Chapter 035 - Eerie Night Fair 07

  I stepped out of the game arena, the air thick with tension. Elliot and No. 25 followed close behind, both having successfully cleared the "Ring the Doll" challenge just as I had.

  No. 137, on the other hand, barely made it. He had stumbled and nearly gotten caught in the relentless downpour of steel rings but managed, at the last second, to dive into the safety of a corner.

  That left only No. 9—the elderly man, his movements slow and deliberate. He hesitated at the entrance of the arena, his brows furrowed with concern as he surveyed the field.

  “We don’t have to rush this,” I said. “Now that we know how the game works, we can come back later. Let’s check out the rest of the park first.”

  I glanced up at the sky—a vast, unbroken stretch of pitch-black darkness. Suspended above us, a massive digital timer loomed, its eerie glow casting ghostly shadows over the ground. **45:00**.

  No. 9 considered my words for a moment, then nodded with his usual gentle demeanor. “Alright.”

  With that, we moved on, weaving through the park’s twisted attractions, keeping a wary eye on the other players.

  We hadn’t gone far when the sharp crack of gunfire split the air.

  Screams followed.

  I whipped my head around.

  The game arenas lined up next to “Ring the Doll” were just as nightmarish—one involved dodging flying daggers, another was a seemingly harmless balloon-popping game.

  No. 137 stiffened beside me, his face pale. I turned in time to see a man crumple to the ground, his body convulsing before going completely still.

  His forehead was riddled with bullet holes. Blood oozed freely from the wounds, pooling beneath him.

  Elliot exhaled sharply. “At this rate, this round alone is going to wipe out a good chunk of people.” He shot me a glance, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

  I nodded.

  Taking the cue, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, his voice carrying across the chaotic park:

  "Game Arena No. 4—‘Ring the Doll’! If you run to the corner, the rings won’t hit you! And if you clear a game, **share your strategy!** The more we know, the better our chances!"

  Players who had been running aimlessly froze at his words. Some shouted hurried thanks before making a break for the arena.

  Meanwhile, the five of us split up, spreading the message and gathering whatever intel we could on the other games.

  By the time we regrouped, the timer had shifted to **04:55:56**.

  Elliot was the first to act, pulling out a first-aid kit. Without a word, he handed out supplies—bottles of iodine, cotton swabs, bandages.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Aside from No. 25, all of us took some hits in the last round," he said. "Patch yourselves up."

  I glanced at what he placed in my hand and felt my expression flatten.

  The bandages were… ridiculous.

  Bright pink. Covered in tiny cartoon princesses. Hearts scattered across the edges like something out of a child’s playroom.

  Elliot let out a sheepish chuckle. “These were the only ones available.”

  I stared at him, then wordlessly shoved the bandages into No. 137’s hands before dabbing iodine onto the burn beneath my right eye. “Doesn’t matter,” I muttered.

  My knee was scraped too, but I didn’t bother with it. Instead, I got straight to business.

  “The roller coaster stops midair, then drops,” I reported. “Instant death. The carousel? It speeds up until it tests your grip strength, but even if you’re thrown off, the injuries won’t be fatal. That one’s worth trying.”

  I paused. “Avoid the bumper cars. The game forces at least two people to fight to the death. Only one makes it out.”

  Elliot frowned. “Did anyone survive?”

  “Yeah.” I exhaled. “Five players went in. Only No. 44 walked out. That guy with the goatee from the last round? He’s a mess. Looks like his mind’s already halfway gone.”

  Not surprising. Slaughtering four people just to stay alive—who could walk away from that unscathed?

  After exchanging intel, we decided on our next move: **the carousel**.

  It was located in Zone B, across an artificial lake. The water was dotted with oversized plastic lotus leaves and flowers, their glossy surfaces reflecting the dim light. Occasionally, the water would ripple, and a sleek, silver shape would leap out—a piranha.

  They weren’t just for show.

  As we descended onto the bridge leading to the other side, a figure stepped into our path.

  A clown.

  He **looked** human. But the moment I saw him, I knew he wasn’t.

  His exaggerated costume—striped suspenders, an oversized ruffled collar—was unsettling enough. But it was his **face** that sent an instinctive chill through me.

  Deathly white. Stretched into an impossibly wide grin. His lips, painted a garish red, moved animatedly as he spoke:

  "Hey there, my dears! Would you like to buy a balloon? Freshly made, just for you~~~"

  No one answered.

  None of us moved.

  In his free hand—the one not holding the bundle of balloons—he was dragging something.

  Someone.

  A woman.

  She was barely conscious, her body limp as she struggled weakly against the thin ribbon wound around her throat. It was a balloon string—embedded so deep into her flesh that it had nearly **severed** her neck.

  She made a few desperate choking sounds.

  Then went completely still.

  The pink balloon tied around her neck swayed gently. Like a flower. **Blooming from her bloodied flesh.**

  The clown beamed at us.

  "Come now, my lovelies!" he crooned. "Won’t you buy a balloon? It’s a limited-time offer~~~"