I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 138

Chapter 138: My Boss Is Right Here, Yet You Call Me “Boss”?

The Repentance Hall was a vast, imposing palace.

When the participants and other prisoners stepped inside, the massive stone doors boomed shut behind them, sealing them off from the outside world.

The interior was staggeringly large—so immense that even with hundreds of prisoners entering, they barely occupied a fraction of the space.

The towering walls and grand architecture made everyone feel insignificant, as if they had wandered into a land of giants.

This gave the participants an uneasy premonition, like they had stumbled into a realm not meant for ordinary humans.

Ahead stood several colossal stone bridges. Crossing them would lead to the true repentance grounds.

But what seemed like ordinary bridges from afar were, up close, monstrous in scale. The statues lining them dwarfed the participants, and beneath the bridges flowed an eerie, unknown liquid.

Following the veteran prisoners, the participants traversed the bridge and arrived before an even more towering statue—a goddess, her sword raised high, as if poised to sever all sin.

This, the prisoners explained, was the Goddess of Repentance, the supreme deity of this world.

Any sin forgiven by her would be absolved.

Every prisoner knelt before her, chanting pleas for mercy—a ritual seemingly ingrained in this world’s rules.

The participants mimicked them, even though they had committed no crimes. Standing out was dangerous.

Even Gregori offered a perfunctory bow—a polite nod to another deity, not a betrayal of his own faith.

Yet something about the statue unsettled him. He couldn’t pinpoint what.

Among the surviving participants, only Zhang Yangqing refused to bow.

To him, this wasn’t a goddess of repentance—but a goddess of slaughter.

While others missed it, Zhang Yangqing noticed the statue’s expression: not mercy, but fury.

She didn’t symbolize redemption—she loathed all existence.

Besides, who besides the Dao Ancestor deserved his worship?

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t bow—this statue simply wasn’t worthy.

As Zhang Yangqing turned to leave, a group of prisoners blocked his path.

“You dare disrespect the Goddess?” their leader spat. “If she refuses to forgive us because of you, you’ll pay!”

Others joined in:

“Kneel, or you won’t leave alive!”

“This is a sacred rite. You should be begging for forgiveness!”

“An hour on your knees—or else!”

Zhang Yangqing had unknowingly violated a hidden rule: defying the Goddess invited the prisoners’ wrath.

But in doing so, they had also triggered their own death sentence.

Zhang Yangqing glanced at his serpent-eyed underling.

The underling understood—though how he interpreted that glance, even Zhang Yangqing didn’t know.

He simply wanted to see what the underling would do.

With a cold sweep of his slit pupils, the underling pulled pebbles from his pocket.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Five stones shot upward—shattering the surveillance cameras overhead.

The prisoners gaped. Even the audience was stunned.

They’d expected the underling to kill the offenders—but he’d outsmarted the rules instead.

[Rule 11: Harming fellow prisoners or attacking guards is forbidden. Violators face execution.]

Had he slaughtered them outright, the cameras would’ve caught it, dooming him.

But smashing cameras? No rule against that.

No footage meant no crime.

The underling had evolved.

“Zhang Yangqing’s been teaching him to observe… and he’s actually learning!”

“This guy’s a growth-type monster. Given time, he’ll be unstoppable!”

“He’s mimicking Zhang Yangqing—just a fraction of his skills, yet already terrifying.”

“Where do I get a follower like this? With him, I could clear this stage!”

“News flash: He only follows the strong. You? He’d ignore you.”

The underling had transformed from a mere lackey into a true powerhouse.

Though submissive before Zhang Yangqing, his aura now cowed the other prisoners.

Zhang Yangqing nodded, pleased.

This was the kind of intelligent, obedient subordinate he valued—one who could think for himself.

Back at Dragon Tiger Mountain, Su Muyu pointed at the screen, scolding the disciples:

“If you had half his comprehension, you wouldn’t be this pathetic.“

The disciples grumbled internally—Sure, if you fed us mystical fruits, we’d shine too!—but dared not retort.

Su Muyu controlled the sect’s resources. Even Zhang Yangqing deferred to him.

Meanwhile, across the globe, major factions were pushing their members to train harder.

Watching Zhang Yangqing’s screen, awakened individuals gained insights, even breakthroughs.

Those in power sensed ominous times ahead—even with a powerhouse like Zhang Yangqing, complacency was fatal.

