I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 137

Chapter 137: It’s Not Me Who Should Repent, But This World!

Abdul felt he still had significant shortcomings.

Truthfully, it wasn’t as terrifying as the audience made it out to be.

He was just a fraudster—not only did he have little combat experience, but he’d barely even been in a fight.

Dealing with an ordinary prisoner required his full effort. What if he faced someone stronger?
Without any real skills, his only option was to rely on brute strength to overpower opponents. That’s why he needed to grow stronger.

Had he known the audience was comparing him to the Heavenly Master of Dragon Country, he would’ve been utterly baffled.

You’re really overestimating me. You dare compare me to him? Guess whether I’d dare to even try.

Killing one prisoner had already pushed him to his limits, while that legendary figure slaughtered effortlessly without even breaking a sweat.

They weren’t even in the same league. How could he possibly compare?

No matter how much Abdul improved, his sole focus was survival.

The Heavenly Master of Dragon Country was different. His concerns were: What special rewards does this supernatural world offer? How can I maximize them?

In the last supernatural world, the Red-robed Cardinal had also pondered such questions. But in this one, aside from him, no one else dared to even consider it.

Though Abdul had gained temporary power, as long as the wristband remained unbroken, he was still constrained.

And even if he removed it, he’d still need time to master his newfound strength.

The Red-robed Cardinal, Gregori, was single-mindedly obsessed with removing his wristband. Once freed, he feared no one.

As for the Heavenly Master of Dragon Country? Whether his wristband was on or off, the audience knew one thing—no one made him afraid. Because those with sense had already started fearing him.

On his way back to the prison, Zhang Yangqing told his serpent-eyed underling to eat as much as he wanted. Since each person only needed to hand in five colored fruits, anything extra would be wasted.

Might as well let the underling consume them to boost his abilities or strength.

Who would ever complain about having too much power?

The serpent-eyed underling was overjoyed, happily munching as they walked. In one go, he devoured over thirty fruits—wasting nothing.

Zhang Yangqing hadn’t expected such an appetite. He himself could barely stomach one or two.

The underling explained that his serpent-bloodline granted him a voracious appetite and immense digestive capacity.

After all, snakes could swallow prey several times their size.

Zhang Yangqing nodded, gaining a new understanding of his subordinate. Essentially, anything that could enhance strength could be shoved into his mouth.

This certainly made things easier.

The serpent-eyed underling felt he’d hit the jackpot with this boss.

Under other prison tyrants, he’d have been treated as food to nurture the fruits. But with this boss, he was the one enjoying the feast.

And the boss had the power to handle any threat. Where else could he find such a leader?

He was more than willing to follow Zhang Yangqing—no one could stop him.

On the way back, Zhang Yangqing also had his underling collect red rose petals.

One of the rules mentioned:

[Rule 3: If you experience hallucinations, find red rose petals. Consuming them will dispel the illusions.]

Here, experience mattered.

Since no one in the botanical garden had hallucinated, the rose petals mentioned in the rule were likely a hidden reward.

They might prove useful in the next stage or during the night.

The function was clear: If you hallucinate, eat them.

Smart participants would prepare these in advance, just in case.

However, red rose petals were extremely dangerous to harvest, requiring extreme caution.

Many had already died trying to pluck them.

Zhang Yangqing could’ve easily sliced them off with a leaf, but he wanted to test whether his underling—after being fed so many fruits and taught a few tricks—had learned to think for himself.

In short: laziness.

He’d repeatedly emphasized the importance of observation and humility, even as strength grew.

This was crucial. If the underling failed to grasp it, he’d forever remain a mindless brute with power—easily killed by anyone with real skill.

Zhang Yangqing cared more about cultivating his intelligence than his strength.

Upon receiving the order, the underling didn’t ask why. The boss’s word was law.

He didn’t take it lightly either. Finding a rock, he hurled it with precision.

The stone struck the stem of the red rose, sending it fluttering to the ground. Only then did he carefully retrieve it.

