I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 117

Chapter 117: The Dusk Hall—A Terrifying Battle Begins!

“I need to gather more intel now.”

Edson took a deep breath. He felt he already had a rough idea of the bigger picture, but the finer details still needed arranging.

For instance—how many crew members were there? How many silver-masked tourists?

He also had to consider their combat capabilities.

Even the strength of the gold-masked tourists had to be factored in. After all, one of them had handed him an invitation, implying that if trouble arose, he could seek their help.

Edson wouldn’t be joining the fight directly—he wasn’t that capable. His role was simply to instigate the conflict. As for who would win? That depended on which outcome benefited him most.

Right now, Edson had a dual identity: he was both a silver-masked tourist and a crew member.

If the crew won, the silver-masked faction would weaken, allowing him to blend in with the tourists for safety. Then, he could figure out how to eliminate the strange crew members and protect the ship.

After all, there were plenty of tourists—losing a few wouldn’t matter much.

But if the silver-masked tourists won… then he might be in danger.

The new crew members’ motives were still unclear, but the man-eating monsters specifically preyed on tourists.

In other words, the new crew weren’t going anywhere, and their identities wouldn’t change. But if the man-eaters weren’t dealt with quickly, they’d have the chance to consume others and hide among them.

So, he had to ensure the crew won this battle—or at the very least, didn’t lose.

That was his mission for 8 PM.

Edson’s resolve was firm.

But as he thought further ahead—once this fight ended, night would soon fall, and he’d need to prepare for the next battle.

Here was the problem: What if the new crew’s goal was to destroy the ship?

That was a possibility worth considering. Preventing disaster was always better than scrambling to react.

And this was precisely why Edson had survived the earlier stages.

Suddenly, a devious idea struck him.

The Rules of the Strange Tale only required him to play the role of a crew member—not necessarily an upright one.

Once freed from moral constraints and conventional thinking, everything suddenly seemed much simpler.

[Rule 3: As a crew member, your duty is to protect this ship. If it sinks or loses all tourists, the mission fails.]

Two possibilities formed in Edson’s mind.

First possibility: What if these new, suspicious crew members were only here to hijack the ship?

Then he could just… cooperate with them, right?

In other words—defect. Join their side.

Wouldn’t that still make him a crew member?

As long as the ship didn’t sink and at least one or two tourists survived, his mission wouldn’t fail.

Even if all the other staff and most tourists died, it wouldn’t concern him.

If this theory held, then he could act without restraint.

It was like the question Zhang Yangqing often pondered: “I just need to meet the clearance conditions—how I do it is none of your business!”

Second possibility: What if these people really were here to destroy the ship?

Then they’d need to meet certain conditions to do so—otherwise, they would’ve already succeeded.

In that case, he could still pretend to defect, ostensibly helping them while secretly uncovering those conditions.

Eventually, he’d surely find a way to report to the “higher-ups”—the captain, first mate, second mate, or other formidable figures. Once informed, these powerhouses would undoubtedly step in to eliminate the threats.

Edson also remembered another rule:

[Rule 9: Before nightfall, confirm whether your roommates are safe. This is crucial for you!]

If his interpretation was correct, this rule had two meanings.

First meaning: The literal one—assess the identities of his fellow crew members in the cabin.

From the diary, he could deduce that the pale-skinned, newly boarded crew member was definitely suspicious.

So, the rule was urging him to either eliminate or avoid that person.

Second meaning: Find a way to make himself safe—ensure the roommate wouldn’t attack him.

If they were truly on the same side, then naturally, he wouldn’t be targeted.

This was the essence of defection.

Perhaps this was the true meaning behind the rule’s instruction to “confirm whether your roommates are safe.”

There might be multiple ways to clear this stage—it all depended on the player’s choices.

From here onward, the players’ paths would diverge.

As long as they executed their plans flawlessly and located the captain, their strategies should hold.

After all, those who’d survived this far were no amateurs.

Only by relying on these powerful NPCs could they hope to survive this horrifying world.

But once the players gained the power to eliminate the anomalies themselves…

Then the true slaughter would begin.

…..

Time: 7:50 PM

After cycling his energy through several meridians, Zhang Yangqing stood up.

He didn’t need any invitation—the two gold-masked women beside him were his ticket.

Gold-masked tourists could activate the elevator to the seventh floor.

The trio arrived at the most luxurious place on the ship—the Dusk Hall.

The decor here could only be described as opulent.

Pillars adorned with golden dragons, thresholds glittering with diamonds, floors crafted from premium hardwood.

The moment they stepped inside, a unique incense filled the air.

Every painting on the walls was a masterpiece by renowned artists of this world.

Even the carpets seemed woven from silk, exuding an indescribable luxury.

Beyond that, the hall’s glass display cases housed rare treasures seldom seen anywhere else in the world.

These were the true crown jewels.

According to the staff, every exhibit here was worth a fortune.

And remember—that was just for looking at them!

For the players entering, it felt like stepping into the world of the elite.

Clearly, every tourist on this ship was extraordinary—especially those wearing masks.

