I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 140

Chapter 140: Top-Tier After-Sales Service—A Temporary Escape from Danger!

In the Strange Tales world, there exists a terrifying type of Chosen One.

They are ferocious yet always complete their missions flawlessly.

They kill many, but never kill the wrong targets.

Greco, however, belongs to another category—ferocious to the point of abnormality.

His personality has flaws. He is not perfect.

Whenever blood spills, he enters a state of uncontrollable frenzy.

And when he regains his senses, he realizes he might have made a catastrophic mistake.

Three minutes ago, after having his restrictions lifted, Greco unleashed his pent-up emotions.

As a holy cleric, he possessed an instinct—when out of control, he could instinctively sense hostility.

As long as he killed all hostile beings—or his holy energy ran out—he would return to normal.

This “loss of control” didn’t mean he blacked out. His consciousness remained relatively clear, but it was as if a second personality took over his body, compelling him to slaughter.

Once this bloodthirsty persona was satisfied, his normal self would re-emerge, praying to the Lord for forgiveness.

But this time, before he could even beg for absolution, he was stunned by what he saw.

The world before him was engulfed in darkness.

There was no light in the sky.

The steel fortress behind him had been shattered, and the glow from within illuminated a grotesque forest—every tree hung with corpses or bones.

A chilling wind swept past, making even a holy cleric like him shiver—or perhaps it was just the absence of his holy energy.

The black trees swayed in the wind, their skeletal and fleshy ornaments creaking like macabre marionettes.

At this moment, he finally remembered one of the rules:

[Rule 7: As a prisoner, never attempt to escape. The outside world is not necessarily safer than the prison.]

But it was too late.

Behind him, deafening alarms blared. More and stronger guards would soon swarm out to hunt him down.

When he broke out earlier, he had relied on sheer strength to slaughter some of the guards. But the prison was vast—he couldn’t kill them all.

If any guard pressed their controller, he was dead.

Now, he was filled with regret. Without his holy energy, he stood no chance of traversing this eerie forest.

I should never have left.

It wasn’t just Greco who was suffering. The screens in Pasta Nation had fallen deathly silent.

Viewers were certain Greco was doomed. Trapped between the forest and the pursuing guards, he had violated the execution rules by killing too many wardens.

Unless he gambled his life by fleeing into the forest, survival was impossible.

But Chosen Ones had no knowledge of the forest’s rules. This place was a death zone—endless and inescapable. The only choice was between dying now or dying later.

Many had already guessed: this forest was the so-called “Pollution.”

To counter Pollution, one needed specific tools—like the raincoat mentioned in the Tenement Building scenario.

This time, the rules provided no guidance on avoiding Pollution.

Probably because the Strange Tales world never expected a Chosen One to play like this.

Did he really not fear soft-locking himself in this world?

This was also why Zhang Yangqing hadn’t gone all-out yet.

Even the experts in Pasta Nation saw no way out. The Vatican, too, had already begun chanting prayers for Greco’s soul.

Greco wasn’t even dead yet, and his former colleagues—the Cardinals—were already performing last rites.

Even the Pope sighed, praising Greco’s bravery for showcasing the Church’s might, but lamenting that he had been tricked by the Strange Tales NPCs.

This wasn’t Greco’s fault.

This was the Pope’s final act of respect for his subordinate.

With His Holiness speaking thus, no one dared criticize further.

After all, Greco had already secured an SSS rating for Pasta Nation.

And in this deadly scenario, he had volunteered. That alone deserved respect.

Greco’s abilities were undeniable—this world simply countered him too hard.

Just as the Pope had pronounced Greco’s death sentence, fate delivered a swift slap to his face.

The Holy Father had misjudged.

As Greco hesitated at the forest’s edge, someone tapped his shoulder.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Without his holy energy, someone had sneaked up on him unnoticed.

But when he saw who it was, his despairing expression cracked into a sliver of relief.

“Run! What are you waiting for? Follow me!”

It was none other than the Mad Scientist—the one who had unlocked his restrictions.

The Mad Scientist bore no hostility toward Greco. Lost in his rampage, Greco had only thought of escaping, so the scientist survived.

Watching Greco’s slaughterfest, he had followed him out.

True, he hadn’t warned Greco about the three-minute time limit, but he was now providing “after-sales service”—saving Greco’s life.

