Samsara Tower: Only I Know the Plot!

Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Start with a Glass of Cursed Water! (10/10)

System Notice:

Attention, Samsara Players. Teleport to mission world in 10 minutes.

No more arrivals. The white prep room was locked.

Nearly twenty people had gathered—an unusually large crowd for a Nightmare dungeon on the Second Stage of Samsara Tower. They stood scattered, silent, pretending indifference. Watching each other. Watching him.

Fenric read the flicked glances, the tight mouths, the coiled tension. All here for me, huh? He smiled, said nothing, and waited.

Time bled out.

System:Teleport countdown—10... 9... 8... 3... 2... 1!

Red light swallowed the room.

A crimson flash. Twenty figures—Fenric among them—snapped into existence in the living room of an unfamiliar house.

In the center stood a long table.

On it: twenty identical glasses of water.

A chill prompt followed:

Mandatory Action:Each Samsara player must drink one

glass within 30 seconds. Failure = erasure.For one heartbeat no one moved.

Then Fenric chuckled. ”Thirty seconds. What are you waiting for?”

That broke the spell. Chairs scraped. Bodies lunged. Hands shot for glasses.

One man ”accidentally” elbowed the nearest glass. It toppled, hit the tile—

Crash!

Water fanned across the floor.

The setup had been precise: one glass per person, no extras. Now there were nineteen. After thirty seconds, anyone without a drink would be erased.

And Fenric was the only one empty‑handed.

The saboteur cut a sideways sneer toward him, lifted his own glass, and tipped it to his lips—

—and nothing touched his tongue.

Dry. Empty.

He stared, confused—until he saw it: his water wasn’t on the cup anymore. It floated in midair, gathered into a twisting ribbon, and poured straight into Fenric’s waiting mouth.

Telekinesis.

Fenric drained it in one swallow, smacked his lips, and deadpanned, ”Hnh. Just tap water.”

He didn’t add: That tap water carries the curse seed. Good—tag me.

”You—! You drank my water!” the man barked.

Fenric’s tone was mild. ”No. You knocked yours over.” He still held no glass—the emptied cup was evidence.

”I’ll kill you!” Rage snapped the man’s restraint. He lunged.

Fenric lifted two fingers.

Buzz. Thought‑force gripped.

The man locked mid‑rush as if sunk waist‑deep in tar. He clawed forward, veins standing out. ”What... did... you do...?”

”Nothing.” Fenric’s eyes were cool. ”I’ve never actually seen how the system erases someone. Perform for me.”

The 30‑second window closed.

The man shrieked. His skin greyed, then sloughed; edges curled like burning paper. Flesh crumbled to ash, blowing apart in unseen wind. In less than five breaths, he was a smear of dust across the tiles.

Silence. Then twenty heartbeats hammered.

Everyone had heard of system erasures. But watching it close deepened its meaning.

System Mission Released!

Main Objective: Survive 72 hours.

Timer:

72:00:00 begins now.Note:Curse from an evil spirit has been activated. Good luck.

Simple wording. Brutal reality. No failure penalty listed—because death is the penalty.

Anyone smart would disperse now, find shelter, gather information, and manage curse exposure.

But no one moved.

Fenric exhaled. ”I’m in a hurry. If you’re not doing anything, I’m leaving.”

That snapped the mask off. Several stepped in, slowly tightening the ring around him.

”So you did figure us out.”

”Shura, don’t blame us—blame the people you offended.”

”Make it easy on yourself. Kill yourself, less suffering.”

Fenric’s expression flattened. ”Too many words. Can we skip to the part where you regret this?”

”Kill him!”

Half the group rushed. A few hung back, hungry to scavenge if the first wave paid the price. United cause? Hardly. Bounty vultures.

Buzz.

Fenric’s thought‑power flared. Flying blades spiraled out from his personal space, fanning like a metal storm.

They hadn’t expected that.

These Second Stage challengers were mostly D‑grade at best—many without abilities, most without high‑quality gear. Numbers meant nothing under overwhelming force.

Steel hissed.

Puff—puff—puff—

Throats opened. Blood sprayed. Bodies collapsed clutching their necks, staring wide‑eyed at Shura, disbelieving.

So many... and we didn’t even touch him...

The handful who’d held back lost all nerve.

They ran. Faster than the last.