Chapter 112

Chapter 112

"I can't take it anymore! I'd rather volunteer at a kindergarten or jump off the tower of the University of Michigan than continue teaching these hyperactive, inquisitive children!"

Lane pulled out a letter from the suggestion box, guessing that it was yet another frustrated professor on the brink of insanity. He couldn't help but sigh.

The faculty and students of the University of Michigan were still quite reserved. Despite Lane's efforts to maintain a calm demeanor, he was still a god, even if a relatively gentle one. Thus, no one dared to barge into his office and bang on the table.

On the other hand, the suggestion box had become an outlet for anonymous complaints ever since Lane improved it. Letters poured in like rain, all expressing the grievances of the faculty and students against the players. These included disruptions during classes, harassment of professors, unauthorized entry into the library, and even sneaking into professors' quarters.

...What was that last one about? All professors at the University of Michigan were elderly men! What do they plan to do to those old professors??

Lane could only laugh and cry as he imposed a three-week suspension on the player responsible for the final offense, effectively kicking them out of the university for three weeks until the frightened professor calmed down.

The University of Michigan promptly introduced new rules, and Lane, considering the rebellious nature of the players, established a comprehensive system of incentives and punishments.

For instance, he revoked players' direct access to the library, replacing it with a credit-based system. Five credits allowed entry to borrow a book, and credits could be earned through regular attendance or answering questions in class. To prevent players from sneaking in, Lane appointed the role of library guardian to 'Michigan's Dog.'

Yes, the very dog that had helped Albert and bitten Sauron. Lane hadn't forgotten about it when he moved the University of Michigan to the Divine Realm. During times of stress, he would summon the dog for some cuddling sessions. Surprisingly, it was quite stress-relieving!

Unfortunately, the dog didn't understand why it was so frightened of Lane, and every time they met, it would tuck its tail between its legs, behaving like a lifeless doll, not daring to make a sound. Though Lane enjoyed petting it, he lost interest after a few times and stopped.

Originally, the dog served as a guardian of the university, tasked with supervising the library to prevent inquisitive students from meeting untimely ends within its halls. Now, it was perfectly suited for chasing players away.

Of course, the most crucial element was the profession system. Lane subtly hinted in the new regulations that players' designated mentors, unsurprisingly, would be their respective professors. Hence, they should think twice before causing trouble—these were the very mentors who could determine their success in changing professions!

The significance of the affinity system was now evident!

Sure enough, in the days following the new rules, the effects became apparent. Complaints sent to Lane's suggestion box visibly dwindled at an observable rate.

The professors and senior students at the university heaved a sigh of relief — normal classroom order had, at last, been somewhat restored.

Lane pulled out the last letter from the suggestion box, only to find, to his surprise, that it was not a complaint but a suggestion, and one submitted with a real name.

The content of the letter was even more unexpected.

'...I apologize for my intrusion, mighty Divine Lord, but there is a matter that has long perplexed me. Your followers, our students, are a congregation of unparalleled complexity. They are self-destructive, altruistic, selfish, and yet, oddly disoriented. Their indifference towards life astounds me, yet the origins of such an attitude seem to stem from something beyond their faith...'

Lahn wasn't surprised that someone could perceive this. The players might seem fanatically devoted to the gods, even to the point of sacrificing their lives, but upon closer interaction, one would realize they weren't the typical zealots. They didn't hold a great sense of reverence for anything in this world, including themselves.

'I have no intention of probing into the reasons behind it. Whatever the answer might be, it's beyond our interference. However, I believe that their indifferent attitude toward life and their own existence might eventually become a rift between MU and its followers.'

...

"Charge!"

In the eastern region of MU, where spiritual plants grew most abundantly, it resembled a small botanical garden when viewed from above. The combat students were currently conducting practical training here, battling the aggressive spiritual plants that already existed.

To motivate the players to attend classes, the professors had been racking their brains these days. Eventually, they discovered that the players favored hands-on sessions. Thus, the combat department conducted one training session each day, turning it into a daily monster-slaying quest for the players.

Not Crazy was like a wild horse unleashed. Ever since the incident in the MU auditorium, she seemed to have unlocked a new path. Abandoning her initial plan to pursue a career as a healer, she wholeheartedly embraced the path of the Warrior.

Professor Rakin Cobham, the alchemy instructor at MU, led his students in harvesting herbs and brewing potions with a cheerful smile. As he took a look around, the combat students' practical training for the day happened to conclude. Rakin announced, "Alright, the potions are ready. Drink up."

The Strongest Man, still unaware of the harshness of society, carelessly drank the potion that Arlon had brewed and nearly gagged. "What is this disgusting thing?!"

Rakin asked, "What does it taste like?"

The Strongest Man struggled to recall. "It... tastes like rotten socks."

