Chapter 1: The Murderer on the Bus

At the end of March in Wanghai City, it should have been the season of warm spring and blooming flowers, but this year the weather was abnormal, with three consecutive days of heavy snowfall, and it had just cleared last night.

At the west gate of Wanghai University, Wu Chang shivered in the cold wind, pulled his down jacket hood tighter, and lowered his head toward the South City Bus Stop.

Snowfall doesn't chill you, but melting snow does; if it weren't for an interview appointment, he'd never leave his warm bed.

In today's world, company bosses are all masters of time management.

To solve the two major problems—fresh graduates lacking work experience and hiring skilled workers being too expensive—job postings now demand both fresh graduates and two to three years of work experience.

In the workplace, the cattle only need to work day and night, while bosses have far more complex considerations.

Beside the bus stop, several sanitation workers were clearing snow; less than a meter away, a pool of pale red blood slowly seeped across the ground.

Passersby had stepped over it multiple times, yet no one paused to glance; only Wu Chang's gaze lingered for a moment, as if only he could see it.

In fact, only he could see it.

When he stared at the bloodstain, it flowed like a curtain of water, projecting a brief video.

On a snow-covered street, a speeding sedan raced past, then suddenly lost traction on one wheel, veering uncontrollably into the roadside; the image then jolted violently and went black.

He pulled out his phone and opened the local news.

"At 11:15 p. m. last night, Zhao drove a motor vehicle along South City Road when the car lost control and crashed, killing one and injuring two family members; police determined the cause to be drunk driving."

Matched.

Wu Chang put away his phone; after the bloodstain's vision ended, a line of sorrowful text appeared.

"Irresponsible driving, tears from loved ones."

This was Zhao's final words.

Profound insight—but why wait until now?

About a month ago, Wu Chang woke up one day and began seeing such bloodstains from time to time.

He called these bloodstains "resentment."

The stronger the deceased was in life, the heavier the resentment, and the darker its color.

The resentment left by Zhao on the snow was pale red—this level would vanish soon enough.

If he encountered crimson or deep crimson resentment, it meant the deceased's grievance was extreme and would not fade easily; only by fulfilling the deceased's final obsession could the resentment disappear.

Removing resentment wasn't free labor; just as in ghost stories where exorcising vengeful spirits earned their gratitude, eliminating deep crimson resentment brought him benefits too.

He had once exorcised a deep crimson resentment—the victim had been a basketball scholarship athlete; after clearing the victim's browser history, he "inherited" the victim's physical fitness and basketball skills.

In just one week, he transformed from a scrawny weakling into a muscular figure rivaling fitness influencers.

With this physique and his above-eight-out-of-ten looks, if he could endure the grind, he could save himself at least thirty years of detours.

Just as he was beginning to feel better, the No. 17 bus pulled into the stop.

The bus operated as usual; just as the doors were about to close, a startling flash of crimson caught his eye.

A man wearing a woolen hat, an old leather jacket, and a black backpack boarded the bus.

The man was gaunt, his hair greasy, his beard unkempt—a typical depressed middle-aged man. His few distinguishing features were the sunglasses he wore even on a cloudy day and his right hand always tucked inside his sleeve.

Others thought him merely sloppy, but in Wu Chang's eyes, the man carried twelve or thirteen resentments, their crimson hue staining the entire bus cabin.

Among them was one deep crimson resentment, so dark it verged on purple.

Wu Chang wrinkled his nose; with the overwhelming blood aura, he could almost smell the stench of blood on the sunglasses man.

Not everyone's death formed resentment; twelve or thirteen resentments implied at least a hundred lives lost.

Especially that deep crimson resentment—the victim's suffering must have been at least "centipede-level," and even the lowest-ranked one.

Interesting. Let me see what's going on.

He fixed his gaze on the sunglasses man; the deep crimson bloodstain flowed, as if a chasm of chaos had opened, hurling a hellish scene before him.

Dozens of human torsos and limbs were twisted, dismembered, and nailed onto a bark-stripped tree, like blood-soaked branches; human heads embedded among them, like fruit heavy on the boughs.

Beneath the tree, the gaunt man held a short knife, carving intricate patterns into the trunk using blood as paint.

From his build, the knife-wielder was unmistakably the sunglasses man.

The sunglasses man carved with intense focus, but the next moment, a bullet struck his skull from behind, exiting through his left eye socket.

Gooey fluids splattered everywhere—not much more pleasant than the tree's scene.

A young man in camouflage tactical gear appeared, holding a silver revolver; he fired multiple shots at the sunglasses man's corpse, each bullet exploding into a fireball.

Repeated explosions cratered the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.

The camo man holstered his gun, pulled out his phone, and photographed the horrifying blood-tree. Too bad he was still young—he knew to finish the job, but not the "no smoke, no harm" rule.