He was mimicking his boss’s techniques. While he couldn’t kill with leaves, rocks worked just fine.

He’d grown stronger, but that didn’t mean he could ignore the dangers of the plants.

The underling had learned to listen—never underestimating even the smallest threat.

Zhang Yangqing was pleased. A smart, obedient underling made life much easier.

Some subordinates nodded along but never actually followed instructions.

With those types, Zhang Yangqing saw no point in wasting words.

Best of all, this one didn’t chatter endlessly or constantly ask why.

Other participants collected rose petals in various ways. Those who failed had the audience worried—tonight might be rough.

Zhang Yangqing took the petals from his underling and handed a few back, instructing him to eat them if hallucinations occurred.

The underling nodded, committing it to memory without question.

To him, Zhang Yangqing’s words were absolute.

After finishing their tasks in the botanical garden, the two followed their markers back to the entrance.

The same chubby, sunglasses-wearing guard stood at the door.

Zhang Yangqing was among the few who didn’t bother greeting him—he had no need.

Next was Gregori, who outright refused to lower his head.

The rest showered the guard with flattery, hoping for future favors.

At the prison gates, the underling handed over two bags of colored fruits. Once counted, they were ushered into a waiting room.

Since it wasn’t yet 6 p.m., early returnees had to wait.

But something odd became apparent—the prison’s three top tyrants were conspicuously absent.

Around a hundred had set out, but fewer than fifty returned.

Casualties in the botanical garden were expected, even for tyrants.

But losing all three at once? Unprecedented.

When Zhang Yangqing and his underling entered, veteran prisoners noticed the change in the latter.

These old-timers had a sharp instinct for power.

They sensed the underling’s aura had grown stronger than the former tyrants’.

Whispers spread: Had he killed them and taken their strength?

As for Zhang Yangqing? They couldn’t read him at all—some even overlooked him entirely.

Then came a scene that baffled the veterans.

The seemingly ordinary prisoner casually took a seat, while the intimidating underling stood rigidly behind him, hands clasped behind his back.

It was as if the underling was his subordinate.

Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Some even thought the seated newcomer should’ve yielded his spot to the underling.

Had the underling heard their thoughts, he’d have snapped: If you want me dead, just say so.

Like all participants, Zhang Yangqing scanned the room upon entering but found no new rules. They could only wait for the next phase.

Only one participant differed—Abdul, now a guard, could move freely to search for rules.

By 6 p.m., the guards sealed the doors and led the prisoners onward.

Abdul found the prison too vast to explore alone, so he stuck to the process, watching for clues.

Three guards led the way, and Abdul blended in.

After navigating endless corridors, they arrived at a colossal structure—the Repentance Hall.

The term monolithic barely did it justice. Its sheer scale made Zhang Yangqing wonder if a beast lurked inside.

This time, rules were displayed plainly at the entrance:

Repentance Hall Regulations:

[Rule 1: This is the Repentance Hall. Completing repentance reduces sentences, potentially enabling early release.]

[Rule 2: Do not trust death row inmates unless they share food with you.]

[Rule 3: Killing a death row inmate is permitted and reduces your sentence. Warning: They are extremely dangerous!]

[Rule 4: The hall periodically distributes delicious meat. If hungry, find a way to obtain it.]

[Rule 5: Do not stare into the hall’s mirrors for over three seconds. It is highly dangerous!]

[Rule 6: Certain areas lack surveillance. Compliance relies on prisoner discipline.]

[Rule 7: The hall reopens at 9 p.m. and closes at 10. Mind the time—do not lose yourself in repentance.]

Reading this, participants felt a sense of foreboding.

Death row inmates would likely appear here.

According to veterans, these were terrifying criminals who’d committed heinous acts. Even with restraining wristbands, their destructive power was immense.

Ordinary prisoners stood no chance against them.

Avoiding death row inmates and staying in monitored areas seemed key to survival.