The Mad Scientist was no fool. In his eyes, this “randomly unlocked” inmate was a godlike figure—shattering the Hall of Repentance’s walls with a wave, reducing death row prisoners to dust, and carving a path through the impregnable steel fortress.

In this dog-eat-dog world, survival required either strength or a powerful ally.

And wasn’t Greco the ultimate ally?

Knowing Greco’s power wouldn’t last, the scientist had followed, snatching two guard uniforms from corpses along the way.

Seeing his savior, Greco didn’t hesitate. He followed the Mad Scientist to a hidden spot near the fortress, buried his prisoner garb, and donned the guard uniform.

This was his only chance to live.

When the prison’s guard battalion stormed out, Greco and the scientist blended in, pretending to hunt the “escapee.”

Watching Greco cheat death, the Pope was dumbfounded.

He had already written Greco off, arranging his funeral—only to be proven wrong instantly.

His Cardinals had nearly finished their eulogies—only for Greco to turn up alive?

Even more absurd, Pasta Nation had been preparing a funeral feast, only to cancel it last minute.

Still, Greco had only narrowly escaped death. His colleagues figured they might as well keep the funeral arrangements ready—who knew when he might recklessly get himself killed again?

One Cardinal muttered this aloud, drawing scornful glares from the others. What kind of grudge do you have against Greco? Can’t wait for him to die?

Back in the Strange Tales world, Greco and the Mad Scientist followed the search party in circles, finding no trace of the “escapee.” If the fugitive had entered the eerie forest, death was certain.

Returning to a break room, Greco—for the first time—thanked someone in this world:

“Thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it back.”

Arrogant due to his strength, Greco had disdained teamwork, leading to constant setbacks in this scenario.

“No need for thanks. I helped you to help myself.”

The Mad Scientist’s blunt honesty was refreshing.

For the first time, Greco felt goodwill toward a Strange Tales native.

Maybe these people can be reasoned with after all.

“I have a question. Who was that person in the white uniform earlier?”

During the patrol, Greco had spotted a prison official in white.

His aura dwarfed even the death row prisoners. Greco suspected he might be the final boss—perhaps the warden?

His earlier failures stemmed from arrogance and refusal to communicate. Now, he asked everything.

“That one’s trouble. He’s a Prison Warden—the overseer of death row. We never interact with his kind.”

According to the scientist, only special superhumans could become Wardens.

Their strength far surpassed death row prisoners, marking them as the prison’s elite.

In this world’s power hierarchy, Wardens ranked six stars or higher (max seven).

The Mad Scientist and other prison overlords barely scraped four stars—nowhere near Warden level.

But the scientist estimated Greco at a full seven stars—hence his decision to save him.

As for the eerie plants? Beyond their fear of light, their power was incalculable.

Death row prisoners were merely five-star thugs—dirty enforcers.

Completing the Warden’s missions earned them rewards to grow stronger. Failure meant death.

From the scientist, Greco gleaned more secrets:

Centuries ago, this world’s sun vanished. Plants ran wild, devouring all life—forming the forest outside.

Greco believed this, as the Botanical Garden’s hidden rules mentioned the plants’ fear of artificial light.

Now, only two human zones remained:

[Paradise] and [Prison].

Paradise was a might-makes-right world, where seven-star overlords ruled territories.

Criminals were imprisoned here.

The prison lay some distance from Paradise—how far, the scientist didn’t know.

But one thing was certain: only a special [Train], passing through a tunnel, could bridge the gap.

Even if Greco regained his holy energy, crossing the forest to Paradise would drain him dry.

Armed with this knowledge, Greco asked:

“What’s your plan now?”

He wasn’t stupid—but wanted to hear the native’s thoughts.

“We’ll use our guard disguises to escape. After the Hall of Repentance opens, some prisoners are released to Paradise the next day.”

The scientist refused to rot here as a fake guard. What if they were exposed?

Greco nodded—but one critical issue remained: the wristband.

Without it, he could bulldoze through this world.

The scientist didn’t know how to remove it. As a mere prisoner, his knowledge was limited.

But if they reached his lab, he could extend the disruptor’s duration.

This left Greco conflicted. Should he revert to prisoner status and follow procedures?

But he had already wrecked the place. Who knew what came next?

Reluctantly, he agreed to cooperate, using his disguise to hunt for more rules.

Without them, returning would be tough.

Then it hit him: Where would the remaining rules be?

