Chapter 32: Deep Abyss Stirring, Notice Descends

Late at night, in the Special Affairs Bureau conference room.

At a time when everyone should have been deep in sleep, the room was filled with every senior official the Bureau could muster.

Most faces bore a hint of confusion.

The Bureau was originally founded to seek how humanity could thrive and survive under the [Spiritual Catastrophe Game].

This naturally included challenges to social order posed by Spiritual Catastrophe players, as well as protocols for monitoring and handling all threats the [Spiritual Catastrophe Game] posed to humanity.

Each had their own assigned projects.

Normally, the department responsible for maintaining social order had no contact with those overseeing the game itself, unless internal transfers occurred.

But tonight, nearly everyone from every department had been summoned to this room.

Clearly, the situation was extraordinary.

“Everyone, remain calm. The Director is on his way and will explain the critical situation to you.”

A tall, burly man with a square face and thick eyebrows stood at the front; the microphone, normally gripped in a human palm, was held between just two of his fingers, as if afraid he might crush it.

He was the Deputy Director of the Special Affairs Bureau.

The usual public face representing the Bureau.

At these words,

the murmurs in the room grew louder.

“Director? Holy shit! Am I really going to see this legend in my lifetime?”

“I heard the Director no longer enters dungeons—any dungeon in the Spiritual Catastrophe Game is nothing to him.”

“Hmph, you all think the Director has it easy? He’s still working.”

“Huh? The Director still does fieldwork?”

The one who asked was a frontline officer in social order management, rarely exposed to other domains, so he stared blankly at his colleague beside him.

The colleague was a technician responsible for monitoring and analyzing the Spiritual Catastrophe Game’s core mechanics.

Adjusting his thick glasses, the technician said coldly:

“The Director personally oversees the entity sleeping at the game’s code base, preventing it from awakening prematurely.”

“!?”

Those around him drew sharp breaths.

Even those from other departments had heard what the technician meant.

That entity…

Unnameable, unspeakable, unseeable.

Could humanity truly face and monitor such a thing? The Director must be some kind of monster!

Hum—

Before discussion could spread further,

the conference room’s main screen suddenly lit up.

On screen appeared a man no older than thirty, his chiseled face radiating resolve, his short, neat hair and white casual T-shirt making him look like the cheerful neighborly big brother.

Yet beneath his feet lay a monster ten stories tall; against its colossal, monstrous frame, the man looked no bigger than an ant.

But the massive creature lay utterly still, collapsed on the ground.

A simple, unadorned blade was plunged into its head—identical in appearance to the Bureau’s emblem.

The man casually pulled the blade free, spun a lazy flourish, sheathed it, and hung it at his waist. He spoke calmly to the camera: “Comrades, I am the Director of the Special Affairs Bureau—Qinglong.”

“!?”

At just those words, most in the room surged to their feet, overcome with emotion.

Though they had been senior officials for years and occasionally received orders from the Director, almost none had ever seen his face.

He truly lived up to the saying: “The divine dragon shows its head but never its tail.”

To see him now—unlike anything imaginable!

They could tell he was not in the real world; the monster beneath him was no ordinary foe.

Judging by its size and the destruction around it, this creature was an absolute final boss even in the hardest dungeons.

The kind of boss players dreaded—impossible to defeat head-on, requiring cleverness to find a weakness—now lay dead like a slaughtered dog, slain by the Director.

And Qinglong’s white T-shirt bore not a single speck of dirt.

It was an absolute, unquestionable slaughter.

“Let me explain the current situation,” Qinglong said, lightly stepping on the monster beneath him. “As you see, this thing has been corrupted by some powerful force, triggering unpredictable mutations.”

Hearing this, the others noticed:

The monster truly looked wrong.

Zooming out, it was vaguely humanoid, but its skin crawled with scales, feathers, and even horn-like protrusions resembling rhinoceros hide.

Its limbs ended in grotesque tentacles; two tumors, only slightly smaller than its head, had sprouted on its neck, faintly showing nascent eyes, nose, and mouth forming on their surfaces.

No living creature could ever grow this way.

Even the most terrifying ghosts within dungeons should not manifest such sanity-shattering forms.

“The source of this mutation is the entity sleeping at the Spiritual Catastrophe Game’s core,” Qinglong explained. “It remained utterly still for years, but ten minutes ago, it emitted an inexplicable emotional fluctuation.”

He continued with grave tone: “That single fluctuation has already affected hundreds of dungeons, with nearly a hundred collapsing or sustaining severe damage.”

“I urge everyone to prioritize enhancing your mental strength—it is your only chance of surviving contamination. Report any information regarding contaminated dungeons promptly and in full detail.”

“Detecting the entity’s contamination is simple: if you see any drawing bearing this symbol, you’ve encountered it.”

As he spoke, Qinglong zoomed the camera in.

Only then did they realize:

The monster’s eyes were not biological organs.

They were painted.

A pair of vertical red pupils.

Exquisitely rendered, elegant—no human artist, no matter how skilled, could paint such a soulful gaze; every detail was flawlessly rendered.

Even through the screen, everyone felt their scalp crawl, sweat breaking out as if something unclean stared at them from behind.

————

“Huh? Master of the Abyss, did you secretly turn on a filter? I feel like you’ve gotten prettier.”

Wu Wang lay in bed, staring at the red vertical pupil on his wrist.

It had originally been nothing more than a few crude brushstrokes, like a child’s doodle.

But after the recent dungeon and the evolution mentioned in the settlement space, its lashes had multiplied—now it had three eyelashes on top and three below.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Let’s check the loot.”

Wu Wang shrugged, indifferent.

After defeating Tu Xing Sun, his equipment and items naturally became Wu Wang’s.

Bai Li Dao had explained the Bureau’s current regulations governing Spiritual Catastrophe players.

In a sense, they were lax.

As long as personal vendettas among Spiritual Catastrophe players didn’t endanger ordinary lives or property, or cause major public disturbances, even if you two fought to the death in an octagon and walked out alive, it was fine.

Of course, you had to handle the corpses yourself.

Otherwise, if ordinary people discovered them and public order was disrupted, the Bureau would step in.

Regarding Tu Xing Sun’s attempt to steal and get killed in return, Bai Li Dao said he could even call colleagues to help dispose of the body.

Wu Wang, of course, didn’t miss this opportunity—he asked Bai Li Dao to handle it.

After all, anyone who kills regularly knows:

Killing is easy; disposing of the body is the real hassle.

Imagine carrying a body bag to dump a corpse, then running into an acquaintance. You’re already socially anxious, now you’re scrambling to make small talk while terrified they’ll notice your odd behavior.

In the end, you’re forced to choose the convenient option.

Fine. Now there are two corpses to dispose of.

As Wu Wang happily sifted through the loot, the Spiritual Catastrophe Game’s alert tone echoed in his ear—

【All players, please note】

【The Spiritual Catastrophe Game has concluded its internal testing and will open for official public beta in 50 days】

【Dungeons that fail three consecutive clear attempts after public beta will manifest in the real world. Prepare for spiritual disasters】

【Full details will be announced ten days before public beta】

【May you all find your own death】

Public beta?

Wu Wang froze.

Before he could grasp what it meant, the alert sounded again, and a notification panel appeared before his eyes:

【You will enter a solo story dungeon—The Village of the Desolate— in three days】

【Prepare in advance. On the day the dungeon opens, acquire and wear a conical straw hat】

【May you find your own death】