I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 128

Chapter 128: The Apocalypse—Who Is the True End of This World?

In the prison cafeteria, something absurd happened again.

Seeing that Zhang Yangqing got away with his actions, the remaining prisoners began to imitate him. In this prison, reporting someone for not finishing their meal surely came with benefits. However, since everyone seemed aware of this, most made sure to clean their plates.

But now, someone had discovered a loophole—and others quickly followed suit.

Thus, the bizarre unfolded.

While other celestial challengers in this strange world learned from the locals, Zhang Yangqing flipped the script: the locals started copying his unorthodox tactics.

This prison was a terrifying place. Breaking the rules meant execution by the guards. New inmates, whether celestial challengers or NPCs, naturally mimicked the veterans to survive. The old-timers sat rigidly in the cafeteria, silent, finishing their meals before placing their trays on the table, raising their hands to signal completion, and leaving only after receiving a nod from the guards.

Newcomers copied this behavior meticulously. Though unspoken, these hidden rules were observed to avoid violating prison regulations—and to stay alive.

In such an oppressive atmosphere, most celestial challengers dared not step out of line.

But Zhang Yangqing was different.

His first move was always to assess his identity. This time, he was a prisoner. But was he a new prisoner or a veteran?

To find out, he provoked the three prison overlords. From the murmurs of other inmates—“Is this new guy insane, daring to challenge the big three?”—he confirmed his status as a newcomer.

With his identity settled, he knew how to proceed.

Rule 2 stated:
“Do not trust the words of new inmates, for they are all wicked criminals.”

This had two meanings:

1. Literally, don’t trust new inmates—they might harm you.

2. Since Zhang Yangqing was a new inmate, the rule implied he should act like a “wicked criminal.”

Good guys had it hard; villains had it easy.

Given the nature of this strange world, Zhang Yangqing suspected this wasn’t a survival scenario. Before entering the cafeteria, he had three theories:

1. Survive inside the prison.

2. Escape and survive outside.

3. The apocalypse would erupt from the prison.

After observing the inmates and the food, the third theory seemed increasingly plausible.

This world was called “Cataclysmic Apocalypse”—not “Apocalyptic Survival.” The distinction mattered.

Human instinct framed the apocalypse as something to endure—zombies, monsters, aliens, war. People saw themselves as victims, scrambling to survive.

But Zhang Yangqing thought differently. As a powerhouse, he never saw himself as prey. If anything, he was the threat.

Thus, even without explicit rules, he predicted two possible outcomes:

1. Hell Difficulty: Choose survival—ally with a strong NPC or struggle alone. Given the scale of this apocalypse (involving superhuman mutations), even top NPCs might fall. Most celestial challengers wouldn’t make it.

2. “Easier” Path (relatively): If you fear the apocalypse, become the apocalypse.

The scenario’s name hinted at it: “Cataclysmic Apocalypse” likely meant the challenger had to mutate, becoming the disaster that destroyed the world.

For example, if a monster was destined to end the world, the challenger’s goal was to become that monster.

The strong didn’t cower from danger—they eliminated it.

Zhang Yangqing wasn’t speculating blindly. Every prisoner wore a bracelet suppressing their power. Removing it would unleash something—perhaps mutation, perhaps destruction.

One thing was certain: uncontrolled power led to rampage.

Other celestial challengers, if they realized this, would scramble for “resources” to enhance themselves. The competition would be fierce.

Those too timid to embrace mutation would face the apocalypse unprepared—and pray for luck.

Of course, this was just Zhang Yangqing’s early-stage theory, pieced together from rules and observations.

Some might wonder: If he’s figured it out, why isn’t he hoarding resources?

Simple. From the moment he entered, he was the disaster.

This world’s apocalypse might be strong—but he was stronger.

While others struggled to survive, Zhang Yangqing pondered the special rewards and which identity to assume.

Becoming a guard or warden came with restrictions—no killing allies, mandatory protections, etc.

He preferred a role with no limits.

As for seating? He didn’t care. Any spot was manageable.

Rule 5 stated:
“If the guard serves food on a red cart, you may eat. If it’s a blue cart, do not refuse outright.”

“Not outright” meant you could decline indirectly—by feigning a seizure, for example.

In this non-elite round, many challengers were randomly selected. The smart ones chose safe seats; the timid, seeing others comply, dared not refuse. Their solution? Eat, then vomit in the bathroom.

In the cafeteria, besides Zhang Yangqing, two imitators also benefited.

After the mustached guard had three “unfortunates” dealt with, he escorted Zhang Yangqing and the two others to a backroom—a small dining area likely for guards.

Following the rules, he handed them special meal boxes.

“Eat here. Don’t tell anyone you had this,” the guard warned, surprisingly kind.

Zhang Yangqing recognized a classic “good guy” NPC—prime for exploitation.

He struck up a conversation:
“Who’s the warden here?”
“Not sure. We just follow orders.”
“Where is this prison located?”

The prison was a steel fortress—no sky, no earth. Location unknown: city? ocean? underground?

“Don’t know. The trains here are sealed. No windows.”

The guard’s slip revealed a clue: Find the train, and you escape.

Zhang Yangqing ate the meal—chicken, special broth, rice. Safe, per the rules.

Compared to the slop others endured, this was a feast.

The broth sent a surge of energy through his body. His two companions writhed on the floor, as if mutating.

Zhang Yangqing? Unfazed.

The guards were baffled. New inmates weren’t supposed to handle the broth so easily.

(For ordinary people, this was a potent elixir. For Zhang Yangqing? A light snack.)

After the meal, he waited for the two to recover. Drenched in sweat, they seemed reborn—though the bracelets masked their changes.

“You good?” Zhang Yangqing asked, his tone oddly veteran-like.

The two, despite being long-term inmates, felt he was the seasoned one.

“Y-Yeah… thanks. What’s your name, boss?”

Their deference was instinctive. Zhang Yangqing’s aura commanded submission.

“Good. Now tell me about this place. Do that, and I’ll keep you alive.”

Most challengers begged NPCs for intel. Zhang Yangqing demanded it.

His approach relied on psychological dominance. By acting superior, he made others treat him as such.

The two, initially dismissive of his boldness, now saw him as a hidden powerhouse.

Thus, they became his lackeys, trailing behind him like bodyguards.

From them, Zhang Yangqing learned:

• This was a multi-species world—beastmen, humans, mutants.

• The three overlords:

  1. Blue Lightning (an irritable superhuman, physically dominant despite suppressed powers).

  2. Crocodile Man (a beastman warrior, imprisoned for over a decade).

  3. The Mad Scientist (a metal-controlling mutant who’d turned himself into a cyborg).

These were basic intel any challenger could obtain.

Meanwhile, Gregori (another challenger) stubbornly focused on removing his bracelet—ignoring NPCs. His arrogance worried his supporters.

After lunch, Zhang Yangqing arrived late to a rest hall. On the wall, he spotted rules visible only to challengers.