“A bit petty, aren’t we? You didn’t seem to mind when the journal owner wrote your name a thousand times,” Mu Sichen remarked.

There was no response; the sensation of being watched did not return.

Mu Sichen allowed himself a small smile. He had been worried about being “Marked,” but if the entity marking him was too lazy to be bothered, that was the best-case scenario.

Still, the fact that merely uttering the name “Qin Zhou” drew immediate attention proved just how formidable the so-called “Great Existences” of this world were. Even the textbook didn’t dare print the true name of Pupil Town’s master, opting for the vague descriptor “Great Existence” instead.

If he ever discovered the true name of the Master of Pupil Town and accidentally spoke it, he would surely be watched. And that gaze likely wouldn’t be as “gentle” as Qin Zhou’s.

The System wants me to light up the map icons and build my own ‘Ideal Town.’ Does it expect me to go to war with beings like that?

Mu Sichen looked at the pickaxe in his hand. This wasn’t just a matter of difficulty; it was the kind of delusion one shouldn’t even have while dreaming.

Fortunately, he wasn’t entirely without a “Gold Finger.” The System had dragged him here but hadn’t sent him to his death immediately. It provided a relatively safe room (albeit a creepy one), a way to gather information (at the risk of insanity), and a pickaxe—though he still wasn’t sure how a physical weapon was supposed to fight off mental pollution.

Mu Sichen rubbed his temples, comparing the combat power of both sides.

On his end: one pickaxe, the “Undermine” skill, and the stamina of an average college student. On the Great Existence’s end: countless “Kin,” unspeakable abilities, and a passive aura of corruption that triggered upon being “known.”

Yet, it wasn’t completely hopeless.

From the information gathered, he could deduce that “Day” represented the Great Existence opening its eye, while “Night” meant it had closed it. When night fell, the Great Existence’s power would likely recede from Pupil Town—that would be his window to move.

The System hadn’t asked him to challenge the deity immediately; its first objectives were to find the “Pillar” and establish a “Safe House.” A Safe House was easy enough to understand—a space shielded from the Great Existence’s reach—but what was a “Pillar”? What did that term signify?

He had too little information. He needed to venture deeper into the town. He had to wait for the night.

And, he had to wait for one other thing to happen.

Mu Sichen glanced at the door. He had been in this world for a while now; it was about time for “it” to arrive.

There were no clocks in the room, but the watch on his wrist was still ticking normally, helping him track the passage of time. He checked the dial. Three hours had passed since he entered the game, and hunger was beginning to set in.

The sensation of hunger made his heart sink. It proved that time was indeed flowing, and if he could be sated by the food of this world, it meant he had likely transmigrated physically. This wasn’t just a gaming pod; it was a transport device.

But he couldn’t afford to worry about his old world now. Survival was the priority.

He walked to the door and waited patiently. A mirror hung on the adjacent wall; in the dim light, Mu Sichen confirmed the reflection was his own—right down to the mole on his left earlobe.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Mu Sichen clicked off his flashlight, plunging the room into total darkness.

The footsteps stopped outside his door. There was a knock, followed by a male voice that sounded as if he were reciting a formal liturgy.

“Resident No. 629. Please recite the deeds of the Great Existence. After thirty minutes of recitation, open the slot in the door, and I will provide your rations.”

So, this was how Pupil Town handled residents who refused to submit. They forced them to recite scriptures in exchange for food. Eventually, the constant repetition would ensure they became “Followers.”

Having been tempered by the radio and the books already, Mu Sichen had developed some resistance. Reciting for thirty minutes probably wouldn’t break his mind, but doing so would mean being “domesticated” by the town. Eventually, he would lose the fight against the pollution.

Mu Sichen cleared his throat and spoke a few lines he remembered from the book: “The eyes are the windows to the soul. Pure eyes symbolize a pure heart. Protecting your vision begins with…”

He cut himself off abruptly. The man outside asked, “Why have you stopped?”

“It’s too dark,” Mu Sichen replied. “I can’t see the words on the page.”

“You residents lack the protection of the Great Existence; your vision is pathetic,” the man said. “You may turn on the light in your room.”

Mu Sichen paced around the room for effect, then called out, “The light must be broken. It won’t turn on. Is the power out?”

“Lies! We guarantee the supply of water and electricity. You must have smashed the bulb on purpose, spurning the Great Existence’s gift,” the man hissed.

The light in the room was actually broken, leaving only the tactical flashlight.

“It’s my fault,” Mu Sichen said, his tone contrite. “But I’ve already begun to repent. Without light, my eyes cannot see the text.”

“I will find someone to repair it,” the man said.

“No need,” Mu Sichen interjected quickly. “Why don’t you come in? With your superior vision, I’m sure you can read the book clearly. You read a line, and I’ll repeat it. How does that sound?”

