The players found themselves a mere short walk from the village—no more than ten minutes on foot.
Their guide introduced himself as the village chief, bearing the surname Hill.
At the village entrance stood a modest wall, which Chief Hill explained had been built to deter wild boars. Beyond this barrier lay the village path, bordered by cultivated fields where villagers toiled. Not far off, clusters of humble, weathered single-story houses stood, their exteriors cloaked in a dusty gray.
As Chief Hill led them along the village road, Eric observed the villagers' curiosity toward the players. Their gazes lingered intently, unblinking and piercing, following the travelers long after they had passed.
Christine brushed her arm nervously. "I've got goosebumps. They're looking at us like we're prey."
"Shh, be careful," whispered Samantha softly.
"Here you are," the chief declared upon reaching their lodging. "Settle in; I'll have someone bring your evening meal shortly. Tonight, I will take you to pay respects at the ancestral hall." Before the players could inquire further about this "worship at the ancestral hall," the chief departed.
With scant luggage to arrange, the players introduced themselves.
"I'm Samantha."
"Christine."
"Nicole."
"Eric."
The female introductions concluded, it was now the turn of the gentlemen.
"Kevin."
"Jason."
"Timothy."
"Ronald."
"The night is still young before dinner," Timothy suggested. "Why don't we explore a bit first?" The group readily agreed.
"Less conspicuous to separate into pairs," Jason proposed, quickly dividing the eight into four groups, each mixing one man with one woman.
Eric paired with Ronald. The two nodded and began their investigation.
The village lay fully exposed before them. Architecturally, nothing seemed peculiar, but the villagers' unyielding stares remained the most unsettling aspect—as if they regarded the players as something valuable, their glances hungry and insatiable, returning time and again.
"Should we try questioning a villager?" Eric murmured. Having ventured through four paranormal dungeons prior to this, this was still her fifth, with previous ones providing clearer clues. Tonight's "ancestral hall" ritual might reveal the dungeon's key, but uncovering information beforehand would be preferable.
Would approaching an NPC provoke danger? Could it trigger a fatal event?
Ronald nodded thoughtfully. "Let's try. Since we haven't visited the ancestral hall yet, the main storyline probably hasn't begun. Maybe start with a child — they might be easier to talk to."
However, their search revealed no children in the village. All were robust adults or the elderly; the youngest villager Eric glimpsed appeared to be in their thirties. Reluctantly, they approached a young adult villager for inquiry.
"Excuse me—" Ronald began, but to his surprise, the villager dashed away without a word.
"That's odd," Eric remarked. "Try again."
This time Eric stepped forward, but the villager again spun on their heels and fled, refusing any conversation.
"Too strange. If they don't want to talk, why do they keep watching us so intently?" Ronald observed, nodding toward a half-hidden head peering from the corner of a distant wall—the same villager who had fled remained lurking eerily nearby.
"The sky's darkening. Let's return. Didn't the chief say someone would bring our meals? Perhaps we can glean something from them."
Despite their hopes, nothing surfaced before nightfall, and Eric and Ronald resigned themselves to returning to their quarters.
As players trickled back, Timothy and Samantha arrived last. Almost simultaneously, a woman appeared bearing a bamboo basket. The players watched silently as she set the basket down on the table, lifted a floral cloth, and revealed her provisions: porridge accompanied by salted pickles, along with bowls and chopsticks.
"Once you finish, return the basket and place it by the door. I will collect it," she instructed, then departed despite their attempts to inquire further.
The pot of porridge barely sufficed for one bowl per person, and after their wanderings, everyone was hungry. Eric ladled a bowl and sipped slowly, pondering how she must avoid company if she wished to eat supper quietly, lest hunger sap her strength come nightfall.
"This porridge is watery—like a drip of urine!" Ronald grumbled, stirring the thin grains with his chopsticks.
"Beggars can't be choosers. Better we have this than nothing," Timothy replied, downing his warm bowl in one gulp. "Did you find any clues? Nicole and I noticed there are no children here, and the villagers refuse to converse. We didn't press them either—they seemed too unsettled."
Eric swallowed a spoonful of porridge and glanced at Ronald, their findings aligning precisely.
"Our observations match yours," Ronald noted.
Timothy smirked, a trace of mockery in his expression, causing Ronald's expression to darken slightly.
Kevin, seemingly oblivious to the tension, smiled warmly. "Samantha and I discovered a burial ground on the hillside and found a clue." He turned to Samantha, who produced a scrap of fabric.
"Look here—there's a label, the kind found on clothing sold at the transfer station's tailor shop. This belonged to a player."
