CHAPTER 1689: CHAPTER 7: IMPRISONMENT IN A SECRET ROOM

The two men who were called out realized they couldn’t avoid it, so they stepped forward decisively, reported their ranks, but withheld their abilities—clearly planning to keep some cards hidden.

"Two Level 1 Heroes, no wonder caution is necessary," Jiang Xiuming stopped Yu Deye from pressing further. Overall, he wasn’t the type of group leader who ruled like a Tyrant. At times, his mild nature struggled to command authority.

"Group Leader Tang, can I have a set of Power Armor?" The Level 2 Hero woman spoke up, throwing a flirty glance at Tang Zheng. She knew how to play to her strengths.

"Hey, shouldn’t we go by priority?" The Level 2 Hero man licked his lips, eyes gleaming with predatory intent as he considered using this woman to assert dominance.

"If you don’t mind getting hurt before the game even starts, go ahead and challenge me!" The woman raised her chin and made a provocative gesture.

The cruel jungle law had turned the Conquerors into Evil Wolves. At the sight of any prey showing weakness, they’d pounce without hesitation to tear it apart. The woman simply couldn’t afford to show any sign of submission.

"Shut up, all of you! Transmission complete, the Holy Land War has officially begun!"

"Wait, hold on! I’m not ready yet!" The Level 2 Hero man realized he still had a few hundred points left unspent and tried to quickly use them up, only for his right hand to vanish before he could.

The Silver Trojan didn’t heed the pleas of the Toys. One beam of white light after another lit up intensely, transporting everyone away.

"Silver Trojan, damn it to hell!"

Seconds later, the entire room was empty, leaving behind only echoes of angry curses.

"Hmph, the show begins now. Come on, I’ve been waiting far too long for this challenge. I have to seize this opportunity!"

The Cube muttered softly, casting one last glance at the stark white room before disappearing with a swoosh.

Tang Zheng’s vision hadn’t yet recovered when he straightened slightly, only for his head to bump against something. Instinctively tilting forward, his forehead hit it again.

"Damn it, what kind of trap is this!"

When he finally saw his surroundings, even Tang Zheng, who had prepared extensively, couldn’t help but curse in shock.

It was a space with only one square meter of floor area and a height less than 1.85 meters. The ceiling was still descending slowly, forcing Tang Zheng to crouch down.

Carrying his tactical backpack, which took up considerable space, made it impossible for Tang Zheng to turn around easily. He struggled to hold the backpack in front of him.

The ceiling finally stopped at the one-meter mark.

Tang Zheng could only sit, unable to stretch out his arms or legs for any movement.

"Who knows how long we’ll be locked in here? If Newbies get the same treatment, they’re in for a miserable time." Tang Zheng initially expected the game to kick off with an intense battle, but instead, he faced this peculiar trial.

Confinement akin to being in a Small Dark Room—it inflicted psychological torture on par with a near-death experience. This was the slow slicing of a dull blade; the longer it dragged on, the worse it became.

"Hope this ends soon." Tang Zheng glanced at the time before closing his eyes, though he dared not sleep. Who knew what trouble might suddenly arise?

One hour, five hours, twelve hours...

When hunger finally struck Tang Zheng, he realized an entire day had passed. Even with his strong physical endurance, his muscles began to feel slightly sore.

It wasn’t just the prolonged posture; the uniform gray color of the walls and the increasingly stagnant, thin air added to the suffocating atmosphere. Even for Ordinary People, the creeping sense of suffocation would be palpable.

This was worse than being locked in a coffin, where at least you could lie down to conserve energy.

Tang Zheng tried using his Space Wristwatch, but it was restricted. Despite having merged with the Key of Time and Space, its effect only worked on himself and had limited impact on props.

Taking out a can of Canned Tuna, Tang Zheng opened it, drew out his Survival Folding Knife from the sheath strapped to his thigh, and pierced a piece of fish meat to savor it slowly.

The once comfortable temperature had grown stuffy and dry after a day. Though Tang Zheng wasn’t sweating profusely, beads of sweat still formed on his skin.

Maintaining a calm Mindset, Tang Zheng meticulously scanned the walls for the fifth time, yet still found no valuable clues.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, as the Conquerors found themselves powerless, like Sun Wukong crushed beneath Five-Finger Mountain, left with nothing but futile observation.

Sometimes crises aren’t the worst; waiting aimlessly can be far more terrifying.

On the first day, the Conquerors avoided sleeping, afraid of missing out on some hints or failing to react quickly to sudden dangers.

The brutal reputation of the Holy Land War loomed large, prompting the Conquerors to remain hyper-vigilant, only to be worn down by the passive attrition of time.

"Is this a test of physical endurance and mental fortitude?" Dantai held his knees in one arm and chewed Chocolate with the other. Having experienced confinement in a Small Dark Room at fifteen years old, he understood its toll. "Drawn-out time, more exhausting energy—Ordinary People locked under dim lights like these wouldn’t last three days before cracking."

