I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 47

Chapter 47: From One of the Crowd to the Sole Chosen One!

Seeing Mitarai Saburo stand up, the audience from Sakura Country grew excited.

It felt like the world-class puzzle of the “Sister Ghosts” was about to be solved—and not by just anyone, but by their nation’s chosen representative.

This filled them with an unparalleled sense of pride.

For once, they could finally relate to how the audience from Dragon Country felt—the overwhelming glory brought by the strength of their chosen one.

“I guarantee Mitarai Saburo will clear this with zero difficulty!”
“I checked the world chat—experts from other countries are saying Mitarai’s answer is the standard solution.”
“Ugh, can’t we block other countries from watching his feed? That way, only we can clear it!”
“Exactly! The other chosen ones are just copying Mitarai-sama’s answers!”

The Sakura audience even flooded the global chat, demanding “viewing fees” from everyone else.

They were immediately clapped back by viewers from Stick Country, who retorted: “If you claim everyone’s copying you, then take a look at Dragon Country’s chosen one—his actions have nothing in common with yours!”

This left the Sakura crowd momentarily speechless. But soon, they narrowed their focus, challenging Stick Country to “stop watching if they had the guts.”

And so, the two sides—bound by generations of rivalry—descended into a heated exchange of “greetings.”

Meanwhile, many chosen ones anxiously waited for their expert teams to deliver answers, unsure if anyone else could solve this puzzle.

Truth be told, Mitarai Saburo hadn’t taken tips from the sisters when they boarded. Instead, he’d observed them closely.

By the time the bus reached “Happy Graveyard,” he’d already figured out what to do—partly inspired by Muscle Doctor, a former chosen one from Eagle Country, whose playthrough taught him one critical lesson:

You can use the rules of the supernatural to eliminate the supernatural.

Normally, even if a chosen one had the skills, they wouldn’t risk confronting a ghost head-on. Supernaturals couldn’t be killed by conventional means.

His role was tour guide, not security.

At least security had batons. A tour guide? Not even a weapon.

Hand-to-hand combat with a ghost was a death sentence either way.

So, exploiting the rules was the best option.

If the dungeon was designed this way, there had to be a method to kill one of the sisters.

The key was identifying the hidden rules governing the ghosts’ behavior.

The hooded passenger’s rules likely involved aggressive tendencies—but only if their neck wasn’t seen, or if they were noticed, they’d stop attacking.

As for the sisters, Mitarai wasn’t 100% certain, but he was 80% sure it revolved around their clasped hands.

The fact that they refused to look at each other suggested they didn’t get along—yet some unspoken reason forced them to hold hands.

Mitarai’s theory?

Make them let go and look at each other. That’ll break the curse.

The hidden rule—“Citizens cannot attack each other”—meant only a non-citizen (i.e., the chosen one) could forcibly separate them.

To minimize risk, he’d use another rule:

Rule 9: If passengers become agitated, play their preferred music to calm them.

The radio’s music might be the key to suppressing a ghost’s rampage.

Whether or not it worked, keeping the music on couldn’t hurt.

When the bus stopped at the gas station, the driver dozed off again, his snores deepening as the radio’s lullaby played.

Seizing the moment, Mitarai approached the sisters with a smile.

“Mind switching seats?”

As the right sister stood, he yanked their hands apart.

Instantly, the left sister panicked. Her body visibly shriveled as she desperately reached for the other’s hand.

But the right sister smirked—and dodged.

Chaos erupted.

The left sister, ignoring Mitarai’s attempts to stop her, lunged repeatedly—until, whether due to the music or her rapid deterioration, she melted into a puddle on the floor.

The other passengers watched indifferently.

“Thanks for handling that. Here’s your reward.”

The right sister handed Mitarai 400 coins before returning to her seat.

He frowned. They only gave 200 when boarding. Why 400 now?

But since it didn’t violate any rules, he pocketed the cash and refueled—this time, spending only 200.

Exiting the gas station, he noticed the world outside had grown darker.

His new theory? Maybe you need to spend money on fuel to leave.

He wasn’t alone. Several other sharp-witted chosen ones had caught on.

Those who hadn’t? Well, they burned their one lifeline—the single allowed call to their experts.

A few, despite knowing the answer, still messed up and died.

This round claimed 8 more chosen ones, leaving 142 survivors.

Watching other nations’ failures, the Sakura audience crowed:

“You had the answer and still failed? No wonder your countries get cursed!”

The global backlash was instant—but the Sakura crowd didn’t care.

“Seven straight losses. Now that we’re winning, let us gloat!”

As the bus drove into the dimming fog, Mitarai grew surer of his deductions.

Only one chosen one hadn’t needed to refuel excessively:

Zhang Yangqing.

Unnoticed by most, he’d quietly shifted from “following the crowd” to becoming the “sole exception.”

Then, the radio crackled to life again. Chosen ones pricked up their ears.

[Breaking News: Imposters posing as toll booth workers are extorting drivers. Remember—only staff in RED are legitimate. Comply with their demands immediately.]

The message baffled everyone—but they knew: Danger was coming.

With most having used their call, the rest of the journey would rely on their own choices.

Thirty minutes later, the bus slowed.

Hearts pounded as phones buzzed with the alert:

[Approaching toll station.]

Past experience taught them: Every stop was a test.

As the bus neared, colossal shadows loomed ahead.

While others hesitated, Zhang Yangqing stood up—stretching.

The hooded passenger in the back scooted away nervously:

“Is he gonna hit me again?”