Chapter 72: The First Dead Victim Appears

Bei Lang was pacing inside the opera house.

He maintained as much calm and rationality as possible.

In his hand, he held a small notebook, recording every anomaly he observed in clear, concise language.

【Memory Recall Notebook (Premium): Any content written in this notebook can be effortlessly recalled by its holder under any circumstances, provided the notebook is not lost.】

【Equipment Requirement: Legible, neat handwriting.】

【Note: You seem to have forgotten something…】

This equipment seemed utterly useless.

But for players skilled in analysis, it was an absolute weapon!

Human memory is always limited.

Especially in dangerous spiritual dungeons, tension and fear cause critical details to slip from memory.

This notebook allowed the user to directly recall scenes—almost like a second external brain.

Bei Lang’s most fortunate moment occurred during a dungeon that caused players to constantly forget things—he solved key clues using only what he’d written in his notebook.

“Maintain silence during performances; applaud only during climactic moments; pay a tip to staff if leaving mid-show; at the end, one audience member will be randomly chosen to sing onstage…”

These were all the anomalies he’d noted.

The moment he entered the opera house, he saw an audience member selected to sing onstage.

The bewildered man stood frozen on stage for minutes, unsure what to do.

Right before Bei Lang’s eyes, the man’s limbs stiffened, his body taking on a wooden texture, joints turning into latch points—within ten seconds, he became a smiling wooden puppet!

The puppet then returned to its original seat.

It began mechanically clapping.

Preparing to watch the next opera.

Only then did Bei Lang notice: though the opera house appeared packed, over half the audience were lifelike wooden puppets!

All of them had once been guests!

The rules he’d recorded were confirmed after he witnessed someone break them and turn into a puppet.

Seeing his notes were complete,

Bei Lang nodded silently, preparing to move on.

Otherwise, if he stayed any longer, he might be the next audience member called onstage!

“Excuse me, I have an urgent matter—I must leave. Thank you.” Bei Lang spoke as quietly as possible to a nearby server, slipping a few bills from his pocket into her hand.

“No problem, sir. Server #6 is honored to assist you. Please this way.”

The server’s smile remained unchanged.

After taking the tip, she extended her hand with perfect gentlemanly grace, offering it for Bei Lang to hold as she rose.

Under the female server’s guidance, he quickly exited the opera house.

Gazing at the labyrinthine corridors, Bei Lang sighed helplessly.

Too big…

This cruise ship was truly the pinnacle of high society gathering venues.

According to the server, even excluding dining halls and restrooms, the facilities were so extensive they gave one a scalp-crawling feeling.

Every kind of entertainment venue, gym, wellness center, mall, theater, pool, and even religious chapel existed here.

Dozens of public areas, and countless private zones.

Players had only five days.

If they stayed together, they could never explore it all.

So since Elder Yan Shuangying left, and they confirmed the servers posed no direct threat, each had summoned their room service staff to split up and explore the ship.

He wondered how the others were faring…

“Bei Lang! There you are! Hurry to Starlight Bar! Bat’s in trouble!”

Just as he stepped out of the opera house, a slightly panicked female voice came from behind.

Bei Lang turned.

There stood Miss Black Cat sprinting toward him in high heels, beads of glistening sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed pink—like a ripe apple hanging after rain, irresistibly alluring.

Without hesitation,

Bei Lang immediately followed Miss Black Cat to the so-called Starlight Bar.

After all, this was only the first day of the dungeon!

They couldn’t afford to lose a teammate so soon!

Moments later, the two arrived at a quiet bar playing slow, mellow music.

The decor was minimalist, yet the ceiling sparkled with countless stars.

At first glance, patrons seemed to be drinking and chatting beneath an open starry sky—romantic beyond words.

Behind the bar, a bartender demonstrated his craft, bottles dancing in his hands as if alive.

Before him lay a man, pale as death, convulsing, dressed in a light-blue elegant suit, wearing a bat mask.

He was barely clinging to life.

Other teammates stood nearby.

All their eyes betrayed anxiety and irritation—they too had noticed Batman’s condition was dire.

“What happened to him?” Bei Lang asked urgently.

Fox Loli stepped forward coldly: “He ordered a Bloody Mary. After drinking it, the bartender told him to recreate an identical cocktail. He failed—and now this.”

Bei Lang stepped closer to observe.

He saw a crimson stain at the man’s lips—and more red liquid oozing out, yet no metallic scent of blood filled the air.

He sniffed carefully.

It smelled like the Bloody Mary he’d drunk!

Was the drink poisoned?

“Sir bartender, hello.” Bei Lang approached as politely as possible: “Why has this guest become like this? Is there any way to ease his condition?”

This was a rule Bei Lang had discovered during prior exploration.

As long as you didn’t break rules or directly ask about them, and showed sufficient politeness and respect—even if your question brushed against rule boundaries—

They might still answer.

It depended entirely on the staff’s mood.

Luck favored him: the bartender was in a good mood.

He slowly set down his glass, raising an eyebrow with disdain: “This guest doesn’t understand liquor.”

Then he handed over the drink menu.

Sliding his finger across the names of cocktails, he spoke coldly: “If you don’t know the drink you’re consuming, you don’t deserve to drink it. So I simply helped him understand ‘Bloody Mary’ better.”

“From now on, no one will understand ‘Bloody Mary’ better than he does.”

Bei Lang glanced at the bat-man beside him.

Yes—no one would understand it better.

Because his blood was turning entirely into “Bloody Mary” cocktail!

At last, everyone understood.

The liquid pouring from Bat’s mouth wasn’t the drink he’d consumed—it was blood, now transformed into alcohol.

A living cocktail was being brewed!

There was no saving him…

Everyone’s faces grew grim.

Bat was Level 14.

The lowest-ranked among them.

But in Spirit Catastrophe, strength isn’t closely tied to level—higher levels simply mean more completed dungeons, more gear, skills, and hidden items.

Their levels were close.

Which meant, barring accidents,

The drink that killed Bat could kill any player here.

He had no gear or item to save himself.

Because this wasn’t direct damage, nor even spiritual contamination!

It was a rule’s power twisting the nature of blood—something invisible, intangible, impossible to resist.

“Absurd! If you must know how to mix every drink you order, who could possibly drink here? Is this bar only for bartenders?”

Thorny Dandy frowned, irritated.

A bar that didn’t welcome guests, only bartenders—how ridiculous!

But the bartender heard this—and

His face lit up with a smile, even one of reverence: “Sir, you cannot do it, but that doesn’t mean others cannot.”

“Before you arrived, a guest mixed every drink on this menu—and even taught me the origins and methods of every base spirit.”

“Oh my heavens! His knowledge of liquor and blending technique intoxicated me! He was surely Dionysus reincarnated!”

“Out of respect, I gifted him a bottle from my private collection.”

At these words, the players’ expressions changed.

Are there people like this on the ship?

Either this man truly masters all kinds of mixing techniques, or he understands the rules of this place!

They lean toward the latter.

An NPC who knows the regional rules!

Finding him might yield more information!

Miss Rose couldn’t help stepping forward and flashing the bartender a seductive glance. “Handsome, could you tell me what this amazing guest looks like? I’d like to discuss the art of cocktail culture with him.”

The bartender’s expression suddenly turned awkward.

He said hesitantly, “Uh… that guest’s outfit was bizarre—completely pink… oh, he specifically corrected me—it was magenta cosplay.”

“And he told me to pass on this message to anyone asking about his identity: If you’re weak, train more.”

Miss Rose: “?”

In her mind appeared a lunatic.

Others thought of that same lunatic.

Holy shit! Is it him?