Chapter 447: Honesty

The moment the words fell, the dark‑red patterns, like revived venomous snakes, suddenly coiled around the middle‑aged man's body, tightening deeply!

The man didn't even have time to let out a full scream; under the patterns' strangulation his body emitted a sour‑tasting sound of bones shattering, and he collapsed instantly, following in the footsteps of the first player.

Inside the box, the dark‑red patterns withdrew satisfactorily, leaving only another corpse still warm.

The Puppeteer didn't even bother to look again.

Her gaze calmly shifted to the third VIP box.

This time, before her finger could lift, a slightly hoarse female voice came from behind the single‑pane glass of that box: "No need to verify, Director."

The glass slowly became transparent, revealing a woman inside wearing a deep‑purple long dress, her expression cold.

She appeared to be in her thirties, well‑kept, with a calm temperament, yet her eyes were sharp.

Cheng Shuili was a bit puzzled; a skirt hinders movement, everyone knows that.

Thus, after all the scrapes and struggles to this point, the number of people willing to wear a skirt for such a trivial vanity is countable on one hand.

But someone who can join the server‑wide Instance and remain so composed certainly isn't the clueless type. To dare wear that, they must have strength.

The woman's tone was assertive, with an air of obvious calm: "I entered through the main gate; that is indisputable."

She merely said so, without presenting any evidence.

Seeming afraid the Puppeteer might not believe her, she paused, then looked straight at the Puppeteer and said, "If you doubt I didn't come through the front gate, feel free to check. I accept any legitimate examination, but refuse pointless torment."

Cheng Shuili stared at the woman for a while; if the Puppeteer were truly a single person, or unable to discern truth, perhaps the woman's method would indeed work.

But now, as long as a player bears a mark, the Puppeteer can determine they came from the corridor.

Moreover, Cheng Shuili entered the Instance just moments ago while in the corridor, so she can fully assume that every player's first scene upon entering the Instance is the corridor.

In other words, the player in the third box, though swearing solemnly, is actually lying.

The Puppeteer's hollow eyes lingered on her face for a long while.

After a moment, the Puppeteer nodded, "You are confident, but verification is required. You'd better pray you haven't deceived me, or else…"

She forced a smile, the threat evident in her expression.

Even from such a distance, Cheng Shuili could see the force behind it.

It seems this fellow's face isn't real either.

As the Puppeteer's words fell, her pallid fingers again traced a pulling trajectory in the air.

Inside the third box, the dark‑red patterns appeared as promised, then slowly spread, gently brushing the surface of the woman in the purple dress, especially her limbs and wrists.

This is exactly where that unseen thing in the corridor had coiled around Cheng Shuili.

Seeing this, Cheng Shuili finally confirmed her suspicion was correct. She relaxed a bit, and her straight back leaned back against the chair.

Inside the box, the woman's body was tense, but her complexion unchanged, calmly enduring the uncomfortable inspection.

The patterns roamed around her for several seconds, then, like with the lying man in the second box, the dark‑red lines suddenly tightened! They resembled predatory pythons, bearing icy murderous intent, tightly constricting the woman's slender neck and limbs.

The woman's cold visage instantly flushed red from suffocation, her eyes widened, filled with incredulous terror.

"No… no… I indeed am…"

She struggled in vain, forcing broken syllables from her throat, her hands trying to tear the invisible bindings, only causing the dark‑red patterns to tighten further.

The Puppeteer's face showed no surprise, only a near‑cruel calm.

"Another lying little mouse."

Her voice was light, clearly echoing throughout the Juchang, "Where you have been, you carry that place's scent. Why do you always try to deceive me with clumsy lies?"

"Huh…" the purple‑dressed woman finally let out a rapid gasp, her body jerking upright, then slumping, her head drooping weakly to one side, the deep‑purple hem spreading like a suddenly withered flower.

The third box fell silent as well.

Below the stage, the surviving players could barely breathe.

Three VIP boxes, three distinguished guests, none escaped, all gruesomely killed. Moreover, each death was colder than the last, as if no matter how they answered, only a pre‑ordained ending awaited.

The Puppeteer's gaze, without a ripple of emotion, shifted to the fourth VIP box.

The atmosphere was taut to the extreme, the air thick with heavy blood scent and a sense of despair.

The surviving players below were pallid; some even covered their mouths, suppressing the urge to vomit. They stared at the woman onstage who controlled life and death, then at the three corpses in varied poses, feeling a chill surge up their spines to the crown of their heads.

Is this the server‑wide Instance?

No room for bargaining, no chance to maneuver, and merely because the entry method differs, one must face such ruthless extermination?

The single‑pane glass of the fourth box, under the Puppeteer's stare, silently became transparent.

Inside sat a very young boy, perhaps just past his coming‑of‑age, his face still bearing a hint of lingering naivety.

He was clearly terrified, his body trembling like leaves in the wind, teeth chattering, tears and snot smearing his face, unable to utter a single complete sentence.

"Distinguished guest?" the Puppeteer's voice remained steady, revealing no emotional fluctuation.

The boy jerked his head one way, then frantically nodded the other, a hoarse croak emanating from his throat, his hands flailing randomly, as if trying to explain something, or merely a pure fear response.

The Puppeteer seemed accustomed to such reactions, or rather, she simply didn't care.

Her pallid finger rose once more, performing that chilling pulling motion.

"No… don't! I say! I say!"

The boy finally forced out a broken scream.

"I… I came from… from a pitch‑black corridor! I… I'm not a distinguished guest! I'm not a mouse! I didn't come through the main gate! Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me! I beg you, don't kill me!"

He was incoherent, but his meaning was clear.

He admitted he had slipped in through the corridor... but he insisted he wasn't any kind of mouse.

Many players below showed a trace of compassion in their eyes, but more displayed the cold indifference of a fox mourning a dead rabbit.

Admitting it, does that guarantee survival?

The Puppeteer's finger paused in mid‑air.

She stared at the boy, collapsing into sobs, nearly sliding off his chair, her hollow eyes showing no emotion.

"Honesty is a quality worth encouraging," she said softly.