A delicate‑looking man sat slumped on the cold latrine floor, his face pale as paper.
A deep gash sliced across his neck, blood oozing out in slow, stubborn streams. It had soaked through his collar, smeared across the wall, pooled dark on the ground. He let it flow. Never once did he try to lift a hand to stop it.
Sean Adams couldn’t. And he didn’t want to.
He couldn’t because the blood loss had drained every ounce of strength from him; even raising an arm was impossible. As for not wanting…
Clatter.
The fruit knife slipped from Sean Adams’s fingers, hit the floor tiles, and rang out with a thin, crisp sound.
It was the last method he could think of.
He repeated that to himself, quietly, almost calmly.
His vision spun, the world tilting, and Sean collapsed onto the floor.
“Lift the bridal sedan… send the bride…”
“Red gown, red veil… a fine groom awaits…”
Sean’s tightly shut eyelids twitched. His fading consciousness stirred, though not enough to pull him fully awake.
Somewhere close, a few men chanted a wedding ditty under their breath. Their rough voices overlapped, thick and murky.
“First step, cross the Stone River bank…”
“Second step, into the bridal room…”
The chant grew louder in Sean’s ears, yet the tone held none of a wedding’s cheer. Instead, it sounded like a dirge—like someone escorting a soul to its grave.
Until the last two lines were whispered right beside his ear—
“Third step, part for life, no meeting again…”
“Collect the corpse and carry the bones to the spirit hall.”
A violent jolt shook the world. Sean Adams snapped awake, breath catching as he nearly slid off the seat. He grabbed the frame beside him just in time—then a man’s furious shout smashed into his ears.
“Why the hell did you let go! Trying to kill someone? The whole sedan almost flipped!”
“Tsk. If you hadn’t lifted crooked, would I have lost my grip? And now you blame me?”
The bickering outside grew sharper, like two dogs ready to tear each other apart. Sean forced his eyes open, but his sight met only a sheet of blazing red.
He froze. Slowly, he lifted a hand and touched his face. His fingers brushed soft fabric—it was a red veil, draped squarely over his head.
Sean’s heartbeat thudded hard, a tremor running through his chest. Instinctively, he reached for his neck.
Intact.
He let out a slow breath, though it barely eased the tension knotting in him. His hand rose again, this time to yank off the veil—yet just as his fingers curled, a cold mechanical voice cut him short.
[Role assignment complete. Welcome, player Sean Adams, to the game instance.]
[Instance Name: Stone River Village]
[Instance Type: Mystery — Roleplay]
[Instance Difficulty: F]
[Player Count: 7]
[Generating role information...]
[Assigned Role: Joanna Adams]
[You are a woman living in Stone River Village. Today is your wedding day. You have no relatives here, yet your wedding is unusually grand. Right now, you are dressed in bridal robes and seated inside the wedding sedan.]
[First-time entry detected. Extra hint granted: If villagers notice any behavior inconsistent with the role of the bride, you may face life‑threatening consequences. Do not let them discover the bride is a man.]
[Personal Task: Enter the bridal chamber and drink the prepared wedding wine. Time limit: 10 minutes.
You may check the task panel for progress.
]
[Warning: Failure will result in player elimination. Please proceed actively.]
Sean Adams let the system’s prompts settle in his mind, forcing his breath to calm.
The truth he’d clawed so long to uncover was real.
Which meant…
His parents hadn’t died in some so‑called accident.
They were dragged under by this damned game instance.
Somewhere far from his sight, in a vast hall, a floating screen showed him sitting stiff in the bridal sedan. People passed by beneath it, but a few stopped. One man frowned at the red‑clad bride in the center of the feed.
“The system bugged out? Why’re we seeing an NPC’s perspective?”
A passerby, hooked by the comment, stepped closer. “Isn’t this a role‑play instance? That one in red isn’t a player?”
The man shook his head. “Stone River Village is labeled role‑play, sure, but it’s beginner tier. Players always enter as tourists, using their real names. There’s nothing to role‑play.”
“…Then maybe they just got unlucky and drew a rare identity card?” The passer rubbed his chin, sounding unsure. “Odds are low, yeah, but rare cards do happen.”
The man spoke with certainty. “Even if what you said made sense, the bride role would never go to a player.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Because the bride in Stone River Village always dies.”
Outside the sedan, the quarrel faded. Sean felt the seat sway—whoever stood outside had lifted the sedan again. The palanquin bearers resumed that eerie, crawling wedding chant.
Sean raised the red veil just a crack, letting one eye peek out. He studied the cramped interior.
The space was tight—if he straightened too much, he’d hit the wooden ceiling. Light filtered through the red cloth draped over the sedan, staining everything a murky dark red, as if the air carried a breath of cold gloom.
A chill crept up from the wedding robes on his body. He pressed a hand to the fabric—smooth, dry, nothing like the dampness he felt crawling under his skin.
His gaze followed the robe’s collar down to the long hair brushing his cheek. He wrapped a strand around his finger. The texture was wrong—nothing like his own. A wig.
He meant to check more, but the sedan thumped onto the ground again. A voice outside barked, impatient and rough:
“Here we are. Move.”
The curtain at Sean Adams’s side was yanked up by one of the sedan carriers. He quickly lowered the hand that had been about to lift the red veil, gathered the heavy hem of the wedding robe, and stepped out of the sedan chair with careful, stiff movements. Someone led him straight into a dim room.
The moment his back foot crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him, the sound sharp as a blade striking stone.
Sean’s fingers twitched toward the veil again, but a sudden buzz inside his skull froze him in place.
[Character Panel Generated.]
[Name: Sean Adams]
[Gender: Male]
[Stamina: 75]
[HP: 25]
[Mental: 100]
[Points: 0]
[Items: None]
[Region: Beginner Zone]
[Cleared Instances: 0]
HP 25?
Sean flexed his arm. On the surface his body looked untouched, not a scratch to find, yet every small movement dragged up a hollow weakness, as if his bones were filled with cold wind. He knew well enough why—his way into this world had been… brutal.
He didn’t linger on the low HP. Once the mechanical voice faded, he lifted his hand again, ready to tear off the veil blocking his sight.
But just as he moved, a faint footstep sounded from the opposite side of the room.
Sean’s raised hand dropped like it had turned to stone. A cold force clamped around him—no pain, just a silent grip—locking his limbs where they were. He couldn’t move an inch.
The footsteps drew closer, one after another, steady and slow.
Then they stopped right in front of him.
