After half a night of honing his ability, Ling Mo suddenly discovered delightful news—

His power had broken through.

Previously, the items he could materialize were mostly useless trinkets. At best, scavenging a junk pile might yield a single brick as a weapon. But before his "Brick Hero" dream could even begin, the materialization list abruptly expanded.

And every new item was genuinely useful: daggers, short swords, even katanas and other cold weapons. His foundational potential had upgraded from "infinite bricks" to "Unlimited Blade Works."

Could it be from tonight’s training?

If unlocking new techniques only required half a night of intense effort, leveling up would be far too easy.

Yet after testing the new items a few times, he spotted the catch.

Yes, they *could* be materialized—but the difficulty was worlds apart from a brick. He could summon a brick in under three seconds with near-zero drain, feeling as effortless as taking a casual step. But a dagger? At least thirty seconds, with energy depletion sharp as sprinting a hundred meters cold.

He’d just discovered his ability had a fitness perk.

Pity it only worked in-game. If it carried to reality? Truly broken.

…Tch. If it *could* transfer, he wouldn’t even care about this minor perk.

Still—good news. His combat strength had leveled up.

Just as he examined the materialized dagger, a figure suddenly appeared on the second-floor landing, shattering his focus.

Dawn neared. Dim corridor lights barely pierced the gloom. It was the rescued NPC from earlier—but his expression was grim.

"Y-you… hello," the man stammered, eyes flicking to Ling Mo’s dagger, hesitation deepening. "I… I just wanted to ask you do… what are your plans do?"

"Hm?" Ling Mo sized him up. Skin still normal. Vigilance eased. "We’ll take it step by step. No solid plans yet."

"But staying here isn’t a solution do… the food will run out do," the man fretted.

Yesterday’s supplies came from the hotel kitchen—meager rations split thin. He wasn’t even part of their group; only Ling Mo’s kindness spared him starvation. Lingering meant hunger soon.

"We’ll handle it when it comes. Maybe a turning point appears?" Ling Mo stayed calm. "With chaos this big, outsiders won’t ignore it."

—*In reality*, yes. No, scratch that—in reality, disasters like this never escalate. The state apparatus nips threats in the bud… *if* those in charge have half a brain.

But this was a game. Who knew? Yesterday’s police station swarmed with riot vehicles—then vanished. Not one patrol car. Not one officer.

Perhaps the city had become isolated. After all, it was just a dungeon for players.

Only this NPC didn’t know.

Ling Mo found it strangely profound.

If NPCs followed basic logic like the first dungeon’s, it’d feel hollow. But this one? Felt *human*.

A desperate survivor facing annihilation.

Destined to wait for hope that would never come.

Yet Ling Mo felt zero fear of death—only mild concern about clearing the dungeon.

The contrast brushed philosophy.

No clear answer. Just… subtle unease.

*Is it really necessary to code NPCs with such human-like thoughts?*

"I… I’m scared do," the man murmured, guard slightly lowered by Ling Mo’s tone. "I called earlier do… all emergency lines dead. Did you try do? No police cars anywhere… where’d they go? Ran away do?"

"No idea," Ling Mo shook his head. "But with this scale of crisis, rescue *must* come. We’ll adapt."

*Otherwise, how do we clear the dungeon?*

"Rescue will really come do?" Skepticism tinged his voice.

Ling Mo shrugged. "Believe it will. Eases the mind."

He paused. "Wait—what *is* 'do'? Some filler word?"

"Huh? What do? I don’t kno—do…"

Another hitch.

"I… do… don’t want to… do… how do I—do…"

Jolted awake, the man’s face twisted. He fought the word, but it spilled out uncontrollably—until only frantic "dodododo" remained, echoing the madmen’s battle cries outside.

His skin flushed crimson in seconds.

No—*was* infected.

Ling Mo: "…"

*Well. This just got interesting.*

He shot up, kicked Fatty’s door. "Everyone up! Trouble!"

Retreating to safety, he drew his pistol, aiming steadily. "You okay? If you’re not sick—take two steps."

"DO——!"

A shrill shriek. The man spun, face now identical to the red-faced hag they’d faced. Eyes blazing with pure aggression.

But this was the man he’d chatted with *minutes* ago. Ling Mo couldn’t pull the trigger. "Snap out of it, bro! Survive this, you’ll be the coolest guy in the city—don’t fall before dawn, man!"

"Huh? Who’s the cool guy?"

Fatty stumbled out, shirtless and bleary-eyed—roused by the commotion.

Instantly, he became the target. Closer.

With a guttural "do!", the man charged like a rocket, headbutting straight for Fatty’s kidney.

Pity it didn’t budge him.