“We are committed to spreading the Great Existence’s deeds, yet you residents usually refuse us entry,” the man noted. “Open the door.”

This was exactly what Mu Sichen wanted. Gripping his pickaxe, he stood behind the door and unlocked it.

Light flooded in as the door swung open. Mu Sichen saw a silhouette carrying a meal tray. The man stepped inside, his back turned.

The moment the man was fully inside, Mu Sichen kicked the door shut and threw the deadbolt. In one fluid motion, he swung the pickaxe with both hands, slamming it into the back of the man’s head.

He held back slightly; he didn’t use the pointed or flat ends of the head. Instead, he struck with the side, using the sheer weight and hardness of the iron to deliver a crushing blow.

Mu Sichen wasn’t sure if a standard physical attack would work, but he was betting on it.

From the textbook, he had deduced the town’s hierarchy: The Great Existence, Kin, Followers, Residents, and Degenerates.

Residents were ordinary people like the journal owner. Once they went mad, they became Followers. Degenerates were those who remained sane and possessed the means to resist. While the book didn’t explicitly mention Degenerates, Mu Sichen knew they existed—otherwise, how could there be a radio tuned to a resistance frequency in this room?

Kin were likely the leaders of the Followers—entities that had “increased their eyes” and were no longer human. Since the radio mentioned purging “Kin-beings,” Mu Sichen assumed they were monster-level threats.

Kin would be hard to handle, but Followers shouldn’t be too strong. The town only considered him a “Resident,” so they wouldn’t waste a powerful Kin to brainwash him.

The System gave him a pickaxe. If it couldn’t even defeat a common Follower, the game was unplayable. He might as well surrender and go happy-mad.

The gamble paid off.

The pickaxe connected. The Follower collapsed heavily, a wound opening on the back of his head—but there was no blood.

A sudden sense of crisis gripped Mu Sichen. He pulled an item from his belt, aimed it at the back of the Follower’s head, and clicked the switch.

At that exact moment, the wound on the Follower’s head split open further, revealing a monstrous eye nearly eight centimeters wide. It glared at Mu Sichen with pure malice, and a shrill voice began to scream: “A Degenerate! He’s a Degen—!”

The scream died in his throat.

A beam of high-intensity light blasted directly into the eye, searing it. The creature let out a muffled whimper, unable to keep the lid open.

“So it does work,” Mu Sichen whispered.

When he had put the flashlight in his backpack, the system described it as “surprisingly well-suited for this town.” Given that the Great Existence’s power was centered on sight, Mu Sichen had gambled that high-intensity light would be its kryptonite.

One phrase in the description was curious, though: “surprisingly well-suited for this town.” Who said that? Did it imply this flashlight didn’t originate in Pupil Town?

There were many mysteries to unravel.

The Follower struggled desperately but couldn’t make a sound. Mu Sichen planted a foot on the man’s back, pinned his legs down with the pickaxe’s handle, and kept the flashlight beam trained perfectly on that horrific eye.

After a while, the Follower went limp. The eye on the back of his head squeezed shut.

Mu Sichen finally put the light away and knelt to check the captive. “Don’t die on me. I need you alive,” he muttered.

[Player’s current combat power is insufficient to kill a Follower. HP and MP bars are now unlocked.]

The system flickered. Two bars appeared over the Follower’s head. The red bar (HP) was at 13. The blue bar (MP) was completely empty.

HP represented life force; MP represented energy for special abilities. In other words, the Follower was a heavily injured prisoner who had run out of “mana”—exactly what Mu Sichen needed.

“HP and MP… it really is starting to feel like a game,” Mu Sichen said.

But a game with no revival function and only one life was indistinguishable from reality. If he started treating this world as a mere simulation, it would be the death of him.

He hauled the injured Follower up, tore a strip of fabric from the man’s own clothes to blindfold him, then lashed him to the desk with bedsheets. He leaned the pickaxe against the man’s head as a final deterrent.

The Follower looked like an ordinary adult male now, but Mu Sichen didn’t underestimate him. He still didn’t know how to trigger his “Undermine” skill, and he had no leverage to force a confession.

Mu Sichen said softly, “Don’t worry. I’m not a bad guy. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask.”

The Follower turned his face away, remaining silent.

Mu Sichen sighed, looking conflicted. “I really didn’t want to do this. I just told myself I wouldn’t rely on Qin Zhou. I’m already breaking my word.”

Despite his “reluctance,” Mu Sichen didn’t hesitate. He clicked the radio on and held it right up to the Follower’s ear.

“Stop focusing on Pupil Town,” Mu Sichen said with a friendly smile. “Let’s listen to what the outside world has to say together.”

Author’s Note:

Mu Sichen: After all, it’s not like I’m a demon.

Follower: You’re a monster!

Qin Zhou: Actually, I’m getting a little annoyed.