Why hadn’t anyone come to save them?

Guo Jianguo knew the answer all too well—even in his dreamlike state as an observer. He’d colluded with that executive to seal off every channel of information. Barely anyone knew a mining disaster had even occurred. And by pulling strings with Superheroes, he’d plugged every last leak.

Rescue teams? Sorry. No such thing existed.

That was precisely why Dragon Sparrow had mocked them so bitterly: those so-called "rescue teams" were nothing but body-retrieval crews. Everyone sent down knew no one could possibly be alive beneath the rubble. By the time Jigsaw Disciples hidden within the Central Bureau noticed this meticulously covered-up incident, it was already too late. They could only scramble to contain the aftermath—saving survivors was impossible.

Inside the game, people struggled desperately. Outside it, spectators watched with cold detachment.

Neither Mirror October, Dragon Sparrow, nor Lu Xiu uttered a word to interfere with the players. Even the Wendigo, curled up in the shadows and instinctively recoiling from the three terrifying figures, wisely kept silent. It was primal fear—a reverence for power. Mirror October alone, with his innate dominance, could shatter the Wendigo’s will with a single glance, as easily as taming a docile puppy. As for Lu Xiu—one of the Central Bureau’s Ace Seven Riders—her body radiated a professional killing intent honed from slaughtering countless Dire Calamities. The Wendigo wouldn’t dare provoke her even with a hundred lifetimes of courage.

And Dragon Sparrow? The Wendigo sensed in him a chilling depth eerily similar to Mirror October’s—a twisted, obsessive devotion to humanity. Every grotesque stitch marring Dragon Sparrow’s skin was a testament to his desperate need for redemption, a self-inflicted reminder to stay pure.

"Is this truly what I’m meant to witness?"

Dragon Sparrow felt lost. He’d seen humanity’s incurable ugliness—a savagery etched deep into mankind’s primal core. No amount of games could ever tame this wildness. He’d walked beside Mirror October through countless trials; he knew human nature’s flaws too well.

"Yes. This is exactly what you must witness." Mirror October’s voice cut through his doubt—gentle yet icy. "But have you truly been watching, Dragon Sparrow?"

"Of course, I’ve always—" Dragon Sparrow’s words died abruptly. Since meeting Mirror October, he’d never seen him make a single mistake. What seemed like flaws were often traps woven with Jigsaw’s infinite cunning.

That loaded question made Dragon Sparrow reexamine his own perception.

*Have you been watching?*

*Really watching, Dragon Sparrow?*

What blinded you? Your senses? Your understanding? Your emotions? Or that restless heart refusing to quiet? If you’d truly watched, you’d never have spoken such words of despair. Yes, humans fail. But did you see what hides *beyond* their failure?

*Heh heh heh… Watch closely. Witness well. This is the path for us—Jigsaw Disciples. Our purpose isn’t fixed. The chance to change stands before us now. We are not nannies. Not night watchmen. Not heroes… We are rebels!*

Yes! We have always been heretical rebels! Half a step ahead makes a genius. One full step ahead makes a madman. Every member of the Jigsaw Sect was at least that madman!

"...I was impatient."

Dragon Sparrow slowly exhaled. The flicker of frustration vanished from his clear eyes. Stitch marks crept toward his eyelids, sealing them shut with surgical thread. If mortal eyes clouded his vision, he’d see with his heart instead.

To uphold his conviction, losing his eyes was a price he—Dragon Sparrow—could pay.

*Better to die at dusk having grasped the Way at dawn.*

As the final stitch closed his eyes, Mirror October’s crimson gaze flickered with surprise. For a fleeting moment, he sensed a faint aura of Zen-like serenity radiating from Dragon Sparrow—akin to the stillness of monks he’d encountered on the Tibetan Plateau. Lu Xiu, too, noticed the sudden clarity in Dragon Sparrow’s presence. Leaning close to Mirror October, her breath warm against his ear, she murmured:

"Are all your followers monsters? Fine, I’ll accept I was born extraordinary—but this? This is the Dark Heaven’s Mind’s Eye Path! That swordsman nearly shattered Heilongjiang Province years ago. And you’ve pushed him further? Are you trying to forge a monster capable of erasing all human life with a thought?" She hadn’t recognized the source of Dragon Sparrow’s power at first. But as the ripples of Asura’s Mind’s Eye Path unfolded, memories of the Mind’s Eye Swordsman who’d devastated Northeast China resurfaced. Mirror October dared to wield even this—a being whose growth could one day annihilate humanity.

Lu Xiu’s annoyance flared. *Hadn’t this charming rogue already conquered a valiant knight like me? And that vixen Lan Xinyi, keeping his bed warm while he’s away… His romantic entanglements never end!* Teeth gritted, she draped half her body over Mirror October in a huff.

Amused by her petulance, Mirror October smiled and stroked her smooth, pale neck.

"The Jigsaw Sect always hides far more than it reveals."

"Hmph. I’ll dig it all out someday."

"Then you’ll have to get past me first, my dear Xiu~" Mirror October had always held sway over Lu Xiu—and she willingly yielded. Their silent understanding was a dance only true soulmates could grasp.

"Your silver tongue has improved. That’s not a bad thing." The old Mirror October had been too stern, too solitary. Yet Lu Xiu adored every facet of him.

Outside the game, observers still watched the players fight for survival—but something had shifted. The game’s essence always outweighed its process. It was merely a vessel for teaching. Grasp the lesson, and the game’s purpose was fulfilled.

The irony? Most players never understood the true meaning until the very end…

How bitterly ironic…