"Seems like I added too much Puppet Grass. Make a note, reduce it by roughly one gram next time," Lakin instructed, turning to Aron who immediately bowed his head and scribbled in his notebook frantically.

"I'm dying from laughter at this live experiment!"

"This is self-production and self-consumption, I love it!"

"No wonder the combat department is placed next to the Potions department. Hahahaha!"

Similar incidents occurred with other players. Although Lakin had pre-screened their procedures, many were careless, either adding a bit too much of one ingredient or not enough of another herb. While the wounds did heal, various peculiar aftereffects arose, from odd smells to growing scales – all tolerable. The strangest was someone sprouting a pig's tail.

"Woah, a limited-edition skin!" Oddnumber turned sideways, "Quick, take a picture for me."

"Right away, look here."

"Professor, I'm injured too," Crazy also approached, grinning as she spoke to Lakin.

Lakin beamed, handing her the potion he had personally brewed, then led her to the crowd of Potions students, "Just in time to show you the effects of a perfect potion."

Crazy drank the potion, watching in awe as her health bar skyrocketed.

The players were in an uproar:

"Damn, it's a divine potion!"

"Coach, I want to learn how to brew magic potions too!"

"Sob sob, why is it that every time it's 'No One Can Stay Sane' who gets such high-quality potions? Qwq Professor, you're playing favorites."

Lakin didn't take offense. Instead, he humorously replied, using the players' own words, "If you're not satisfied, go find a bonded healer for yourself."

"Hahaha, did you hear that, Professor? I'm yours!" Bonkers wrapped her arms around the Potions Professor's arm, beaming with pride. "I saved you with a perfect success and maxed-out Attack stat!"

Larken allowed Bonkers her antics, ruffling her hair affectionately. For an elderly man without a family, perhaps he had started seeing her as a granddaughter from the moment he recognized her at the school gates.

Ah, poor planning. I should have mentioned the recommendation letter for the Potions Department back then. (Sighs)

...

"I sense a brewing issue and am thus compelled to bring it to your attention with concern. - Jo Berton, Department of Psychology"

Having finished reading the letter, Lane lingered on the sender's name for a few seconds, though he didn't have a strong impression of the professor. Nevertheless, from the content of the letter, it was clear that psychology was indeed one of Michigan University's leading disciplines.

In just a few days, this psychology professor had already perceived the players' true nature and the looming crisis between Michigan University and the players.

Due to the character card system, if a player's character card died, they were truly dead in the eyes of NPCs. Even if a player started with another character card, they would no longer be recognized as the same person by NPCs.

Frankly, this aspect was widely criticized on the players' forums, with many calling for a change. However, the officials refused to budge.

But in Lane's opinion, this aspect wasn't all bad. Without a deterrent for players, the current situation might have been even more chaotic. Nonetheless, a double-edged sword always cuts both ways. For the NPCs left behind, forming ties with players could be a blessing or a curse.

Lane sighed and returned the letter to his drawer.

A translucent hyacinth drifted through the window to Lane's ear, conveying a message. His eyes lit up. "Did Kris get the results?"

With a snap of his fingers, Lane instantly teleported from the principal's office to Kris's laboratory. Kris and Archie, perhaps anticipating Lane's appearance, weren't overly surprised.

Lane: "The results came back so quickly?"

Kris: "The Bureau of Investigation has been conducting research on anomalies. I had some knowledge of key information, so we weren't starting from scratch. To cut a long story short, the outcome suggests the worst-case scenario – humans are gradually transforming into anomalies."

"Is this process reversible?" Lane asked.

Cary shook his head. "All we know now is that the higher the level one goes, the faster the transformation seems to occur."

Hearing this, Lane couldn't help but frown. Wouldn't that mean the Path of the Dream Rift was completely blocked? But that wasn't the most pressing issue at hand.

"Edmund, Archie, are they still exploring within the Dream Rift?"

"Hmm, if you're suggesting they stop, I must say I don't agree with that decision," Cary replied frankly.

"Why not?"

"After you left, I collected blood samples from your two followers for comparison, and I found that their rate of transformation far surpasses that of Daina and the others," Cary added, in case Lane had forgotten Daina's name. "Daina was part of the Inspectorate team, the same group as Jobe."

Lane nearly forgot that he had a few Inspectorate members imprisoned in his Divine Realm.

"Daina and Edie were both on the second level of the Dream Rift, while Eunice was on the first. However, Edmund's transformation speed greatly exceeds theirs, which is abnormal considering the time he spent in the Dream Rift," Cary continued. "At this rate, even staying at their current levels would eventually lead to them becoming strange beings. It might be better to risk going deeper."

Lane fell silent upon hearing this. Transformation speed? Why were their rates so much faster than normal?

If there was anything exceptional about Edmund and his ilk...

It was that they had faith in themselves.

