After walking down half a flight of stairs, William Ford immediately sensed something was wrong! He came in and out of this place every day, and to keep his mind from idling, he was always looking for data to memorize. Under normal circumstances, this half-flight of stairs had eleven steps, each fourteen centimeters high. However, he noticed that while the first half he descended was normal, after turning the corner, the stairs beneath his feet became thirteen steps, and each step was slightly lower!

Brian Grant, panting with excitement, urged William Ford to hurry down. If things were normal, they should have already reached the lobby downstairs of the hotpot restaurant by now. Yet what appeared before William Ford was another dimly lit turn, and the endlessly winding stairs seemed to lead straight down to the depths of the earth!

None of this could be described by modern science. All around was silent, with only the constant sound of water and the heavy, excited breathing mixing together. William Ford felt as if an iron hoop had been clamped around his arm, being effortlessly dragged forward by Brian Grant.

Five floors, six floors, seven floors—William Ford silently counted in his mind, paying attention to each step downward. While ordinary people could observe their surroundings, William Ford could notice a wealth of details and store them in his mind, and even use logical reasoning to predict certain facts that were about to occur.

By the time they reached the eleventh floor, the faint sound of people’s voices could be heard. Even though William Ford was mentally prepared, he still felt an involuntary joy. Moving slowly through such a gloomy environment created a strong psychological oppression, making it hard to even breathe. When they reached the thirteenth floor, there were no more stairs to descend. The sensation underfoot was both soft and greasy, as if stepping on internal organs.

At this moment, the ferocious tattoo on Brian Grant’s chest emitted a ghostly green light, chillingly illuminating the area around them, but only within a few meters, as if a faint green sphere of light had enveloped the two of them. Immediately after, a sharp white light suddenly flashed in the distance. Upon seeing it, William Ford reflexively closed his eyes. He felt a stabbing pain in his eyes, and just that half-second of exposure to the light made him feel as if his body and soul had been wounded!

Brian Grant, on the other hand, let out a miserable scream. His eyes bulged nearly a centimeter from their sockets, the veins on his neck standing out one by one, as if all the blood in his body was boiling and he might explode at any moment! His hands flailed wildly in the air, and with a hoarse, painful voice from his throat, he cried, “Wait!”

A distant, ethereal, and cold voice came from the darkness, carrying a metallic hardness and texture: “You have broken the rules, so you must be punished!”

The moment the voice sounded, Brian Grant shouted hoarsely, “I didn’t! This person can see the Nightmare Mark!”

His shout echoed through this illusory and mysterious space, overlapping and colliding. The white light in the distance suddenly flared brightly, then faded, but this time the feeling it gave William Ford was rather gentle. Then, gradually, the light spread out like a flood of mercury, forming a broad, white avenue, like a carpet stretching directly to the two of them.

Overjoyed, Brian Grant hurriedly dragged William Ford along the white light. As they drew closer, William Ford noticed a huge silhouette gradually appearing ahead. Only when they got closer did he realize it was a massive archway with a bronze sheen, lined with all kinds of long fangs. It was at least a hundred meters tall, towering into the sky. Just looking at it filled his heart with immense awe and an urge to kneel and worship.

Beneath the gate, a person was sitting.

That person wore a mask identical to the tattooed ghost head on Brian Grant’s chest. He was just sitting there, but William Ford could feel Brian Grant’s large hand gripping his forearm trembling—whether from fear or excitement, he couldn’t tell.

“Is it him? He can see your Nightmare Mark?” the masked ghost-head man spoke.

Brian Grant hurriedly replied:

“It’s absolutely true!”

The ghost-head masked man turned to William Ford, his gaze sweeping from top to bottom. William Ford immediately felt the hairs all over his body stand on end, as if some electric charge had pierced straight through him. Yet he still stood calmly in place, silently looking at the other.

“Hmm.” The ghost-head masked man spoke slowly: “You are not lying, Number 13776. He can indeed see your Nightmare Mark. According to the laws of the world, you may make a request appropriate to your status.”

Brian Grant swallowed hard with a “gulp,” and gasped dryly, “I—I want to leave this place! To return to a normal life!”

The ghost-head masked man paused, clearly surprised, then spoke in that cold, hard voice: “Do you know the price?”

Brian Grant’s face twitched, and a crazed light appeared in his eyes—the kind of look William Ford had seen many times before in gamblers who had lost everything!