Beating Instances through Words Left by the Dead-Chapter 539 - 265: At Your Service

Wu Chang followed behind Pei Taiheng, arriving at what he called the morgue.

The morgue was shrouded in darkness. It was originally the cold storage of the research station, used for storing food when the station was operational. However, when the station was frequently attacked by monsters from the darkness, and team members kept dying, it was used to temporarily store the corpses of the deceased.

Upon opening the cold storage, over twenty bodies were scattered haphazardly. To Wu Chang’s surprise, about half of these corpses emitted a faint red aura of resentment.

Judging by the deceased’s clothing, only three or four were Plane natives, the rest were players.

The players’ bodies bore no obvious signs of battle. Some had fatal wounds like slit throats or self-inflicted gunshots, yet most of them died quite peacefully.

Peacefully, yet not serenely.

Their eyes were wide open, their faces contorted like the little bald head in the famous painting "The Scream," clearly indicating they had suffered enormous psychological trauma, leading to a collapse of will and an Inspiration Runaway.

Pei Taiheng said from the side, "In my memory, most of these deceased died at the hands of the monsters in the darkness. The monsters in the darkness only devour us, and the newcomers they kill are displayed around the research station, as if showing off."

Pei Taiheng scrutinized the corpses on the ground, identifying them for a while, then pointed his finger at an old Black man wearing a M-xky Mouse suit. Legend has it, even if you were in a no-man’s land, wearing this suit would summon Disney’s legal team to take you to court.

Unfortunately, the strongest legal team on the Blue Star could not extend its reach into the Abyssal Game.

"In my memory, he was the last investigator to enter the water. When I was not clear-headed, I didn’t find anything wrong. But looking at it now, how can someone like that even be an investigator?"

Wu Chang shrugged and said, "Who knows, maybe by chanting Miskamoska, he could directly summon a hidden room from the relics."

He examined the old Black man in the M-xky suit. At first glance, nothing seemed wrong. But upon closer inspection, he noticed a tear on the upper black tight shirt, an area of profound darkness.

That was not the darkness of his skin but something far deeper, like trying to erase something.

If anyone else wanted to figure out what had been erased, it would take considerable effort.

For Wu Chang, it wasn’t necessary. The old Black man’s body bore resentment, and he could directly communicate with him.

He looked towards the old Black man’s resentment, which started to wriggle like a humanoid mouse dancing maniacally, hopping towards him.

The next moment, his consciousness entered the resentment.

This time, he found himself in a third-person perspective. As his sight entered, he had already seen the old Black man take the key to the relics from Pei Taiheng.

The old Black man was familiar with the procedure. He needed no guidance from Pei Taiheng, stepping directly into the darkness towards the place where the diving suits were stored, obviously prepared for this.

Bear in mind, the Trembling Icefield had not been breached, and information was not yet shared. To have such comprehensive knowledge of the Night Island Research Station, the old Black man was definitely not from ordinary organizations, either from the White Tower or the Western Union’s Farland branch.

Walking in darkness, some kind of Energy emanated from the old Black man’s suit, deflecting the malevolence in the darkness.

It was clear that the M-xky Mouse cosplay suit he wore was not purely out of personal interest; the outfit was also a high-Level defensive Item.

Donning the diving suit, he directly headed for the underground space. As he passed through a large area of dangling merpeople, he didn’t even give them a glance, exhibiting a well-trained, unequivocal focus.

He was undoubtedly on a mission, and who knows, maybe having him chant Miskamoska could actually accomplish something.

The old Black man leaped into the pool, inserting the key into the lock. After turning it three times, the door to the underground opened like a sluice gate.

He dived through the door, turning on the headlamp of the diving suit.

Under the headlamp’s glow, the outline of a sunken structure gradually emerged below, which was the submerged relic, the former Holy Land of the Nalu tribe, the Divine Hall of Death.

He continued descending and suddenly felt unusual water currents around him, as if something was nearby. He turned his head, shining the headlamp, but the water was void, just darkness.

He continued to descend a dozen meters further, then abruptly turned around, discovering a massive shadow passing by.

There was something in the water.

He drew his weapon, continuing to descend while remaining vigilant of his surroundings.

Once again, he sensed that thing, turned, and this time the headlamp illuminated the shadow.

It was a gigantic monstrous creature over twenty meters long. It appeared like a mass of black mist, or perhaps a lump of writhing slime, with seven or eight rotting, pus-oozing tentacles growing from its rear.

At the forefront of its body, there was a small white sharp horn, which was more accurately described as a conch shell.

The headlamp’s beam shone upon the White Conch Shell, reflecting a dazzling light, glaring like suddenly noticing an overloaded truck with high beams driving toward you in the dead of night while crossing the street.

It was a dazzling with weight.

Under the light, he saw his childhood, glimpsed his father whom he had never met, saw the little convenience store he often pilfered impulsively, and the chubby officer who frequently used him for Spear Technique practice.

Whoosh~

The monster whizzed past, leaving him no time to see clearly before the whole of him was sent flying by its blow.

The creature’s tentacle pierced through the diving suit, through the tight black shirt of the M-xky Mouse cosplay, stakes furiously into his chest, stamping it firmly with a mark.

It was a whirlpool-like red mark, from which his wound gushed, setting the vortex spinning.