Many viewers admitted they’d never seen such extravagance in their lives.

Given the chance, they’d love to experience this luxury firsthand.

But if it meant entering the Strange Tales World?

Hard pass.

Luxury was nice, but not worth dying for.

Still, the players had their missions. Most had already instructed the staff to prepare excessive amounts of food—ready to be “wasted.”

Around 300 guests were present, but the staff, following “orders,” had prepared over 500 servings.

At this high-class gathering, silver-masked visitors mingled around the exhibits, commenting and flaunting their knowledge to impress others.

Occasional witty remarks drew admiration from the crowd.

Gourmet dishes lined the tables on either side, available for anyone to serve themselves.

Waiters wove through the crowd with trays of wine, ready to pour for the esteemed guests at any moment.

Watching the scene unfold, many players swallowed hard.

If not for the restrictions, they’d have gladly indulged.

To think this luxurious ship offered such delicacies—yet they were stuck with popcorn.

Honestly, this alone was torture for some.

After clearing so many stages, couldn’t they get one reward where they could just enjoy themselves?

Clearly, this was a gathering of high society.

Even the players, now dressed as silver-masked tourists, blended into the crowd, waiting for the right moment.

Except for Zhang Yangqing.

Still clad in his sailor’s striped shirt, he stood out starkly against the hall’s grandeur.

But with two gold-masked women flanking him—and after one waiter earned a brutal slap—no one dared question him.

He was the brightest star in the Dusk Hall.

By now, all players—Zhang Yangqing included—had noticed something odd.

The stench of fish was overpowering.

Of the 300+ silver-masked guests, at least 100 reeked of it.

Zhang Yangqing even sensed the presence of a hidden quest.

These people had gathered here for a reason.

They hadn’t gone through all this trouble just to admire the exhibits, right?

In Zhang Yangqing’s judgment, while the displays were valuable, they weren’t worth fighting over.

Besides, many gold-masked guests were also present.

They seemed to be waiting for something—perhaps the true purpose of this ship’s existence.

At this point, many players, seeing the time was ripe, changed clothes and took the elevator down to summon reinforcements.

For them, hidden quests were too distant—survival was the priority.

Any treasures or rewards would benefit their nations upon clearance.

But if they didn’t make it out alive, those gains would be meaningless.

Even the British player who’d obtained a gold mask didn’t dare take risks.

Edson immediately reported to the crew leader, confirming that the seventh floor had numerous tourists wasting food.

Before heading up, he’d already discussed this scenario with the leader, asking what to do if he witnessed such waste.

The leader’s response mirrored the manager’s:

“Don’t ask me what to do—just tell me who it is, and I’ll throw them into the sea!”

That was the crew’s rule.

Upon learning that the Dusk Hall had such flagrant waste, the bearded crew leader’s face twisted with fury.

He looked ready to slaughter every last one of them.

Edson had already gathered some key figures.

The ship carried 2,300 tourists, 800 crew members, and 300 staff.

Against the 300+ guests in the Dusk Hall, the crew held an overwhelming numerical advantage.

When Edson used his authority to lead the crew to the seventh floor, the atmosphere grew tense.

The silver-masked guests seemed baffled—how had the crew gotten up here?

Silver-masked tourists usually stayed on the third floor and above, while crew members were confined to the first and second floors.

Even if tourists violated the crew’s rules, the crew couldn’t know—or reach them.

This was the loophole in the rules.

But the players were the wildcards that could bridge this gap.

Exploiting this flaw would ignite a full-scale battle between the tourists and crew.

The crew leader demanded that every silver-masked guest finish all the food—or face execution.

But the tourists weren’t pushovers.

They argued that no one could possibly eat that much—clearly, the crew leader was just picking a fight.

Words led to shoves, and the moment physical contact was made—

War erupted.

With the crew leader’s roar, the battle cry was sounded!

Over 700 crew members charged in, clashing with the 300+ silver-masked guests.

The gold-masked tourists, “protected” by the staff, retreated to the sidelines as spectators.

As long as the crew didn’t attack them, they saw no reason to intervene.

Their status on the ship was above the fray.

At this moment, inside the Dusk Hall—

The sounds of combat—collisions, screams, roars—filled the air.

From the first strike, the chaos never ceased.

Bodies fell. Blood flowed.

Yet no one retreated.

Everyone was consumed by bloodlust, fighting to the last man.

The carnage wasn’t confined to the hall—the entire seventh floor became a battlefield.

Corridors, stairwells—everywhere was drenched in blood.

One powerful silver-masked guest drove his hands into a crew member’s torso and—with a furious shout—ripped the man in half.

As he roared in triumph, five even stronger crew members seized his limbs and head—

And tore him apart.

His face twisted in agony, a horrifying sight.

The crew leader was even more terrifying—his massive hands could crush a tourist’s face and mask in one grip.

The crew seemed like tireless killing machines, their sole mission to exterminate every silver-masked guest on the seventh floor.

With their numerical superiority, they systematically slaughtered the remaining tourists—leaving none alive.

