There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game Chapter 478

Chapter 478: Chapter 418: If I Want to Destroy This Place

“`

Illusion, it must be an illusion effect!

Because such a thing completely contradicts his own cognition, the electronic tablet should never experience a “disconnection,” given that it’s not even connected to the internet!

Moreover, this is a product of the script space’s high technology, not so sort of prop related to spiritual power.

Even if it were magic, it shouldn’t be able to change the system code of the high technology, at most it could cause it to crash.

In any case, the ssage “Your network has been disconnected” appearing on the tablet is just an impossibility in the dieval period!

The Traveling Poet did have so self-awareness; his prop didn’t quite fit the script’s setting.

After he had clearly analyzed the fact that he had fallen into an illusion, the image on the tablet transford.

...

Ah, it was a proper black screen…

He pressed the side button on the tablet, and after the black screen flickered, it displayed the door with the stairway behind it, the surveillance thod he had set up at the beginning.

As for the monitoring device placed on the archaeologist, it had been destroyed.

Although the monitor could radiate the surrounding scene, it was all a three-dinsional image ford by lines.

Thus, one could only vaguely discern what was happening at the ti.

In the image, the archaeologist, who had entered the underground space, was searching around until she jumped onto a pedestal in an attempt to pull out a sword when attacked by several knights in armor wielding huge axes.

Then, the monitor was destroyed.

The Traveling Poet seed thoughtful.

The one who destroyed the monitoring device…

was the castle owner.

And the last sentence he overheard was— “If you really want this thing, it’s not like I couldn’t give it to you.”

What kind of trade did the archaeologist strike with the castle owner?

But the more crucial and bewildering issue was that during this ti, the castle owner did not stop him from using the archaeologist to investigate the situation in the underground space.

It was only at the last mont that he destroyed the monitor.

And he even conjured up such an easily discernible “illusion” for him who was in the room.

To be honest, this behavior was like deliberately shouting in his ear, “I know you’re snooping, but you’re not allowed to watch what happens next!”

Then with a “snap!”

The television was turned off.

The Traveling Poet: “…”

Clearly, all of their actions were under the watchful eye of the castle owner.

The Traveling Poet turned to look at the rose on the windowsill.

The crimson moonlight showered over the rose, making the already vibrant flower even more delicate, as if it had been drenched in blood, tragically beautiful.

He thought, if Prague Castle could easily induce illusions in them, then could everything he saw, or even the entire castle, be an illusion?

Was the way to leave to break the illusion?

After all, the Witch, known as the final destination for the Evil Spirit, possessed the power to bewitch people.

Then he thought of Cerys.

But if Cerys wanted to use him for so purpose, why would she do sothing that would obviously make him suspicious?

Wait a mont…

There was no such thing as a network in this era, so did Cerys even know what “disconnecting” ant?

But if it wasn’t Cerys who did it…

The Traveling Poet stared intently at the rose on the windowsill, mulling these thoughts in his mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt his thoughts becoming chaotic.

It seed like he was about to lose his grasp on what was real and what was not.

…

…

Prague Castle had welcod the sunlight at so unknown ti.

There was no transition such as a dawn’s light; it seed that the mont you blinked, the red moonlight outside had turned into bright golden sunlight.

Then suddenly, the sky was clear, with not a cloud in sight.

This castle unabashedly showed its strangeness to you, not even pretending to hide it, yet so aspects appeared completely normal, without a single flaw.

It’s the slightly strange normalcy amidst the strangeness that’s most apt to throw people into confusion and bewildernt.

Because you might end up unable to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not.

“`

The traveling poet hadn’t slept all night, only feeling sowhat light-headed, and it wasn’t until he suddenly heard a faint, ethereal lody that he ca out of his trance.

The lody’s source was unknown, seeming to co from a far distance yet at the sa ti, as though it were within arm’s reach.

It was like the song of a nightingale and the flow of a stream, gentle yet flowing freely, causing one’s soul to tremble.

Subconsciously, the traveling poet stood and made his way to the door before he shockingly realized—this process seed oddly familiar, didn’t it?

Thus, following the direction from which the music ca, he made his way over there as if on familiar ground.

But this ti he wasn’t in a girl’s palace.

On the balcony of the castle’s third floor, facing the forest outside Prague Castle, one could see a far-off vista, and the corridor was filled with glorious roses blooming unrestrainedly in the brilliant sun.

The girl wore a dark red Rococo-style dress, her walnut-colored curly hair pinned atop her head, as she silently stood among the flowers with her eyes closed, imrsing herself in playing the violin for the roses before her.

The traveling poet stopped at the end of the corridor.

This song wasn’t as filled with resentnt as yesterday’s, but it was just as penetrating in consciousness and heart, trembling in the sea of the mind.

He couldn’t even bring himself to interrupt it.

So, he forcefully suppressed the impulse to recite a poem, to avoid an awkward situation suddenly arising.

After the song finished, the girl opened her eyes, first gazing at the distant scenery in a void, then turning to look at him.

The girl curved her lips into a smile, “You’ve co.”

The traveling poet was montarily startled before imdiately finding a topic to discuss, “What was the song just now?”

“‘Serenade of the Nightingale.'” Revised.

Xu Shuo added the last two words in his mind.

As to why it was a revised version…

Although Cerys was proficient with the violin, Xu Shuo had only happened to hear the song in soone else’s office and had engaged in so impressive-sounding discussion to cater to that boss’s taste.

But he couldn’t rember the finer points of the conversation that had nothing to do with work.

Having finished playing the violin, Xu Shuo looked at the progress bar on the Character Card, slightly rueful that it had advanced only a tiny bit.

Well, a little progress is still progress.

If push ca to shove, he didn’t mind slowing down the progress of the main task and using this small advancent to gradually fill up the card slots.

Anyway, he had those players under his control now, and the teacher and the three student NPCs in the archaeological group had also been dealt with; basically, there was no one left to stir up trouble.

One could say the script’s path forward was clear and smooth!

As Xu Shuo thought this, he felt as though he had forgotten sothing, but before he could contemplate further, he heard a voice from the side.

“Today’s lody seems different from yesterday’s,” the traveling poet suddenly remarked.

“I’m in a better mood today,” Xu Shuo smiled.

“Why?”

“It might be the sight of the beautiful sunshine, or the tasting of sweet wine, and the flowers are blooming nicely today too.”

“…”

The comnt left the traveling poet in silence for a while.

Gazing at the girl who was fiddling with the rose branches, he said with a serious tone, “Cerys, I want to ask you sothing.”

Xu Shuo turned to look at him, “Hmm?”

The brilliant sunlight shone down, and the traveling poet’s amber eyes were clear and sharp as they reflected the light.

He said, “If I were to destroy Prague Castle, what would you do?”

Xu Shuo paused, “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I feel the only way to leave Prague Castle is to make this place cease to exist; that way, you should also be able to escape from the castle’s confines, right?”

As he spoke, because the traveling poet’s face was sufficiently poker-faced, it was impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

But the words he uttered with conviction were particularly persuasive.

Quite the surprise first thing in the morning.

Xu Shuo lowered his head, his brow slightly furrowed.

“But Alex, I would disappear along with Prague Castle.”

…