*"I couldn't rouse Ronald, so I had no choice but to knock him unconscious. Are the two of you alright?"*
*"Breakfast has already been digested,"* Eric replied.
*"I know—what I vomited was nothing but stomach acid,"* Kevin said as he walked to the well to draw water, scrubbing the blood from his hands.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Eric approaching as well. He turned his head slightly.
*"I need water too,"* Eric explained, intending to clean the mess she and Nicole had made. The summer heat would only intensify the stench if left unattended.
*"Let me,"* Nicole said, her face pale as she took the bucket from him.
*Splash!*
Fresh water washed over the ground, erasing the sour odor—yet the psychological scars remained, far harder to cleanse.
The three of them returned to the living room and sat in heavy silence.
*"What do we do? I'm starving."*
Nicole clutched her stomach, her brow furrowed. Logically, after witnessing Ronald in that state, she should have been too nauseated to even think of food. Yet the hunger was relentless—if anything, vomiting had only sharpened the gnawing void inside her.
*"Hold on a little longer. Someone will likely bring us more food. Given the village chief's attitude, he wants us well-fed, well-rested, and ready to deliver a healthy spirit infant,"* Eric mused, resting a hand on her own abdomen. *"There's still no sign of the exit portal. Could it be that the gateway appears only after the spirit infant is born?"*
*"That seems likely—but I fear we won't live long enough to see that day,"* Nicole lamented, her expression grim. *"Look at us—it's only the first day. If we don't eat, we starve. If we starve too much, we'll start devouring ourselves. And if we eat too much… I'm afraid we'll burst."
Kevin gazed toward the courtyard gate. "It's nearly noon; we're famished, and Samantha and the others must be as well. They should be returning soon."
At half past eleven, Jason and his group arrived at the small courtyard. Before they could exchange any information, the lunch delivery arrived.
Three figures bore the midday meal, each balancing a yoke upon their shoulders—including the woman they had seen before.
Silently, the trio set down six buckets of food and withdrew.
Christine was the first to pounce, casually lifting a lid.
To her astonishment, a vast container brimmed with gleaming white rice. Starved and burning with hunger, Christine reached out like a spellbound creature to grasp the food. Yet Eric's swift hand intercepted her, with Samantha simultaneously intervening; together, they restrained her.
"What are you doing? Let me go! I want to eat!" Christine raged, losing all reason in the presence of the meal, despite having seemed composed moments before lunch's arrival.
"Knock her out first!" Jason commanded.
Eric raised her hand and struck the back of Christine's neck. Instantly, her body slackened, surrendering to unconsciousness.
With Samantha's assistance, Eric helped Christine to sit against the wall. Glancing back, she saw Timothy and the others had already opened the lids of the remaining wooden buckets.
Today's midday feast comprised three buckets of pristine white rice, two brimming with glistening, aromatic braised pork, and one thick pot of seaweed and egg drop soup.
As each lid was lifted, the tantalizing aromas wafted forth, compelling Eric's mouth to water uncontrollably; she longed to pounce and gorge herself at once.
Players, striving to accumulate points, usually practiced frugality. Though they occasionally indulged in a dish of braised pork rice at a restaurant, such treats were rare, mere cravings satisfied in limited measure—not a feast to be enjoyed freely at will.
Yet here lay a sumptuous banquet, entirely gratis!
Timothy swiftly gathered bowls and chopsticks, filling a large bowl with rice. He heaped a generous portion of the richly sauced pork atop, the glossy jus bathing the grains in savory sheen. Without pausing, he devoured a hefty mouthful, emitting a satisfied rumble, his gaze fixed firmly downward.
The ravenous players could no longer resist temptation and began to pick up their chopsticks one after another.
"Serve your food outside and be careful not to overeat," Jason advised, swallowing hard as he sampled the braised pork. He then hurried outside, selecting a quiet corner to eat.
"Be cautious," Samantha warned Eric.
"You too," Eric replied.
They were the last to commence their meal.
Eric served herself a bowl of rice topped with a ladle of braised pork but declined the soup. Retreating into an unoccupied room, she closed the door behind her.
Though the food exuded an enticing aroma, Eric refrained from eating. Instead, she withdrew an empty bowl from the supermarket supplies, into which she poured the entire serving.
Her intention was to forgo consuming the meal provided by the game, testing whether the in-game food itself was problematic.
Enduring an exquisite, gnawing hunger that seeped into her very bones, Eric took from the supermarket a custard-filled pastry to nibble.