Many players, avoiding the chaos, had already fled downstairs—the safest approach.

Their viewers were disappointed, missing the most intense parts of the battle.

But some bold, skilled players joined the bloodshed.

A few were even ordinary superhumans, lurking behind crew members to deliver cheap shots—playing the role of sneaky opportunists.

Still, after several close calls, they wisely distanced themselves from danger.

Yet for some reason, the crew leader’s roars stirred something in them—an urge to charge into the fray.

Seeing their “comrades” fight so fiercely, even ordinary superhumans were swept up in the bloodlust, nearly dying in the chaos.

For superhumans, years of training had led to this moment—a chance to unleash their full power.

Unless they possessed top-tier talents, superhumans grew through combat.

Back on Earth, they rarely had opportunities to act, revered as local legends.

This observation wasn’t lost on the experts outside.

Perhaps the Strange Tales World was a trial for ordinary superhumans?

For the superhumans of China and Ramen Country, the slaughter had only just begun.

Time was running out—if they didn’t act now, their targets would escape.

Hunting them down individually would be a hassle.

With so many tourists aboard, losing 300 was no great loss.

Though only about 100 of the silver-masked guests carried the fishy stench of their targets—

Zhang Yangqing and Gregori shared the same ruthless logic:

Why bother identifying them? Just kill them all.

To them, whether these people were the anomalies didn’t matter.

Their deaths did.

Having learned from past mistakes, Gregori had refined his control.

A burst of holy light sealed the hall’s exits—

Trapping everyone inside.

Before the guests could react, Gregori struck.

A single punch sent terrifying energy surging through dozens of silver-masked bodies—

Threading them together like beads on a string.

Then, with a shudder, he detonated the energy inside them.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Bodies erupted into bloody mist, obliterated beyond any chance of revival.

The explosions sent nearby figures flying.

Seeing the tourists’ terror only excited Gregori further.

He reveled in their fear.

Lost in the killing, he only snapped back to reality when nothing moved.

Once again, the Almighty would hear his confessions.

Zhang Yangqing’s methods were even more brutal.

Ever seen a *40-meter golden sword*?

Confined within the ship, he couldn’t unleash its full aura—

So he calculated the space and settled for 40 meters.

His left hand formed a seal while his right suppressed the sword’s energy, relying solely on its sharpness and speed to reap lives.

Yet even so—

Schlik! Schlik! Schlik!

The golden blade sliced through flesh with seamless precision.

The sound of bisected bodies hitting the floor was music.

A single swing cut down a hundred people at the waist.

Some clutched their severed torsos in vain, their upper halves sliding helplessly into the bloodbath.

As they fell, their dying eyes met others just like them—

Also cut in half.

It all happened too fast.

Many still standing instinctively touched their waists, unsure if they’d been hit.

Those who died in the first strike were the lucky ones—they felt no fear.

The ones Zhang Yangqing chased suffered far worse.

A second slash butchered dozens more.

Then came the panicked survivors, scrambling for cover.

They soon realized this slaughter god wouldn’t damage the ship.

Yet even those near him dared not consider attacking.

This was a one-sided massacre.

As they fled, Zhang Yangqing shifted his left-hand seal—

The 40-meter golden sword split into forty.

Forty one-meter blades materialized around him.

With a wave, they shot out like homing missiles, piercing through guests from all directions.

Their durable bodies were riddled with gruesome holes.

In under a minute, all 300+ tourists were dead.

Whether intentional or not, Zhang Yangqing had also killed the gold-masked guests.

Apart from him and the two women he’d brought, nothing on the seventh floor remained alive.

“Collect all the gold masks,” he ordered.

Zhang Yangqing was a killer, not a cleaner.

He hadn’t brought these two along just to watch.

The women stared at the sea of corpses, swallowing hard.

They’d known he was strong—

But this strong?

A minute.

Not once had he blinked.

Was this the meaning of “killing without batting an eye”?

Yet the more he commanded, the more they obeyed.

…..

As time passed, the battles instigated by all players concluded.

Many returned to the seventh floor.

The sight of the carnage—corpses piled high, a thick pool of blood—made their hearts race.

The Bloody Mary lived up to its name.

The Dusk Hall had become an ocean of gore.

“A mountain of corpses, a sea of blood” was no exaggeration.

Some couldn’t hold back their vomit.

For most players, the ship’s slaughter was mostly over.

Many crew members had fallen, and the seventh-floor tourists were annihilated.

Now, survival meant following the rules and lying low.

But for Zhang Yangqing and Gregori, the real killing had just begun.

So far, only the tourist anomalies had been dealt with.

The crew anomalies—identified by their strange faces at night, as per the rules and diary—remained.

Those were their next targets.

Gregori seemed to relish the coming hunt.

But Zhang Yangqing had grander plans.

With his gold-masked squad, he’d begin purging the entire ship.

This first wave would teach everyone onboard:

Who made the rules here.

Once every disobedient soul was wiped out—

Wouldn’t the survivors have no choice but to obey?