Unmonitored zones were free-for-all killing grounds.

But Russia’s participant, Goncharov, disagreed. Since killing death row inmates reduced sentences, there had to be a way.

As an average participant, his goal was escape first, then survival in the apocalyptic world.

Goncharov had allied with the Lightning Faction. Since the mystical fruit hadn’t triggered conflict in his world, its leader still lived.

The rules didn’t forbid cooperation, so Goncharov believed in strength in numbers. He stuck with the seasoned Lightning Faction, biding his time.

The faction’s twenty-strong group aimed to complete tasks and kill death row inmates for early release.

Repentance Hall access was rare—maybe once every few months.

The Lightning leader noted Goncharov’s luck. As a minor offender, his first visit coincided with the hall’s opening. With good performance, they might leave by dawn.

Goncharov also learned something crucial:

Wristband darkness indicated severity of crimes.

The Lightning leader and others, after years inside, had faint wristbands. This repentance could secure their freedom.

Participants’ wristbands weren’t dark, hence their placement here.

This heartened Goncharov. This supernatural world wasn’t a death trap. Once out, with strong allies, surviving the apocalypse would be manageable.

He couldn’t wait to leave this cursed place.

Something about it felt perpetually on the brink of disaster.

Many participants shared his approach—safety lay in numbers.

Abdul, however, was torn. As a guard, he could skip the hall.

But the mention of meat tempted him.

He could technically leave anytime, but the outside seemed deadlier.

His supernatural world experience had taught him one thing:

Rule-mentioned food often enhanced abilities.

Lunch had been rancid slop, dinner was fruit—this meat was too good to pass up.

Plus, he had two major advantages now. Why not?

The rules didn’t bar guards from entering—they just couldn’t reopen doors until 9 p.m.

Gregori, however, perked up at sentence reduction. Since he couldn’t remove his wristband, maybe early release would let guards unlock it.

His single-minded focus on the wristband frustrated his audience.

Zhang Yangqing’s eyes gleamed. Finally, a way to increase his sentence.

While others sought freedom, he aimed for death row.

He guessed this was the world’s way of offering two paths:

1. 1. Survival Route: Reduce sentences and escape.
      But without power, surviving this world’s apocalypse would be hell. Most would rely on factions, gambling their lives on others’ mercy.

1. 1. Apocalypse Route: Increase sentences to gain strength, forging a lone path. To avoid doom, seize every resource—become the disaster.

Repentance Hall?

Before reading the rules, Zhang Yangqing had assumed it was for atonement.

Now, he saw the truth: This was an arena.

To grow stronger, ordinary prisoners had to steal from the jaws of death.

If they didn’t kill death row inmates, they’d be killed instead.

Zhang Yangqing suspected these inmates chose to stay.

Only those who understood this world’s rules would remain, uncovering its secrets.

And those secrets likely lay with death row.

With a clear path to becoming one, Zhang Yangqing strode inside.

Admittedly, the initial process seemed legitimate.

An icy waterfall: Sitting under it for twenty minutes dimmed wristbands.

Small confession booths: Twenty minutes of repentance did the same.

Then came the absurd ones—pure torture.

Boiling oil baths, lashings—all reduced sentences.

The catch? Limited slots. Each activity accommodated ten people, once per person.

This prison embodied resource scarcity perfectly.

Hundreds of prisoners vied for repentance slots. Without faction backing, blood would spill over the chance to leave.

This was why aligning with powerful leaders was crucial.

Following their bosses, participants began repenting.

But resentment festered. Many were innocent, yet here they suffered.

Survival demanded it, so they endured.

Gregori, for once, didn’t protest. Minor punishments were nothing—he saw them as divine trials, even welcoming them.

Abdul ignored repentance, fixated on the hall’s meat.

Zhang Yangqing’s approach was simpler. Had he wanted repentance slots, none could’ve stopped him.

But he felt no need to repent.

The world should be repenting to him.