"There's another aspect worth considering," Clay continued. "Despite their extreme mutations, their mental states are surprisingly stable."

"Even an Awakened who doesn't engage in battles, like me – when breaking through the layers of the Gap, would usually go mad at least a few times. When I was at the Inspectorate, I once bored myself with statistics. Going mad around ten times is considered normal, but these two seem to have only experienced it two or three, maybe four times."

Archie nodded. "Before I joined the Church, I went mad about three times when I broke through the first layer on my own. Edmund had even fewer episodes, it seems – just once."

"It's precisely because of their unexpectedly stable minds that I believe we might find a turning point deeper within the Gap," Clay concluded.

In the end, Lane agreed to let them continue their journey through the Gap. After he left, Edmund and Archie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

Clay waited a few seconds, making sure Lane was well away, before pulling a cigarette from his pocket and putting it in his mouth. "Why are you thanking me? I merely stated my conjecture."

Edmund whispered, "We know, but still, thank you."

Both Edmond and Archie knew that if Lane were aware of their accelerated transformation, he wouldn't let them delve deeper into the Dream Rift. But both of them also sensed the impending storm, an unseen enemy lurking in the shadows. They had to grow stronger.

They didn't want to burden Lane or spend their lives under his protection in the Divine Kingdom, even if such a future was appealing. Edmond aimed to uphold Lane's glory on the surface, and though Archie wouldn't admit it, he shared a similar desire.

Clyde was pragmatic. He wouldn't hide the results of the experiment from Lane, but by subtly manipulating his words, he could make Edmond and Archie owe him a favor. Why not?

"You must have some idea why your mutations are progressing so quickly," Clyde said, exhaling smoke as his eyes regained their leisurely expression. "Frankly, I'm not too surprised. The Bureau's records are filled with such cases. Those who worship evil deities don't tend to fare well."

Edmond and Archie remained unperturbed. They were aware of the risk, yet they chose this path regardless.

"And what about you? Aren't you in the same boat?" Archie countered, grateful for Clyde's assistance but still suspicious of his intentions.

"Hmm, let's just say I have nowhere else to go," Clyde replied. "I never expected to live that long anyway. Seeking longevity in this line of work would be seen as naive."

Cultists and investigators were both brothers in short life spans; it was a matter of dying as a creature of the strange or as a human. Some cared about this distinction, while others, like Clyde, did not.

After all, scientists were the curious cats that always met their demise.

...

Meanwhile, back in the headmaster's office, Lane had missed the second half of Cree's conversation with Edmund and the others. However, he could roughly guess the reason for Edmund and Albert's accelerated transformations.

Since the fog was one source of contamination, then he, who could manipulate it, might be an even more terrifying source of pollution.

Lane closed his eyes, and an image from a long time ago resurfaced in his mind—the scene at the hospital when he rolled a "???" critical failure. Perhaps the clue had been right in front of him since then.

The descent of an evil god would spread mental corruption, driving humans into madness and mutation. This was one of the core tenets of Lovecraftian lore, but its familiarity made people overlook it easily.

And reality seemed to remind him constantly of the truth of the evil god.

Immediately, another question arose in his mind. In the world of tabletop gaming, even the avatars or vestiges of evil gods could drive humans mad and alter the ecosystem. So, after staying in this city for so long, and Arkham essentially becoming his divine realm, would there be any changes caused by him?

...

"What the hell is this place, ahhhhhh!?"

The crew-cut man couldn't help but scream in despair. Before he could finish his cry, the scarred woman ruthlessly smashed the butt of her gun into his mouth, silencing him: "Shut up! Be careful or you'll draw the monster back!"

The cult members were as quiet as chickens, holding their breaths as they stared at the blood-colored ghost vine in the alley, afraid of attracting its attention.

Ever since they entered Arkham City the previous night, the cultists felt as if they were constantly in hell, without a moment's rest. This city was cursed; eerie and sinister plants were everywhere, along with bizarre creatures wandering amidst the mist.

They tried hard to pretend they didn't see the abnormalities, initially deceiving quite a few of them. However, when the crew-cut man accidentally stepped on a walking grass and was thrown down in front of a creature by the grass's revenge, the cultists' nightmare began.

This wasn't the first time the cultists had been hunted by abnormalities, but during the chase, they realized that the terrifying plants around them were also mobile and unfriendly, turning the situation into a horror game.

After barely managing to eliminate two D-class abnormalities pursuing them, all the cultists sustained some injuries. The scarred woman, gasping for air, had a hole pierced through her shoulder by an abnormality's proboscis, her flesh still burning with pain.

However, compared to the pain, there was something even more deadly: blood loss and infection.

With disgust, the scarred woman wiped the saliva from the gun butt onto the crew-cut man's chin: "You, go buy medicine."

The crew-cut man was unhappy with the scarred woman's attitude, but she was the strongest among them, so he held his tongue: "Why me?"

