Old Xiao was dead.
It was impossible to tell how long he had been dead. It seemed that as soon as one died on this ship, the rotting began immediately, to a frighteningly odorous extent.
At the moment the door opened, what burst into view was splattered blood—on the bed, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. The plasma, having lost its fresh color, was everywhere.
Dull and yellowed, it dripped viscously, eventually drying into ugly traces.
Old Xiao was enveloped by this scene, sitting in the center. He was in the chair he had prepared for his teammates, torn to pieces, as if hacked into seventeen or eighteen segments that weren't completely severed. Even his head had been smashed flat and was dangling from his neck, like a basketball hanging in a net.
Huai Shi, fighting back the urge to vomit, mustered his courage and stepped inside.
No signs of a struggle or damage from a fight could be seen, nor any trace of resistance.
He had died silently, to a disturbing degree.
Huai Shi stared blankly at it all, his mind suddenly unable to make sense of anything.
"What the hell is going on?" he couldn't help but rub his face. "Is this game killing people as if it's ordering takeout, and even delivering it to your door?"
He sat exhausted on the floor, looking at everything. It took him a long time to finally come to his senses.
Old Xiao was indeed dead.
Although losing a teammate in such a game seemed to be a common occurrence, not something to be shocked or fearful about, he couldn't help but feel a strong sense of despondency.
The only teammate who seemed somewhat reliable had died so inexplicably.
Does it have to be like this?
It was foreseeable that this team of Players, already full of holes, was about to disband. More painful than the loss of morale was the fact that there was nobody left to lead the team.
Less than two days since the start, teammates were dying at a rate of almost one per day.
First, it was Yue Jun, and then Old Xiao. Who would be next?
What was worse, including Clement who had become an NPC, half of the six people were already dead. Yet, they hadn't found anything of note.
Forget about clues; the whole ship seemed to be perched on a boiling cauldron. Never mind reaching America and completing their own missions, even self-preservation was becoming difficult.
The newbies didn't even have the strength left to tremble in fear.
As he looked around, a rush of information suddenly flooded into his mind, as if Ai Qing had completed an Investigation.
Through the messy scene, he miraculously found quite a few remnants of evidence within that mutilated corpse.
First a stealthy entry, then a frenzied slashing—the throat, both legs, both arms, the heart...
He could almost imagine it: a shadow suddenly appearing before Old Xiao. A knife swept across, severing his throat and stifling his impending roar. Then, it precisely snapped the tendons in both legs, cutting off any chance of escape.
Old Xiao reached out to grapple, but his arms, sturdy as tree trunks, were continuously severed. Limbs flew off, landing on the floor, blood spurting... No, that's wrong; at that point, the weapon had changed, replaced by something much heavier and sharper.
The murderer stepped forward, treading on Old Xiao. The weapon in hand chopped down, breaking through forcefully, splitting open the chest, tearing apart the heart. Finally, with a sudden twist of the weapon, heavy steel smashed down on Old Xiao's head.
CRACK!
A sound like bursting bubbles echoed.
It was as if he had just killed a chicken, and that was that.
But in Huai Shi's speculation, when that shadow turned back, it saw an unbelievable face.
—His own.
Yes, that's right. First, attack with a Short Knife to gain the upper hand, then use an Axe to break through defenses and widen the advantage, and finally, finish with a blunt strike from the back of the Axe... A sequence as smooth as flowing water.
A small hammer for the fine work, a big hammer to get it done...
No matter how he looked at it, it was all too familiar.
He saw Old Xiao's face. At that last moment, the shattered countenance twisted into what seemed like a smile.
Mockingly gazing at Huai Shi, it made him feel deeply uncomfortable, a chill running down his spine.
"Don't veer off into any time-travel nonsense," Ai Qing said. "It wouldn't be the first time KP has played with ambiguity. Perhaps the killer wanted you to think that way. The methods of murder are finite; similarities are all too common."
She didn't say what followed.
—Instead of worrying about that, it would be better to worry if he, in his bloodthirsty, mindless stupor, had uncontrollably killed Old Xiao.
But what would that serve?
Even if Huai Shi was searching for a blood bag, he would have gone for that woman named Hela, who was closest to him, right?
Regardless of motive, opportunity, or reason, Huai Shi had no possibility of committing the crime.
So who else could have done it?
An enemy? Or a teammate?
Lei Feizhou?
Or Yin Yan?
As she was lost in thought, Huai Shi turned his head and saw the burly man standing at the doorway; he hadn't noticed when he'd arrived. Lei Feizhou looked at him expressionlessly, scrutinizing his panicked face, frowning.
Huai Shi was startled at first, then quickly raised his hands. "I didn't! It wasn't me!"
"I didn't say you did. He was already dead when I got here an hour ago," Lei Feizhou said expressionlessly. "I was the one who forced the door open. He was still warm then."