"That's not much of a clue," Timothy dismissed with a shake of his head. "Isn't it obvious? Players die in dungeons, and their remains are left behind. What's so special about that?"
Despite Timothy's group also lacking significant discoveries, his derisive attitude toward others' findings was irritating. Kevin remained composed and affable. "The burial ground consists of earthen mounds, likely indicating traditional burials. If we could excavate them, we might glean insights from the states of past players' remains. We lacked the tools and time, so we didn't proceed."
"That's actually a great idea! We should find a chance to dig," Jason praised, then nodded to Christine, signaling her to share their findings.
Christine set down her chopsticks. "Jason and I located the ancestral hall."
The ancestral hall?
Eric perked up, as did the other players.
"It's in the northwest of the village, surrounded by barren land where nothing grows. The hall's gates were tightly shut, exuding an unsettling aura. We only circled the perimeter before the village chief arrived, so we retreated."
"Did the chief go inside?"
"Yes, but he came out almost immediately. After his visit, Jason and I both felt the hall had become even more menacing. It's as if he activated something within."
Everyone understood that whatever lay within was far from ordinary.
This discovery cast a shadow over the players' hearts.
Tonight, they would have to pay respects at the ancestral hall. What awaited them there?
After finishing the thin porridge, they placed their empty bowls back into the basket, which Christine set by the door.
The group waited in the main room for the village chief's arrival. As darkness fell completely, Samantha pulled a cord, illuminating a low-wattage bulb that cast a dim glow.
An antique wall clock chimed seven times, and just as it finished, the chief appeared at the courtyard gate.
"Let's go. It's time to pay respects at the ancestral hall," the chief rasped, his voice hoarser than during the day.
The players followed him out into the night. The chief carried a red lantern, its crimson light illuminating their path. Eric noticed the village was eerily dark—not a single household had lights on, as if the entire village had fallen asleep the moment the clock struck seven. This was hardly normal.
"Chief," Kevin called ahead, "has the rest of the village already gone to sleep? Aren't they joining us for the ritual?"
"Cough… The day's labor exhausts them. They've retired. We've already paid our respects today, so tonight it's your turn."
After walking for twenty minutes, Eric saw a red glow ahead. As they drew closer, she realized it came from red lanterns hanging at the entrance to the ancestral hall.
They had arrived.
Eric didn't know what the hall looked like during the day, but its nighttime appearance filled her with unease. She rolled up her sleeves, her arm hairs standing on end.
"We're here. Come along," the chief said, placing his lantern on the ground and pulling out a key to unlock the door.
*Creak—*
The door opened, releasing a wave of icy air that made Eric shiver involuntarily.
The chief entered first. Eric took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.
One by one, the players filed into the hall. The altar held a single tablet, and by the dim light of the candles, Eric read the inscription: "The Goddess of Infant Delivery."
Before the tablet were eight bowls filled with a murky liquid.
"Begin the ritual," the chief instructed. "Remember, three bows and three prostrations. Afterward, drink the Infant-Blessing Soup, and your wishes shall be granted." With that, he turned to leave.
*Infant-Blessing Soup?* Eric's heart skipped a beat.
Was this the "infant" mentioned in the tablet's inscription?
As in… a baby?
"Chief, what did you say the soup was for?" Ronald, severely nearsighted and wearing glasses, hadn't been able to read the tablet's inscription clearly in the dim light.
"The Infant-Blessing Soup," the chief replied, frowning. "Isn't it obvious? You came to our village seeking children, didn't you? Let me be clear—the soup's effects vary. Some outsiders like you have succeeded in their quest, while others have failed. I've already told you, I won't guarantee anything. The consequences are yours to bear. Hurry up and perform the ritual. Drink the soup before nine. I'll return then to escort you back."
With that, he strode out of the hall.
"So the dungeon's main objective is clear," Ronald said, turning to the group. "We're supposed to drink the Infant-Blessing Soup and then… get pregnant? Four men and four women—does that mean we're supposed to be couples?"
"Then the women should drink it," Timothy declared.
"Why just us? There are eight bowls, clearly meant for eight players. This is a paranormal dungeon, not a science experiment—since when can't men get pregnant?" Nicole shot back immediately.
"Samantha's right," Eric chimed in. "Eight bowls for eight players. If only the women were supposed to drink it, why include male players at all? They could've just brought in eight women."
Timothy hadn't expected his remark to draw such swift backlash, and his expression soured.
Jason stepped in to mediate. "The soup's right here, and it's up to each of us to decide. I intend to drink it. Christine, shall we go first? There's three bows and three prostrations to get through—we'd better not waste time."