"You contributed the least," the scarred woman replied coldly.

With the barrel of the gun staring him down, Crew Cut Man reluctantly gave in, feeling deeply aggrieved. After a few steps, he suddenly thought of something and whispered, "How does this place compare to New Port?"

Scarred Woman replied, "Even Hell is more harmonious and friendly than here."

Crew Cut Man sighed, surveying the surrounding injured. Indeed, he was the only one capable of going. Grumbling, he stepped out of the alley. Fortunately, there was a pharmacy across the street. He kept his gaze straight, trying not to look at the bizarre plants and oddities around him as he jogged over.

Unlike a hospital, the pharmacy didn't reek of disinfectant. Crew Cut Man sniffed and caught a whiff of the aroma of baked bread. His stomach rumbled in response.

"Son, didn't you have breakfast?" The pharmacist came from behind the counter, looking exceptionally well-rested, as if he had just woken up from a beauty nap. He radiated vitality, holding the source of the fragrance—a tray of freshly baked croissants.

Crew Cut Man's gaze on the bread was too obvious. The pharmacist chuckled and offered him a piece. "Go ahead, eat."

Originally, Crew Cut Man wanted to snatch the whole tray, but exercising caution, he refrained from acting impulsively. He took the bread and chewed it a few times. "Sir, are you a local here?"

"Of course. I can tell from your accent that you're from out of town. Are you visiting? Welcome! Arkham has quite a few nice attractions," the owner said with a smile. "Alright, most of them aren't very famous, but the atmosphere here is pretty good. Most people are harmonious and friendly."

Crew Cut Man nearly choked on the bread. If not for the pharmacist kindly offering him water, he might have become the first heretic in the Doomsday Cult to choke to death.

In a reflexive action, he glanced outside the store.

Monsters roamed, anomalies abounded, and indescribable entities lurked in every corner, while grotesque trees enveloped the entire city.

You call this harmonious and friendly?

The title of Doomsday Cultist should be yours!

The crew-cut man seethed with indignation. Staring at the shop owner's healthy and joyful demeanor, his frustration intensified, birthing malevolence within him.

Seemingly sensing the crew-cut man's hostile gaze, the pharmacist maintained his smile but quickened his pace behind the counter.

There lay a shotgun.

Just as the crew-cut man was about to make a move, the shop owner swiftly drew the shotgun. "Though I'm unaware of your intentions, I advise you to reconsider."

A bizarre laugh escaped the crew-cut man's throat. "To us, this is no more than a stick for kindling fire."

In the next moment, another set of footsteps echoed at the entrance.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone. Have any of you seen this person?"

The pharmacist caught a glimpse of the new arrival, a thin, scholarly man holding a book, and instinctively warned, "Sorry, I'm busy right now!"

Unperturbed by the imminent danger, the slender man approached the crew-cut man under the anxious gaze of the pharmacy owner and placed his hand on the latter's shoulder.

"Hey, get lost, punk!" The pharmacist was frantic. Years of running his shop had honed his instincts for reading people, and the crew-cut man's stare had given him an uneasy feeling. This guy might have taken lives before. The skinny man's intervention was like offering himself as prey to a predator!

Surprisingly, after being touched on the shoulder, the crew-cut man turned and left without looking back, as if nothing had happened.

The pharmacist was stunned. Was this man's toughness just for show?

"Sir..." the slender man spoke up again, "Have you ever heard of Kerry Chapman?"

"No, I haven't," the pharmacist replied automatically.

"Well then," the slender man sighed, turning to leave. But the pharmacist, realizing what he was doing, called out, "But you could post a missing person notice at the entrance or describe the person to me. I'll keep an eye out!"

The slender man paused, turned, and smiled. "Thank you. You're a good man."

He looked outside the shop and said thoughtfully, "This is also quite a unique city."

The shopkeeper observed that the man's eyes were peculiar; his pupils were pitch black, reflecting no light at all. They seemed clouded, as if he were blind, yet his actions didn't betray any signs of blindness. He held a black-bound book with no title on its cover, and a striking black tattoo was visible on the back of his hand.

"Are you here looking for someone?" the owner inquired.

"I suppose so, searching for someone, and also to meet an old friend," the man replied with a smile. "By the way, a word of advice, try not to venture out on foggy days in the future."

The shopkeeper was puzzled. "Why is that?"

"It's easy... to end up like that person just now," the man whispered softly. "Sometimes, ignorance can be a blessing, don't you think?"

With that, he stepped out of the shop without revealing any details about the person he was seeking.

The scarred woman, watching the crew-cut man return empty-handed, asked, "The medicine? Where is it?"

The crew-cut man looked utterly confused. "What medicine?"

She took a deep breath and silently switched on the safety catch of her gun.

Bang!