He recalled a prisoner rule:

[Rule 6: After outdoor labor, return to your cell immediately. Choosing the right cell is crucial.]

Meaning, after the Hall of Repentance, the next step was spending the night in a cell, awaiting release.

Decided, he would scout the Hall area as a guard. If nothing turned up, he’d find a way back to a cell.

This wasn’t safety—just a temporary reprieve.

Recklessness had consequences. Fixing them wouldn’t be easy—if possible at all.

Meanwhile, the two Chosen Ones on the evolution path were far steadier, having mostly deduced the clearance method.

Abdul of Turban Nation knew most prisoners were sacrificial offerings.

Without sacrifices, the Hall’s “meat” wouldn’t appear.

Abdul reviewed the Hall’s rules, waiting for the death row prisoners to strike.

Whether the prisoners died horribly didn’t concern him. He needed only to achieve his goal.

His plan was simple:

If the death row prisoners shared the meat, peace would reign.

If not? He’d take it by force.

With his enhanced abilities, he had options.

Not as free as Dragon Nation’s Zhang Yangqing, but better off than most.

Abdul even sensed a grand conspiracy within this prison.

Zhang Yangqing had already guessed: the prison’s ruler likely knew of—or was orchestrating—the impending apocalypse, hence cultivating powerful individuals.

That’s why the rules stated the outside wasn’t necessarily safe.

And Rule 6’s emphasis on “choosing the right cell” hinted at diverging paths:

• Leave? Pick a normal cell for release tomorrow.

• Evolve further? Find the death row entrance to the prison’s core.

The wait dragged on. Unlike other Chosen Ones’ thrilling ordeals, these two simply watched the slaughter below.

Having secured the Botanical Garden’s final reward, their group lacked overlords. Most prisoners were quickly butchered, with only a few hiding.

Next, the death row prisoners hauled the corpses to another zone—still oversized.

From afar, Abdul spotted a Goddess of Repentance statue, exquisitely crafted.

Unlike the sword-raising version, this one planted her blade in the ground, hands resting on the hilt.

Her gentle smile seemed to forgive all sins.

Abdul felt this was the Goddess’s true form.

The prisoners dumped the bodies into a bottomless pit before the statue.

No sound echoed back—either too deep or too distant.

After the offerings, the five death row prisoners knelt, praying devoutly.

Once the ritual ended, they rose—the lion-man and rhino-man dissatisfied.

“I wonder what ingredients the Goddess will bestow.”
“This batch seemed decent, but lacked key offerings.”

They missed having prison overlords as sacrifices.

At 9:00 PM sharp, the zone stirred—violently.

The “ingredients” had arrived.

A massive beast emerged—powerful limbs, earth-shaking steps, curved tusks like sabers, and emerald scales.

A legendary monstrosity, straight from ancient texts.

The death row prisoners paled.

They’d expected small prey—not this.

Now, who was eating whom?

With unlocked wristbands, the lion and rhino could’ve slain it easily.

But restricted, victory was uncertain.

They had no choice but to fight.

A battle of predator vs. prey began.

Abdul watched, awestruck and fearful.

The beast moved terrifyingly fast—one swipe of its claws or fangs meant instant death.

But death row prisoners were no pushovers.

They dodged desperately, counterattacking when possible.

Yet soon, they were losing, bloodied and battered.

Abdul saw his chance.

Not to attack the prisoners—but to aid them.

Rule 2 stated:

[Rule 2: Do not easily trust a death row prisoner unless they willingly share food with you.]

Abdul pondered: How to make them share voluntarily?

He needed their intel—this was the perfect opportunity.

They were struggling. His assistance now would earn their gratitude.

Perhaps this was the rule’s intended timing.

Though combat wasn’t his forte, Abdul was now an enhanced mutant.

Just as the beast prepared to finish the prisoners, he struck its weak spot—the spine.

A decisive “crack” later, the beast collapsed, slain by the others.

After exchanging pleasantries, Abdul was welcomed into their circle.

Dressed as a guard and having aided them, the death row prisoners gladly shared the food.

To Abdul, this proved the Strange Tales world operated on logic.

Follow the rules, act reasonably, and the NPCs would reciprocate.

Help them, and they’ll help you—that was this world’s truth.

Chosen Ones needed only reason to survive.

Even Zhang Yangqing, in his own way, followed this principle.

Though his version was:

“My power exists to make others listen to my reasoning—not the other way around.”