Chapter 100: Conversation With The Dead
One must admit, even among Spirit Realm Detectives, there’s a vast gulf in competence. The disparity between them is almost laughable—some catch a glimpse of a Heretical Abomination and instantly need two shots of Sanity Blocking Agent, ribs aching by the time they calculate losses. Others? They storm into the Otherworld like the legendary Investigators from fables—boot open a Phantom Door, march right in, and proceed to thrash the first Dangerous Entity they find.
But Little Red Riding Hood composed herself quickly, not bothering to stoop to the level of the so-called “Hotel Trio.” After all, both the judgment from the Special Affairs Bureau and her own instincts agreed—none of the three from the Hotel Nexus could be counted as fully Human, and one of them might well be a high-threat Entity. Who in their right mind compares their Otherworld Adaptability to that of an Entity?
Yu Sheng, oblivious to the Red Cloaked Girl’s inner silence, simply circled the horrifyingly warped “Sacrificer,” seeking more clues. With honest curiosity, he asked, “If this was done by a person, just how twisted would they have to be? I mean, I get breaking in to steal something—we’re basically doing the same thing—but to go through all this afterward? For what?”
“A heretical ritual. The sacrifice is the point. Taking the Weeping One Statue was likely a side motive,” Little Red Riding Hood shook her head. “These kinds of acts are usually carried out by Heretic Cultists or extremists. They aim to gain power, insight, blessings, or attract the gaze of arcane forces by offering sacrifices to the Otherworld. Judging by the spiritual contamination leaking from this ‘Sacrificer’… whoever performed this ritual is an expert.”
“There are people like that?!” Yu Sheng’s eyes widened in disbelief. “There are actually folks who follow these freaky Doors into the Otherworld?”
“They don’t follow the Otherworld, they follow power—higher-dimensional truths. The Otherworld is just the most accessible path to the supernatural,” Little Red Riding Hood sighed, unveiling a darker side of the world to this uninitiated newcomer. “Holy Revere Hermitage, the Black Spot Group, the Angel Cultists, and even those drifting in the Otherworld—the ‘Convert Gatherings’ whose humanity is questionable at best—they’re all capable of this.”
She paused, her expression growing solemn. “The Otherworld… it’s ruined many. It infects both the Borderland and the world beyond. Some we can still save—but many… many fall before rescue ever comes. And those who don’t die… either go mad, get taken in by those cults, or become something not Human at all. The Otherworld corrupts the mind. It seduces with power, deceives with illusions, enslaves with false memories. It’s common.
“Think about it—you’ve seen how strange and varied the Otherworlds and Dangerous Entities are. No one interacts with them too long and walks away unscathed. Not everyone stays strong. Some stray down darker paths…”
“And?” Yu Sheng leaned in, hanging on her every word. Her abrupt pause made him prompt instinctively, “And then?”
“…And then there’s the real problem—this sort of unauthorized intrusion is rare in the Borderland,” Little Red Riding Hood’s tone turned grave. “The entire Borderland is surveilled by a Node Network. How did the ‘Intruder’ sneak into the Museum undetected?”
“Well, that’s a headache for the Special Affairs Bureau,” Yu Sheng muttered, shaking his head. “Those Nodes are their responsibility. If something’s slipped through, they’ve got a serious breach on their hands.”
With that, he stepped toward the high platform where the sacrificial victim was displayed.
“Wait, what are you doing?!” Little Red Riding Hood exclaimed.
“I’m getting him down,” Yu Sheng replied calmly. “He’s dead. He shouldn’t have to stay like this. I’ve seen it—I can’t just leave him.”
“Be careful! There might be a curse! This kind of thing is best left to the Deep Diving Unit from the Special Affairs Bureau…” Little Red Riding Hood started warning him instinctively, but stopped halfway. Even a fully armed Heavy Armored Deep Diver might not have the resistance of this man…
“Do we need to preserve the scene?” Yu Sheng turned to ask.
“…Yes,” she hesitated, then nodded. “It’s best we don’t touch anything. Leave it to the professionals.”
“Alright,” Yu Sheng sighed, disappointed. He had already examined the iron thorns binding the body and found the latch point—his hand was already on a smooth, thornless section, ready to pull. But hearing her advice, he let go, stepped back, and after a brief pause, nodded solemnly to the lifeless form on the altar.
“Sorry, Brother. I’m not trained for this—I’ll report to the Special Affairs Bureau as soon as we get out. Someone will come for you. Hang in there a little longer.”