…..

Back in the supernatural world, with the cameras destroyed, the prisoners panicked.

The underling’s aura alone was more oppressive than the prison tyrants’.

Their bravado had relied on surveillance. Now? They were defenseless.

The leader who’d demanded Zhang Yangqing’s kneel groveled instead:

“Spare us, Boss! We were fools to offend you!”

But his plea sealed his fate.

Why?

He’d begged the underling—not Zhang Yangqing.

“My boss is right here, yet you call me ‘Boss’?”

“Even if the Goddess herself begged, you’d still die!”

The underling hated chatter. Actions spoke louder.

In a blur, he vaulted forward—

SPLAT!

The groveler’s head exploded, painting the floor crimson.

The other prisoners froze in horror.

What kind of strength could pulp a skull barehanded?

This was just the beginning.

Like a specter, the underling slaughtered twenty more, each falling in a single strike.

Then came the dumbest move yet:

One prisoner, realizing he couldn’t win, lunged at Zhang Yangqing—hoping to take him hostage.

“The underling’s too strong, but this guy’s weak! Perfect leverage!”

The logic wasn’t wrong…

But the underling and audience paled.

“Do you know who you’re attacking?!”

Zhang Yangqing couldn’t be bothered to swat flies—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.

If the underling could one-shot any prisoner, Zhang Yangqing could annihilate them all without lifting a finger.

And this idiot charged him?

“Most Audacious Death Award”—locked in.

Zhang Yangqing didn’t even glance at the attacker.

The underling blurred into motion, twisting the man’s head clean off.

Here’s the insane detail:

As blood sprayed, the underling erected an invisible barrier, ensuring not a single drop touched Zhang Yangqing.

Even drenched in gore himself, he refused to let his boss be stained by filth.

“A single drop on his clothes would be my failure.”

As the ultimate subordinate, his standards were ruthless.

Slaughtering others? Trivial.

Protecting his boss’s dignity? Sacred.

To prevent further incidents, the underling accelerated the massacre.

Within a minute, fifty-plus prisoners lay decapitated, their heads rolling like grotesque marbles.

Blood pooled and shimmered under the dim light, casting the two figures in a hellish glow.

To the surviving prisoners, they were reapers incarnate.

The rest fled in terror, not daring to approach.

Those who hadn’t provoked Zhang Yangqing were spared—but after this, they’d avoid him at all costs.

The smarter ones realized:

“If the underling’s this strong… what does that make the guy he obeys?”

Mission complete, the underling returned silently to Zhang Yangqing’s shadow.

Unlike eager underlings craving praise, he saw this as duty, not merit.

Zhang Yangqing, meanwhile, studied the statue.

Had it grown more vibrant after absorbing the blood?

Something was off.

The audience noticed another detail:

The underling had copied Zhang Yangqing’s signature move—headshots.

Though lacking his boss’s world-shattering finesse, his mimicry was uncanny.

His movements, his footwork—all mirrored Zhang Yangqing’s style.

This was why Su Muyu praised his “high comprehension.”

True learning wasn’t rote repetition—it was observing the master’s essence.

With just scraps of Zhang Yangqing’s skills, the underling had become formidable.

His potential was limitless.

…..

Leaving the statue behind, Zhang Yangqing approached the repentance stations—torture devices masquerading as penance.

While he couldn’t care less, other participants fought desperately for slots.

Gregori, for once, behaved.

He endured the freezing waterfall, then queued for the confession booth—no cutting in line.

For a Red-robed Cardinal, this was humbling survival.

“Just let me remove this wristband… then I’ll slaughter them all!”

Russia’s participant, Goncharov, excelled this round.

He’d noticed a critical rule:

[Rule 5: Do not stare into the confession booth’s mirror for over 3 seconds. Extreme danger!]

Most read this as a warning—but Goncharov saw opportunity.

“If I can’t look… neither can my enemies.”

He convinced his faction leader, the Lightning Master, to secure a booth with a mirror first.

Inside, he prized the mirror loose, hiding it for future use.

His sharp rule interpretation impressed even the experts.

So far, no participants had died—protected by their factions, this stage felt like a reprieve.

But as viewers watched those exploring deeper, unease grew.

“Is this really what the rules meant?”

“Or… have the true rules just appeared?”