Chapter 038 - Eerie Night Fair 10

  This round of the game—three trials—had been more brutal than any of us had imagined.

  Out of 110 players, only 67 remained.

  The survivors gathered in the central plaza between Zones A and B, the weight of exhaustion and fear pressing down on them like a thick fog. Even in the dim, artificial glow of the amusement park’s flickering lights, their haunted expressions were unmistakable.

  A young girl, no older than No. 137, had collapsed onto the ground, her body racked with violent sobs. "It was horrible… like a slow, torturous execution. I’d rather have just quit and been killed outright…"

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Every person standing here had endured all three trials, each more grueling than the last. But even now, there had been no notification, no signal indicating we had cleared the round. The game hadn’t ended—it was simply dragging us deeper into its abyss, stretching the torment to its absolute limits.

  By the time I had circled the amusement park once more, the timer hovering in the sky had nearly run out. Only ten minutes remained.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd—whispers of speculation, fragments of desperate strategies, but no clear answers. Everyone was waiting, bracing for whatever fresh horror the game had in store next.

  Then, the final ten seconds began to count down.

  When the floating numbers hit zero, a deafening explosion shattered the silence. Fireworks erupted overhead, their dazzling colors bursting across the ink-black sky. For a fleeting moment, it almost looked like a celebration—until the horizon began to shift in an unnatural way.

  The darkness fractured. Dawn bled through the edges, pale and golden at first, but then surging forward with an eerie, unnatural speed. The sky brightened too fast, the shadows dissolving as if reality itself was being rewound. And then—

  Someone gasped. “Look! There are two suns!”

  All heads snapped upward. There, blazing in the sky, were two suns—one rising from the east, the other from the west. They climbed in opposite directions, their paths defying the natural order, moving as if time itself had been thrown into chaos.

  A robotic voice crackled over the loudspeakers, disturbingly cheerful. A saccharine children’s song played in the background, making the announcement even more unsettling.

  “Welcome to *Daylight*! The anti-addiction system and minor protection laws are now in effect! Kids are not allowed to play games after 6:00 AM. We’ll see you again tonight at 8:00 PM~~~”

  “Shit,” someone cursed. “So it’s not over after all.”

  “This goddamn game—I quit!” another voice snarled in frustration.

  The murmurs grew into a low rumble of discontent. I pressed my lips into a thin line, leaning against the Cupid fountain, feeling the cold stone against my back. My voice was steady, but the weight of exhaustion was undeniable.

  “Well, looks like we’re in for another round. At least this intermission is long—fourteen whole hours. We should use this time to explore.”

  “I doubt we actually have fourteen hours.” Elliot lifted his gaze skyward, eyes narrowing as he tracked the rapid ascent of the suns. “Look at the speed of the sunrise. It’s already climbed four or five degrees in just a few minutes. If it keeps this pace, a full 180-degree cycle would take… maybe an hour?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I studied the unnaturally brightening landscape, then smirked, shrugging. “Alright, then. Let’s try to clear this round in an hour.”

  No. 137 hesitated. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course—”

  His eyes lit up with hope.

  “—Not.”

  No. 137: “?”

  No. 137: “……”

  I turned my attention to the gathered players and raised my voice. “Can everyone hear me? I’ll keep this short. Do you all remember the sign at the entrance? The one with the giant, messy writing?”

  “Yeah,” someone replied. “It was old and falling apart. The letters looked almost like scribbles, like a spider had scrawled them on.”

  I nodded. “Right. It said *Paradise Lost*. And next to it, there was a Minnie Mouse head. You all remember that too, don’t you?”

  Some nodded hesitantly, others exchanged uncertain glances.

  “The head wasn’t just floating there,” I continued, guiding their memories. “Below it, there were two hands—human hands. One had its index finger raised, the other had all five fingers extended.”

  “I—I was too scared to really look…” someone admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

  “I saw it!” Another player, braver, spoke up. “At first, I thought they were props. I stared for a long time, wondering why they didn’t look like Mickey Mouse’s gloves. Then, when I got closer, I realized—those weren’t fake hands. They were real. Severed human hands.”

  A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.

  “And those two hands… they weren’t identical, were they?” he went on, eyes widening as realization dawned. “One was bigger, more muscular—like a man’s. The other was slender and delicate—like a woman’s. Oh! And I remember something else!”

  His hands clapped together in excitement. He turned to me. “No. 32, I just remembered! Both hands had rings on their ring fingers. Do you think that means something? Like, I don’t know… a man and a woman? Or maybe something about love?”

  “That’s a strong possibility.” I nodded. “You’ve all heard the story of Adam and Eve, right? The first humans, tempted by the devil, who ate the forbidden fruit and were cast out of paradise. In the 17th century, a writer penned a book about that very tale. The title of that book was *Paradise Lost*. Now, does anyone here know the year it was written?”

  “Yes.” The response came from a soft-spoken woman wearing round glasses. She raised a hand slightly. “John Milton wrote *Paradise Lost* in 1665. On the surface, it’s a tribute to God, but beneath that, it critiques feudal tyranny. At the time, feudal and capitalist systems were clashing violently, and the poet channeled his revolutionary passion into his work. But at its core, the book is about one thing—desire. It explores human sin and temptation.”

  She hesitated. “But… just because we saw the words *Paradise Lost* doesn’t necessarily mean—”

  I crossed my arms. “Alone, no. But when you add in the wedding rings and the year 1665, the pieces start coming together. Two hands forming a ‘1’ and a ‘5.’ Minnie’s eyes and lashes making up two sixes. The number *1665* is no coincidence.”

  I stepped forward, scanning the anxious faces before me. “And then there’s something else—the clown told us something very interesting. He said that when this amusement park becomes its true self… it will disappear.”

  A cold hush fell over the group.

  “So,” I asked, my voice slow and deliberate, “how do we make it return to its true form?”