The sweet, fragrant custard slid down her esophagus into her stomach, yet rather than satiating her hunger, it was as if a drop of water had hit a blazing pan—the ravenous craving only intensified.
In a matter of minutes, she devoured one custard pie after another. Five in succession still failed to quell her appetite.
More… more… she craved endlessly.
She needed to eat more—needed it with a desperation that terrified her.
Eric didn't notice her pupils contracting, but the overwhelming, instinctive hunger that eclipsed all reason frightened her.
She drew a deep breath, forcing herself to slow down, to chew deliberately, to resist the ravenous urge threatening to consume her.
Eat slowly. Take your time. Don't let this gluttony control you.
The effort of restraint made the veins in her eyes redden; her heart pounded so violently it nearly spasmed. She curled forward, swallowing the last bite of custard pie with deliberate slowness.
Six custard pies—more than enough calories. Eric exhaled shakily, wrestling down her appetite before retrieving a carton of milk. She bit down on the straw, sipping methodically until the last drop was gone.
Afterward, she rinsed her mouth with bottled water and gathered the discarded wrappers.
You're full. This is enough. Don't eat any more.
She repeated it like a mantra.
Perhaps without the immediate temptation of food before her, Eric managed to regain control, her breathing steadying as the frenzy subsided.
Only then could she turn her attention to the chaos unfolding beyond her door.
The living room was in uproar.
Christine, drenched and disheveled, was hunched over a bucket of braised pork, shoveling fistfuls into her mouth. Her face was smeared with sauce, her hair slick with grease, her belly grotesquely distended as though she carried twins at full term.
Nicole lay unconscious on the floor. Samantha staggered in from outside, clutching her side. Spotting Eric, she first startled, then brightened with relief.
"You're alright—oh no, Christine's eating again?!"
Before Samantha could finish, Eric was already moving. She struck Christine's neck with precision—yet despite the force, Christine barely flinched, still cramming meat into her mouth.
"Lock her in a room!" Samantha shouted.
Together, they dragged Christine away, wresting the bucket from her grip.
"Give it back! Give me the meat!"
The door slammed shut. Christine threw herself against it, eyes bloodshot, her movements eerily reminiscent of a starved ghoul.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Samantha wedged a chair under the handle, then sank to the floor, exhausted. Eric turned to Nicole, still unconscious, a bloody lump swelling on her forehead. A smear on the wall suggested she'd been knocked out mid-collision.
"I knocked Christine out earlier and left Nicole to watch her while I helped outside," Samantha muttered, rubbing her knees as she stood. "Looks like Christine woke up and returned the favor." She sighed. "That sip of Child-Giving Soup she spat out cursed her worse than the rest of us. Twins mean twice the hunger."
From the courtyard came the sound of splashing. Eric stepped outside to find Jason and Kevin hauling Timothy, sopping wet, from the well.
Timothy sprawled on the ground, breathless. "Thanks," he wheezed.
"Just glad you're coherent," Jason grunted, collapsing beside him.
Kevin glanced up at Eric and Samantha, too drained to speak.
Lunch had left them all battered.
Once recovered, they set about cleaning the wreckage.
"Maybe we shouldn't bother," Timothy groaned. "Dinner's just going to be the same mess all over again."
"We need a system," Samantha said. "No more facing piles of food unprotected. The easier it is to reach, the harder it is to resist." She proposed dividing portions in advance, storing excess out of sight, and rotating meal shifts—some eating while others stood guard, ready to intervene if hunger overtook anyone.
"Smart. And we should test whether the food itself is tainted," Jason added. "This afternoon, we scavenge for alternatives and dig up the burial mounds. With two players already compromised, we can't afford delays."
"Jason," Eric interjected, "what did you find at the ancestral hall this morning?"
His expression darkened. "The hall has one entrance—locked, no windows. We circled the building, even climbed onto the roof..." He shuddered. "The roof tiles weren't tiles at all. They were bones. Children's bones. And I'd bet the walls are the same."
Samantha nodded grimly. "That whole shrine is built from infant corpses."
Eric's blood ran cold. Her hand drifted to her swollen belly—larger now after lunch, as were the others'. Christine's most of all.
If the shrine was constructed from dead children... then what exactly had they ingested from the Child-Giving Goddess's "blessing"?
Not spirit infants.
Hungry ghosts.
Nicole gasped. "No wonder we've been ravenous since drinking that soup!"
The words struck Eric like a physical blow.
Hungry ghosts.
Were they all carrying starved, vengeful spirits inside them?
"Enough speculation," Jason cut in. "This afternoon, we dig. Let's focus on the task."