I’m a Max-Level Taoist Master, and You’re Throwing Me Into a Rules-Based Horror Game?! - Chapter 70

Chapter 70: If You Can’t Even Hunt Prey, How Can You Call Yourself a Beast?

At this point, the travelers seemed utterly famished, their eyes gleaming with a terrifying green light.

If they were compared to bloodthirsty beasts, it wouldn’t be wrong at all.

If they didn’t eat soon, their last remaining strength would fade, leaving them with only death.

And for the chosen ones, the only fate awaiting them was erasure by the rules.

Arriving at the ward area, Zhang Yangqing led the travelers—now dressed in patient gowns—into empty hospital rooms to hide.

At the designated time, a clang-clang-clang echoed across the field.

It was a nurse, striking what sounded like a bell.

Though the sound wasn’t loud, nearly every patient could hear it.

The conditioned patients recognized it as the signal for mealtime and rushed out of their rooms like madmen, scrambling toward the field.

Everyone fought to be at the front of the line.

The tamed animals knew that those at the front would eat their fill, while those at the back would only get scraps.

This was how livestock was trained—no words were needed. Just a familiar sound, and they’d know what to do.

Watching this, Zhang Yangqing blended his group into the crowd of patients.

Though he had many with him, the horde of patients numbered in the hundreds, forming a massive tide of bodies.

Most of them were overweight, making it nearly impossible for the nurses to spot Zhang Yangqing’s group.

Besides, the nurses didn’t seem to care whether outsiders had slipped in.

Their job was simply to herd the patients to the cafeteria to eat.

They didn’t bother checking who followed—hunger would drive them there anyway.

The cafeteria seemed some distance from the hospital. As Zhang Yangqing and his group moved with the crowd, they passed through patches of mist.

The sensation was like riding a bus—only certain people could traverse the mist unharmed.

Zhang Yangqing also noticed that those around him were dull-witted but ravenous.

Drool dripped from their mouths as if they were about to savor a feast.

After crossing two streets, they arrived at a cafeteria larger than a stadium.

The patients shoved and pushed their way inside, driven mad by the smell of food.

By the time Zhang Yangqing’s group entered, the first wave of patients was already seated, devouring their meals.

At first, the patients chatted and laughed, praising the delicious food.

But soon, they lost control, falling silent as they shoveled food into their mouths.

One plate wasn’t enough—they went back for seconds, then thirds.

Some had already eaten seven or eight plates, their stomachs grotesquely distended, yet they still staggered toward the serving window for more.

And true to form, the cafeteria staff didn’t skimp on portions, heaping each plate to the brim.

The dishes looked appetizing—meat, vegetables, all seemingly well-prepared.

A few of the chosen ones swallowed hard, tempted to grab a plate.

To these cautious individuals, a peaceful resolution without bloodshed was ideal.

Mitarai Saburō, though leading a smaller group, knew better than to eat the food—it might be dangerous.

He took a plate but didn’t sit down. Instead, he wandered, searching for secluded spots—like private rooms on the second floor or the kitchen—where he could lure patients and ambush them, ensuring a quick kill.

Any hesitation could lead to disaster.

The Kangaroo Country contestant, Jones, and the Eagle Country veteran had more manpower.

They simply dragged people into private rooms to deal with them, minimizing the risk of exposure.

Staring at the so-called “ingredients,” Jones struggled to stomach them.

But this was the world of the supernatural—these were the rules of survival.

If he didn’t eat, how would he last until the end of his shift?

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to swallow, trying not to think about what he was eating.

Yet he still retched repeatedly—who knew how much actually stayed down?

The Eagle Country veteran was smarter. Unwilling to eat the cafeteria’s offerings, he settled for the small creature the old ghost had brought—the rat in the basket.

As long as it filled his stomach, that was enough.

Here, eating meant staving off hunger.

Using a knife from the kitchen and some tools from the second floor, he prepared the rat into something vaguely edible.

The truly clever—or confident—followed Zhang Yangqing’s approach.

Zhang Yangqing had his own interpretation of the rules:

Rule 3: Only by eating in the hospital cafeteria can hunger be relieved. The cafeteria opens at 5 PM, offering ample ingredients. Taking food out is prohibited. Once supplies run out, service ends.

The rule stated that eating in the cafeteria relieved hunger—but it didn’t specify that one had to eat the cafeteria’s food.

It mentioned “ample ingredients” but didn’t forbid bringing in outside food.

So Zhang Yangqing pulled out some pre-packed fruit and ate it.

He’d tested it earlier—eating outside had no effect, as if chewing air.

But inside the cafeteria, the fruit actually eased his hunger, just like normal food.

It wasn’t as satisfying as meat, but it sufficed.

The “citizens,” however, showed no interest in his fruit. Their eyes were fixed on the cafeteria’s offerings.

Zhang Yangqing didn’t care. They could eat what they wanted.

To avoid ruining his appetite, he went to the second floor alone, leaving the first floor to the thirty-seven ghostly travelers and his assistant.

With eight enhanced ghosts among them, their combat power far surpassed the patients’.

Besides, Zhang Yangqing had brought enough people to handle things without his direct involvement.

If you can’t even hunt prey, how can you call yourself a beast?

He’d already checked—the cafeteria staff were ordinary ghosts, no real threat.

His group could deal with them easily.

His only order was: Eat your fill, but don’t kill indiscriminately.

Leave some “livestock” to return to their “pen.” That way, the “keepers” wouldn’t grow suspicious.

Whether there even were keepers was another question, but Zhang Yangqing knew better than to disrupt the supernatural world too much.

The last thing he needed was to trigger a bug that would prevent the dungeon from closing properly.

If that happened, he might never escape.

To the ghostly travelers, Zhang Yangqing’s words were absolute law.

If they disobeyed after being allowed to eat their fill, he wouldn’t hesitate to make an example of them.

No beast-tamer wanted unruly beasts.

After Zhang Yangqing went upstairs, the first floor descended into hell.

Viewers heard horrifying sounds but saw nothing—the camera followed Zhang Yangqing as he sat in a private room, eating fruit.

Some time later, his assistant came to report: the hunt had succeeded. The travelers had sated their hunger and returned to normal.

The “ingredients” hadn’t put up much of a fight—or lacked the ability to do so.

Eight enhanced ghosts were more than most supernatural beings could handle.

Zhang Yangqing nodded and left the cafeteria without delay.

But he remained alert—the real challenge was yet to come.

Just then, in the distance, several pickup trucks rumbled toward the hospital.

Onboard were butchers wearing masks—pig, cow, sheep—their belts lined with gleaming cleavers.

An aura of death clung to the vehicles like a shroud, rolling toward the hospital like machines of slaughter.