I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: “Well, the Banquet’s Already Prepared—Might as Well Enjoy the Feast!”

“Strike when the enemy is weak”—this has always been humanity’s best strategy when facing danger.

Lee Jung-pil’s mind raced. He wasn’t a fool; he knew better than to fully trust the female ghost’s words. Yet, so far, everything she’d said had proven true.

His initial plan had been simple: secure the hidden item as insurance. After all, surviving this far was no small feat, and an extra lifeline could mean the difference between life and death during the upcoming patrol.

But fighting the Frostborn Wax Figure?

That had never been part of the plan.

Before, the mere proximity of that thing had left him paralyzed. How could he possibly fight it? It’d be suicide.

Yet now… things were different.

The confidence from conquering Room 3-7 surged through him. The Frostborn Wax Figure no longer radiated that unbearable cold—it seemed weakened, drained. Probably exhausted from its earlier rampage and now returning to “recharge.”

If it’s weakened… and I’m stronger…

A dangerous thought took root: Maybe I can kill it.

According to the rules, the wax museum should only have one human—the contestant. That meant the Frostborn wasn’t human. And during the surveillance footage review, Lee had noticed how the other wax figures cowered before it, frozen in fear.

Just like the female ghost said—it’s “enhanced.”

If so, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Lee weighed the risks:

• If he didn’t act now, the Frostborn might discover its ruined cryo-pod later and retaliate.
• But if it still had hidden strength, provoking it could backfire horribly.

Yet eliminating it now seemed low-risk. No rules would be broken. The female ghost was trapped anyway—one less enemy could only help.

This is my chance. Who knows what horrors 6 PM will bring? Killing the boss early might secure my victory.

Decision made.

As a sprinter, Lee trusted his speed. Even if the attack failed, he could escape.

After mapping his route, he crept from behind the debris, careful not to disturb a single object. Silent. Unnoticed.

Then—strike.

In a flash, Lee closed the distance. The Frostborn barely had time to turn before the red dagger plunged into its back.

A look of shock and confusion flickered across its frozen face—then thud. It collapsed.

“I did it! I ACTUALLY DID IT!”

Lee stared at the lifeless figure, exhilarated.

To South Korean viewers, he was now a legend—the man who’d accomplished what even the Chinese contestant hadn’t.

Celebrations erupted nationwide. In Seoul’s grandest hotel, a victory banquet was already underway—complete with red carpets, celebrity guests, and government officials eagerly awaiting his return. News crews swarmed, ready to broadcast his triumph.

Lee Jung-pil wasn’t just a survivor; he was a hero.

Meanwhile, in China’s broadcast…

While other contestants hid, Zhang Yangqing strolled casually through the third floor.

Upon entering Room 3-7, he slapped aside two overconfident wax figures—prompting the rest to freeze like, well, actual wax statues.

Chinese viewers howled with laughter:

• “LMAO, even ghosts know the rules—play dead, and the contestant won’t kill you!”
• “Since when are horrors scared of dying? This is hilarious!”
• “What were those two thinking? Attacking him is like headbutting a guillotine!”
• “Look at South Korea’s guy—running in and out like it’s an Olympic event. Meanwhile, our dude’s walking through hell like it’s a museum tour.”
• “Pretty sure Big Bro Zhang’s just here for fun at this point.”

They weren’t wrong.

As a max-level Taoist priest, Zhang found the real world dull. No cultivation challenges, no epic battles. This supernatural game? Perfect entertainment.

After browsing Rooms 3-7 (red dagger) and 3-8 (special nails used to seal wax figures), Zhang yawned. None of these trinkets interested him.

At 5:30 PM, he headed downstairs—only to meet the Frostborn Wax Figure on the second-floor landing.

The two locked eyes.

The audience leaned in. This was it—the clash of titans!

…

Then, defying all expectations:

Zhang raised a hand. “Hey.”

The Frostborn nodded back.

And just like that, they walked past each other.

Silence.

Then chaos:

• “My IQ’s too low for this—someone explain?!”
• “They’re NOT fighting?!”
• “Do they… know each other?!”

Back in the analysis room, Hu Liuqi smacked his forehead. “Of course! The rules say the museum only has one person—but not necessarily one guard! The Frostborn is a guard! Think about it: the female ghost said it leaves and returns on schedule—just like guards do! She wanted us to kill it!”

Other nations’ experts reached the same conclusion.

When South Korea’s team announced this, the celebratory mood shattered.

Their hero had just murdered an ally.

Worse, experts predicted the Frostborn might’ve been essential for surviving the 6 PM patrol. Now? Lee was as good as dead.

The nation collectively sighed. Then, with typical Korean pragmatism:

• “Well, the banquet’s ready—might as well treat it as a funeral feast.”
• “Swap the flowers for wreaths. Someone order a coffin.”
• “Give Jung-pil Oppa a grand send-off. He did his best.”
• “I’d donate 400 won for his memorial!”
• “Screw my diet—I’m eating two extra bowls in his honor!”

Families were notified. Preparations began.

Unbeknownst to Lee Jung-pil—still very much alive—South Korea had already started his funeral.

Some mourners, eyes wet with tears, piled their plates high. “We’ll feast through our grief!”