While he was taking photos, the sunglasses man burst from the dust, driving his short knife into the camo man's lower back; the dying camo man lunged back, severely wounding the sunglasses man before fleeing, but he died before he could send the information he'd seen; the unspoken truth of his life appeared in his resentment's final words.

"Blood Thorn is a veteran, possesses regeneration, can ignore fatal injuries; only limb amputation, organ destruction, or large-area damage can harm him. Each recovery consumes his sanity; excessive damage may shatter his will."

The "Blood Thorn" mentioned in the final words must be the sunglasses man.

Besides the ordinary resentment message like Zhao's, the resentment contained one crimson final message.

【Eliminate Blood Thorn.】

Wu Chang frowned. Eliminate Blood Thorn? Me?

Thinking carefully, it wasn't impossible.

In the camo man's resentment, his final lunge had shot and severed Blood Thorn's right hand; the left eye and right hand injuries matched Blood Thorn's sunglasses and tucked sleeve.

Losing one eye severely impaired his vision.

Losing his dominant right hand drastically reduced his attack speed and power.

Recovery consumed his sanity, inevitably causing confusion and impaired judgment.

In short—he was crippled.

!

In direct combat, he had no chance at all—but with prior knowledge of Blood Thorn's weaknesses, striking hard at those vulnerabilities might still offer an opening.

But the problem was, the risk was too great.

Crimson wraiths could always be encountered, but he only had one life—there was no need to take a gamble for this.

Just as he was thinking of pretending he hadn't seen Blood Thorn and calling the police after Blood Thorn got off the bus, he saw Blood Thorn pull open his backpack and grip the handle of a knife inside.

Wu Chang's brows knotted into a knot. No, buddy, that's not how you do this.

I was already prepared to act like I never saw you—how come you're still pushing your luck?

I may not be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but I know a thing or two about ball techniques—don't force me into a fair physical confrontation with you.

Unfortunately, the sunglasses man didn't hear the dissuasion in his heart. He slowly drew his short blade, preparing to stab the passenger beside him.

Wu Chang sighed and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Watch out ahead!"

Blood Thorn's movement paused, and he instinctively looked ahead.

Wu Chang used Blood Thorn's visual blind spot to quickly close in, moving with steps that could fool a referee's eyes, covering eight steps in two strides, arriving before Blood Thorn in an instant. He thrust out his elbow and shouted:

"Man!"

That elbow strike was utterly unexpected, combining speed, precision, and viciousness in one. The moment Blood Thorn turned his head back, he was smashed in the face by an elbow.

Blood immediately spurted out, covering the sunglasses man's only remaining eye. A weakness from the inside out followed, making him feel as though he'd been bitten by a venomous snake—his whole body went limp and he collapsed to the ground.

Strike while you're down. Wu Chang dropped the sunglasses man with one elbow, shouting "He has a knife!" while grabbing a fire extinguisher and swinging it hard at Blood Thorn's head.

Before the passengers inside the bus could even react, Blood Thorn had already entered an infant-like sleep.

To dare launch an attack in broad daylight—Blood Thorn's rationality had already been worn to nothing by his regeneration ability. Now, after taking several heavy hits in a row, his rationality completely collapsed, and he became a living dead.

The blood-colored last words on Blood Thorn's body dissipated along with the resentment. Wu Chang felt his down jacket pocket grow heavy, as if something extra had appeared inside.

The reward for the exorcism had arrived.

While the other passengers weren't paying attention, he reached his hand into his pocket to feel around. The instant he felt the shape of the reward, his whole body gave a shudder, and he yanked his hand out of the pocket as if electrocuted.

A gun!

A good thing, but far too hot to handle.

If this thing were discovered, the content of his internship would be changed to working a sewing machine.

Being discovered by others won't do, and throwing it away is even worse!

A single crimson wraith had already given him a near-complete transformation. This gun was something dropped by a deep crimson wraith—it was absolutely no ordinary item. Besides, this was a treasure he'd risked his life to get. If he didn't keep it, wouldn't his life have been risked for nothing?

He had to find a place to hide it quickly.

The bus pulled into the station. The passengers dragged the unconscious sunglasses man along, discussing how to send him to a nearby police station.

Wu Chang had a serious contraband in his pocket—how would he dare go with them? So he claimed he had something to do, brushed them off with a few words, and left.

He couldn't worry about the interview now. He took a taxi back to Wanghai University, planning to hide the gun in his bag first before deciding his next move.

If it really came down to it, he'd hide the gun first, then go to a nearby police station to turn himself in.

But the moment he stepped through the school gate, his vision blurred. When he came back to his senses, he was already in an unfamiliar room.

An emotionless electronic voice rang out beside his ear.

"Welcome, new player, to the Abyss Game."

Newbie here, begging for follows and bookmarks—good bros, this really matters to a newcomer.

(End of chapter)