did you know that the story would take a 180-degree turn at the end.

Terrifying tentacles appeared on the luxury cruise ship, seemingly a mutant squid monster that went on a killing spree, treating people as food. It could suck a person dry in one gulp, worthy of the name "corpse-sucking octopus."

Hm? Don't ask why it's sometimes a squid and sometimes an octopus, either works.

Which movie monster isn't a patchwork creature?

Faced with this bizarre scenario, you and your companions worked together, going through common plot points like infighting, drama, and cooperation, before finally sinking it in the ocean.

However, the erupting waves engulfed the survivors. Some were abandoned, some retained their kindness, everyone holding on to their last breath, enduring the tragic end of drowning.

Dawn broke, a ship came, and you were rescued.

Sunrise, fishing boat, hot water, blankets, bed.

What a classic ending scene, the next second the credits could roll.

But—

Isn't this strange?

Is reality really like a Hollywood movie, with such a perfect plot structure? If anything, it's more like a Korean disaster film. The initial distress call was odd, the power system failure came without warning, not to mention Jenny's sacrifice...

There's a conspiracy.

Jian Jing felt the ship arrived too conveniently, so much so that she wouldn't be at ease without investigating.

She didn't drink a drop of the water the crew gave her, but instead drank the freshwater from the life raft before boarding. She even munched on the meal replacement bar she had won at the gym years ago and never had the chance to eat, somewhat regaining her strength.

Someone was patrolling outside.

Jian Jing wiped the cookie crumbs from her lips and rolled her eyes: You call yourself a fishing boat? These crew members exude an aura of toughness, could they really be fishermen?

It's not like it's a pirate ship.

She muttered to herself, becoming more cautious in her movements, clinging to the railing as she carefully crept towards the most heavily guarded room.

She activated her heightened senses, amplifying her hearing.

Korean, she couldn't understand. Quickly, she used a card and once again received the system's thoughtful [Prop Card - Voice Pack].

"Have you confirmed everything?"

"Yes, all survivors are asleep."

"What about that Chinese girl?"

"She's sound asleep. I saw her drink the water with my own eyes."

"Good, the boss specifically mentioned to keep a close eye on her."

"She's just a woman, how smart could she be?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"Understood."

The unidentified individuals disguised as crew members finished their conversation. The one with higher status entered the room to report: "Boss, everything is ready. We can begin at any time."

"Very good," an elderly voice replied.

Jian Jing couldn't identify who it was. She hooked her toes onto the railing, bit her braid, and flipped upside down to take a peek.

The old man was short, his hair seemingly black but with snow-white roots. His plump face sagged slightly, and the air he exhaled carried the decaying scent of rotten cotton.

This old geezer looks familiar.

"This is—"

The Chairman buttoned up his shirt and slowly said, "Ladies and gentlemen, from the time my father established the Heart Redemption Society forty years ago until today's Spirit Descent Society, we have been through so much. People have joined, some have betrayed, some have doubted, but only we know that all sacrifices will be rewarded—the divine will not abandon anyone. As long as you are devout and humble enough, you will surely receive guidance when the time comes, leading us to the land of bliss."

He drew a circle on his chest with his hand, then clenched it into a fist and pressed it against his chest.

The others made the exact same gesture.

"Today, as written in the Holy Scripture, I will spread the divine's gospel to every devout person," the Chairman said. "Let's begin."

"Yes, Father," the middle-aged woman went out for a moment and brought back a familiar face.

It was the screenwriter who had been saved earlier by Raj and Andrei. He was specially hired by "The Reasoning King" in Asia to localize the story, and he was responsible for writing the witchcraft parts of the content.

He addressed the Chairman as "Uncle."

"Did you get it?" the Chairman asked.

The Screenwriter nodded nervously and pulled out the safe from his chest—this was the box used to draw the capsules at that time. For the sake of creating a secretive gimmick, "The Reasoning King" had specifically chosen this safe, touted as the world's most secure, to store the items.

After the drawing was over, the safe was set aside and hidden by the Screenwriter.

He opened the safe, revealing a mass of struggling tentacles. No, at this moment, it wasn't difficult to see that the so-called tentacles were actually still roots.

The roots had parasitized a soft-bodied creature similar to an octopus. The tentacles were merely a layer of armor, now tattered and transformed into rags, unable to conceal the parasitic entity inside.

"What is this thing?" the Old Lady asked.

The Chairman said, "The awakened divine guide. It's the only medium for summoning the god." He was reluctant to say more and gestured for the Screenwriter to bring the thing over and place it on the altar.

"Let's begin."

Soft music filled the room, and a new stick of incense was lit.

The elderly people chanted the scripture in unison: "Oh ancient and distant deity, please bless your faithful followers on earth. We have cleansed ourselves of sin, and we yearn for the holy kingdom—"

Wisps of white smoke rose, enveloping the room in a hazy mist.

Those participating in the ritual fell into a dreamlike state.

The roots broke free from the soft-bodied creature's armor, expanding in all directions, quickly growing from the size of a basketball to an unfurled fishing net.

The tendrils wrapped around the seated people, who remained motionless, their faces adorned with dreamy smiles.

The Middle-aged Woman kneeling behind the Chairman slowly raised her head, her hands clasped tightly together, blue veins bulging on the back of her hands, indicating her effort.

After about two breaths, she slowly stood up and walked to the door, opening it.

She bowed low: "Master."

The Screenwriter, who had disappeared at some point, pushed in a wheelchair. Seated in it was Qi Tian, wrapped from head to toe like a burn victim, watching with interest as the roots enveloped his food.

They had fallen into a deep coma, feeling neither pain nor consciousness. The anesthetic contained in the roots was enough to let them die without knowing or feeling.

"Master," the Screenwriter asked, "shall we proceed?"

"No rush," Qi Tian waved his hand. They were just a bunch of greedy and shameless old fools, flocking to him like flies at the slightest hint of sweetness, extremely stupid.

He was more concerned about another matter: "Did you get what I asked you to bring?"

Without hesitation, the Screenwriter took out a sealed bag from his chest: "As you instructed, I found Jian Jing's hair in her room. As for blood, I'm sorry, I couldn't obtain it."

"This is enough," Qi Tian pinched the strands of hair in the bag. After several days of game time, there would be no less than a hundred naturally shed hairs.

He took out a pre-cut paper doll from his sleeve, pressed the hair with his fingertip, bit his finger, and dripped a few drops of blood onto the paper doll. Strangely, his blood did not soak through the paper, but instead formed a water-repellent film on the doll.

"This time, you won't escape," Qi Tian said, his face contorted as he firmly stabbed the golden needle in his hand.

Almost simultaneously, an arrow pierced through the gap in the window, passing between the curtains, and accurately struck his chest.