Chapter 362: The Detective Died Right at the Start

A game meant for eleven players now had an extra participant. Only eleven chairs sat in the main hall; most likely, not even the mastermind behind the scenes had anticipated this.

I stayed where I was and scanned the round table, spotting Du Yu in chair number ten.

In that moment, by unspoken agreement, our gazes slid past each other as we pretended to be strangers.

"Newbie, you're late. There's no seat for you here." The man in chair Number Six bit the tip of his tongue. He was barely five feet tall and painfully thin, with sharply protruding collarbones and shoulder blades. More concerning was the sharp razor blade in his hand as he methodically pared his fingernails. "We've all read the rules. Every single one of us is a competitor, and only five will get the antidote in the end. As for this extra guy, I say we just kill him right now!"

The man looked like a Skinny Monkey and spoke with pure malice. The blade danced across his fingertips, betraying a distinct thirst for slaughter.

At his suggestion, several of the eleven seated players were clearly tempted. The gazes fixed on me turned chillingly cold.

The game hadn't even started and I was already facing a crisis. My mind worked fast, and I didn't panic. "You want to kill me? If I fight back with everything I've got, I'll severely injure at least two or three of you. You all know what a severe injury means in a situation like this. If you're willing to kill me to thin the competition, the others will be just as willing to finish off anyone who's badly wounded to boost their own odds of winning. When it comes to life and death, everyone is selfish. I think you all know that very well."

After I said that, some of the group settled back into neutral expressions, though a few merely concealed their murderous intent for the time being.

For the people currently in this room, murder wasn't a particularly difficult feat. Every single one of them was capable of killing someone without even resorting to brute force.

I didn't step any closer to them, standing a few meters away as I watched the group. "As the ugly, stumpy Mr. Number Six just mentioned, we are all competitors. But besides the final five with the most votes getting the antidote, there's another perfect ending available to us—finding the killer who ate the red candy! Every two hours, we get a chance for a collective accusation. If we single out the killer, everyone gets the antidote!"

I paused, looking coolly at Number Six. "The rules spell that out very clearly, yet Number Six deliberately left it out just now because he wanted me dead. Could that indirectly prove he's the killer—and that if we accuse him, every single one of us will survive?"

My gaze cut into the skinny, dwarfish Number Six like a blade. His face darkened. With a casual flick of his wrist, he buried his razor blade into the round table, driving the steel an inch deep into the wood—a clear display of immense wrist strength. "Are you looking to die?"

I shrugged at the threat. "Can you even kill me?"

The atmosphere instantly reached a boiling point. More than ten seconds passed before someone stepped in to smooth things over—the man in the Number Three chair. "There's no need to make things so tense between us. We aren't strictly competitors. Since we were all kidnapped and brought here, you could say we're companions in adversity. We should cooperate and work together to find the twelfth person hiding among us. That person is very likely the organizer, and once we single them out, the rules of the game won't matter at all."

The speaker was six feet tall and exceptionally gaunt, making his frame appear strikingly elongated. A narrow, aquiline nose gave his face a sharp, decisive look, while a prominent, square jaw left a solid first impression. He seemed like a trustworthy guy. "Before Number Twelve arrived, I investigated our surroundings. I can confirm that we are underground, specifically in the subterranean levels of a prison."

"The furnishings in the cells are identical to a prison's. What caught my attention was the battered wooden bucket. It had been scrubbed clean, but a faint stench still lingered. There's no bathroom here, meaning that bucket is used for human waste. The residual smell tells me we aren't the first group to be held captive in this place."

Number Three had clearly observed a great deal of detail, and the rest of the group listened intently. "The bucket wasn't thoroughly cleaned and retains a faint stench. Yet throughout this entire underground facility, including the main hall and the cells, there isn't a single whiff of blood. You can't see any bloodstains or severed limbs either, which defies logic. A venue this clean doesn't look like a place used to host killing games at all. I suspect this so-called repentance game is nothing more than a psychological tactic used by the police to force a confession."

He smiled cryptically. "Everyone seated here is a master criminal. Some of you have crafted perfect alibis; others have staged flawless locked-room murders. Your methods are so skilled that even the police can't crack them. Even if they know who the culprit is, insufficient evidence prevents them from making an arrest. So they've resorted to a special interrogation like this, hoping to get us to confess on our own!"

At his words, a glint appeared in the eyes of a few players, though the majority remained expressionless, giving no hint of what they were pondering.

"Everyone, this is a classic police tactic. Outside of state agencies, I can't think of a single faction or individual with the capability—or the free time—to kidnap all of us and bring us to this location at the exact same time!" Number Three looked as though he was holding the pearl of wisdom, projecting the aura of a man who had seen through the entire charade.

"Your analysis is pretty convincing. I'm a bit curious—who are you in the real world?" The man in pajamas in seat one cast a sideways glance at Number Three.

"I've held many titles. I was the first Chinese-American police chief in Connecticut, United States, a criminal forensics expert, a guest forensic pathologist at the University of New Haven, and a professional detective, among other things. I've worked behind the scenes on many famous cases in the country."

"You're a professional detective?" I asked, genuinely surprised. I hadn't expected to bump into a colleague in a place like this. Though, judging by his resume, he was far more professional than I was.

"Is that so surprising? Though, to be honest, I prefer committing crimes over solving them. If criminals are brilliant, creative artists, then detectives are nothing more than critics reviewing their art." Number Three's tone shifted as he turned to me with newfound interest. "And you? What do you do?"

Spreading my hands, I shook my head. "Compared to a 'successful' man like you, I'm just a loser. I was expelled from the police academy for getting into brawls. These days, I'm just drifting through society, unemployed."

"A young man with potential. If we make it out of here alive, you can come work as my assistant." Number Three flashed a grin, then stood up to face the room. "We are in a completely sealed space with no doors or windows. I found thirteen ventilation ducts in total, but they're only fifteen centimeters in diameter—no one is escaping through those. Which raises the question: if there are no doors or windows, how did we get in?"

Excitement glinted in his eyes. "The answer is obvious. The door is right here in this room with us. It's just been hidden."

"You're saying that as long as we find the door, we can just leave? We don't have to play by the rules?" the man in pajamas in seat one asked, a hint of doubt in his voice. "Whoever is behind this went through a lot of trouble to bring us here. They wouldn't leave such a glaring loophole."

A chorus of disagreement rose from the others, but Number Three merely shook his head. "I've already found the door. Follow me or don't, it's up to you."

With that, he walked toward the western wall of the hall, where an old, worn cabinet stood. "Our prison has neither food nor water, and we've only been given a single night. If that's the case, what is the purpose of this cabinet in the hall?"

"It's heavy, and it takes up space. I can't think of any other use for it." Number Three waved at the man in pajamas and me, gesturing for us to help him push the cabinet aside.

Screech! As the cabinet was shoved aside, all ten players seated around the round table stood up, their eyes locked on the space behind it.

"Here is my answer for you!" Number Three pointed at the heavy iron door that had been concealed by the cabinet, a trace of disdain in his smile. "Can a mere security door really hold me?"

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a rectangular piece of alloy and forcefully shoved it into the keyhole. "It's no exaggeration to call this Alloy Key a Skeleton Key. Its surface is composed of over three thousand microscopic alloy particles. It has incredible malleability and plasticity, and it can open absolutely any conventional lock."

Just as he finished speaking, the internal tumblers of the lock clicked. Number Three turned his head to glance at the crowd. "It really is that simple."

Without even removing the key, he grabbed the lock with one hand and had barely pulled the door open half an inch when something suddenly reached in from outside.