Little Red Riding Hood looked at him with a complicated expression. Yu Sheng noticed and turned.
“What is it?”
Little Red Riding Hood nearly blurted out, “Didn’t expect you to be this humane,” but stopped herself just in time, shifting her words mid-sentence:
“…Didn’t expect you to be this warm-hearted. Too many incidents happen in the Otherworld. Most folks have grown numb to it—see a victim, offer a silent prayer, then open a Door to report it and let the Special Affairs Bureau send corpse collectors. Rarely does someone actually care… let alone speak to the deceased.”
At that, Foxy furrowed her brow slightly. “Isn’t that kind of… cold?”
Little Red Riding Hood sighed. “In the Otherworld, corpses often become threats themselves. Victims turning into perpetrators is disturbingly common.”
Yu Sheng waved a hand, half-embarrassed. “Well, I’m a rookie. I don’t really know the ropes.”
As he spoke, his fingertip brushed lightly along the edge of the platform.
He made contact with the nearly dried blood.
Silence fell like a shroud.
It happened all at once. Yu Sheng didn’t even grasp it immediately—Little Red Riding Hood, Irene, and Miss Foxy all froze mid-motion. Color drained from the entire Exhibition Hall, leaving it in oppressive shades of gray, black, and white. The world around him dimmed into stillness, monochrome and hushed.
Two or three seconds passed before he heard it—a soft creaking behind him.
Like stiff joints twisting reluctantly. In the profound silence, the noise felt jarringly loud.
Yu Sheng turned his head slowly.
So too did the corpse atop the display platform, entwined in iron thorns and drained of blood.
One turned in shock.
The other, smeared in gore.
“Wha—” Yu Sheng’s startled cry caught in his throat. He fell silent the moment he heard the corpse speak.
“The ones who killed me…” the corpse’s blood-caked lips moved, rasping in a strained, broken whisper, “…the ones who killed me were…”
Yu Sheng still had no clue what was happening, but hearing that much made him panic. “Just skip to the point! Forget grammar!”
The corpse suddenly inhaled sharply—then blurted out in a rapid, stumbling torrent:
“It was the Angel Cultists—two men. One around 1.7 meters tall, black, chubby, short hair, glasses, mid-thirties, mole on his forehead. The other about 1.8 meters, tall, gaunt, bald, sharp nose, early forties, silver watch on his left wrist. While they acted, they kept chanting things like ‘You shall usher His descent’ and ‘Deliver the Savior from suffering.’ Thick accents from South City—Wusong River area. They didn’t take the Weeping One Statue—just tossed it across the corridor. They weren’t interested in that, only in the sacrifice rite—gods, it hurt so bad…”
The words came in a machine-gun rhythm—so fast it sounded like the dead man bit his tongue once or twice. Then, with a final exhale, the corpse relaxed, raised its head ever so slightly to stare dreamily at the white ceiling of the Exhibition Hall, and whispered in a languid, ethereal tone:
“Ah… eternal peace has come to fetch me…”
Slowly, it lowered its head, returned to its original mourning pose—hands covering its face—and stilled completely.
Yu Sheng: “…”
He stood by the platform, slack-jawed. The outburst had come so fast he barely registered half of it. When the body went quiet again, he was still stunned. A beat passed before he blurted, “Wait! Can you say that again!?”
No response came from the corpse. Instead, the grayscale bled away from the Exhibition Hall. Irene, Miss Foxy, and Little Red Riding Hood unfroze in an instant, as if nothing had happened.
Irene was the first to notice the subtle shift in Yu Sheng’s expression and the strange air around him. Curiously, she asked, “Hey? What’s wrong? Why so serious all of a sudden?”
That snapped Yu Sheng back to reality. He drew in a sharp breath, then turned to Little Red Riding Hood—
“It was the Angel Cultists. Two guys. One’s 1.7 meters, black, chubby, short hair, glasses, around thirty-something, mole on the forehead. The other’s 1.8, skinny, bald, hooked nose, in his forties, wearing a watch on his left wrist. They kept saying stuff like ‘usher His descent’ and ‘deliver the Savior from suffering’—or something close to that. Accent was heavy—South City, Wudao River maybe? They tossed the Weeping One Statue in the corridor across. Didn’t even care about it—just wanted the sacrifice. Almost forgot all that.”
Little Red Riding Hood blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”