Including the top seven Seeds, all the Trojan teams involved in the Holy Land War encountered identical trials. After weathering the first two days, most participants adjusted to a regular routine of sleep—even at the risk of missing clues—no longer forcing themselves to stay alert.

The rules were fair. Those who stayed awake and had sufficient Luck saw fleeting glimpses of text on the wall at certain moments. They couldn’t decipher its meaning but committed it to memory.

Some Conquerors tried attacking the walls to create an exit, but this caused the space to shrink further, terrifying them into halting all reckless behavior.

Beyond that, such actions also caused their team’s Points to drop into negative territory.

The Wristwatch screen displayed a Hero Ranking, showing the points for each team. However, other team names were blacked out; only their own was visible.

The Warhammer Team ranked middle-tier, with a deficit exceeding one hundred points, though the gap wasn’t insurmountable.

After enduring 120 hours of torment, the next transmission finally arrived.

"Still an indoor space?" Tang Zheng’s exceptionally sharp senses noticed the slightly increased airflow but realized it wasn’t strong enough to indicate the presence of natural wind.

As curse words erupted, Tang Zheng’s vision gradually returned. He frowned.

"Another Secret Room?" Tang Zheng stood up, joints cracking audibly as he moved, faint electric arcs sparking across his skin.

The room was an airtight 50-square-meter space with white walls defaced by graffiti spray paint. Other than an Iron Gate without windows, there was no apparent exit.

Twenty men and women were simultaneously teleported inside. Six of them were stretching and cursing softly.

"Conquerors mixed with Newbies, and they’re all from other teams?"

Tang Zheng had good memory—despite only glancing at the Newbies briefly in the Trojan Room, he could recall a rough impression.

The Trojan had clearly shuffled up the teams and even mixed regions.

Among the twenty people, ten had distinct Southeast Asian features.

"Is anyone here? Open the door!" Two visibly terrified female White-Collar Newbies ran to the Iron Gate, knocking repeatedly in Panic.

"Damn it, Silver Trojan is so unfair!" A man muttered in Vietnamese but abruptly switched to Mandarin upon realizing everyone could hear him.

Five days of confinement had left the Conquerors mentally drained, slowing their thinking and revealing vulnerabilities.

Tang Zheng’s expression remained unreadable as he surveyed the environment, seemingly unbothered by the Vietnamese man’s reaction.

Another man with red hair perked up, eyes warily fixed on the Vietnamese man.

"Fight Scum!" The Vietnamese man eased up, mistaking Tang Zheng’s neutral response for apathy, while pegging the red-haired man as the biggest threat.

Lessons from the Small Dark Room ensured no one attempted attacking the walls this time; all focused on observing the surroundings.

The floor was tiled and cool to the touch. On the right sat a washbasin next to a toilet. The mirror bore the scrawled words "Go to Hell."

The left featured a bunk bed draped in musty-smelling bedding beside a Table holding an ink bottle and a Goose Quill Pen—nothing else.

A steel rack screwed into the wall served as a makeshift bookshelf, housing some hefty tomes.

"This place really is a prison!" A burly man with a scar on his forehead cursed.

An old ceiling fan spun sluggishly, emitting creaks as if it might fall apart at any moment.

The confined space, unfamiliar faces, and general air of menace frightened several female Newbies, causing them to instinctively retreat to a corner.

The Vietnamese man eyed them like a greedy bear, licking his lips.

These women were dressed sharply, especially the two female White-Collars in uniforms. Their black stockings, short skirts, high heels, and exposed necklines exuded an air of intense allure.

After five days of captivity, most Conquerors harbored a volatile mix of frustration, a powder keg ready to ignite. The Vietnamese man took a step forward but stopped abruptly, glancing at the Indian man.

The Indian man, dressed in a Suit with an Elite air, confidently approached the two most attractive women and struck up conversation.

"Showoff." The Vietnamese man mumbled as he shifted toward the female White-Collars.

Frightened, the White-Collar women attempted to evade him, but his imposing build cornered them effortlessly.

"I know how to get us out of here!" The Vietnamese man lied, grabbing one woman’s thigh without hesitation.

"Looks like I’ll need to keep a close watch on the Indian man." Tang Zheng analyzed everyone and eliminated secondary targets.

The Indian man was overly smug, flaunting his Xuanwu Protective Clothing beneath his unbuttoned shirt as if begging for attention. He even sneered at the Vietnamese man’s comment, oblivious to the potential conflict it might spark.

"Please show some respect!" The White-Collar woman stepped back, blocking the Vietnamese man’s hand to prevent him from crossing further boundaries.

"Heh, I’m not lying when I say you’re all going to die soon!" The Vietnamese man taunted the White-Collar woman. Although he couldn’t act rashly with so many threats around, he still seized the opportunity to intimidate. (To be continued. If you enjoy this story, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations or monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)