Chapter 1042: The Pig’s Farewell

The human-pig seemed to grow increasingly agitated, as if burdened with grievances he couldn’t articulate.

Indeed, how would ordinary participants know the classifications of the “Zodiac”?

The “Zodiac” isn’t just divided into “Heavenly,” “Earthly,” and “Human” tiers.

After all, the most numerous “Human-level Zodiacs” are split into three categories—

“Interviewers,” “Referees,” and “Assistants.”

Though they are “Human-level Zodiacs,” they are also the most human-like among all the “Zodiacs.”

They neither need to kill like the “Human-level Zodiacs” in the interview rooms nor grovel before superiors or hand over “life money” like ordinary “Human-level Zodiacs.”

Their sole duty is to open the door after the interview concludes and guide the “participants” inside safely into the hallway.

Some even grow so accustomed to finding only corpses behind the door that they eventually stop bothering to open it at all.

They enjoy the same privileges as all other “Human-level Zodiacs”—housing, food—without ever having to confront death.

These individuals are the “Assistants,” forever barred from promotion, forever trapped in their roles, universally recognized as the most idle positions among the “Zodiacs.”

But just yesterday, the Azure Dragon abruptly selected twenty “Assistants,” sending them letters instructing them to design games overnight and await further orders.

Accustomed to their leisurely lives, the “Assistants” were thrown into chaos, scrambling to craft their “Human-level games”—a task they hadn’t tackled in ages, making it no small challenge.

The Azure Dragon’s letter also made it clear: if they could use their games to claim even a single participant’s life, they would bypass all restrictions and ascend directly to the “Earthly” tier.

This news left the “Assistants” both thrilled and uneasy—

Killing a participant through their game would allow them to skip the usual steps—”offering tributes,” “signing contracts,” “interview rooms,” and “killing”—to become “Earthly” instantly. Yet they knew better than to expect free favors in the “Land of Finality.” Every seemingly tempting choice here exacted an equivalent price, often in ways they couldn’t foresee.

Moreover, as “Human-level Zodiacs,” their games weren’t designed to kill. The only way to take a participant’s life was to gamble their own.

Though the Azure Dragon hadn’t explicitly mentioned “punishment,” how could such a boon—killing one participant to become “Earthly”—come without strings?

What if they failed to kill anyone?

With fourteen participants and over twenty referees, the odds were that at least thirteen “Zodiacs” wouldn’t even get a chance. Some might never encounter a participant before the game ended.

What would happen to them then?

All the “Assistants” sensed that this wasn’t just a game targeting participants—it was a reshuffling of their own ranks.

But if they were reshuffled… who would open the doors in the next cycle? Were “Assistants” no longer needed?

And who exactly were these participants?

Why would the Azure Dragon go to such lengths to deal with them?

The human-pig before them was one such bewildered soul, crushed under this immense pressure.

He couldn’t afford any mishaps in this game, yet the two participants who finally arrived weren’t behaving as he’d expected.

They hadn’t even fully experienced his game before concluding their own transaction.

“Even without stakes… you… you can’t just decide on your own…” the human-pig stammered. “You have no idea how terrified I am right now…”

Han Yimo could tell the human-pig’s fear was genuine—his trembling voice wasn’t an act.

Wen Qiaoyun sighed. “Then what do you want?”

“I… I…”

She exhaled again. “For us, everything we’re doing—including entering your game—is about determining the ownership of the ‘characters.’ Now that it’s settled, keeping us here is pointless. You’re just wasting your own time.”

The human-pig glanced sideways at the dark object in Wen Qiaoyun’s hand, his mind racing.

Their goal… was the “characters”?

They weren’t after “tributes” or each other’s lives but using the “Assistants” to decide who got the “characters”?

Shaking his head, the human-pig refocused on Wen Qiaoyun and Han Yimo.

Why was he obsessing over these “characters”?

This was his golden opportunity! The stairway to the “Earthly” tier was right here!

With over twenty referees and fourteen participants—only two per room—only seven referees might even be needed to determine the outcome.

At least thirteen “Zodiacs” would miss out.

“I… I want to… I… I’ll…” The human-pig’s voice rose, his words stumbling out in a ragged shout.

Han Yimo and Wen Qiaoyun flinched, baffled by his outburst.

But the human-pig couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Gamble his life?

Against this woman?

She’d deciphered his game in the first round, confirmed it in the second, devised tactics in the third, and by the fourth and fifth, she was leading her opponent by the nose. Now, before the game even ended, she’d pocketed the “characters.”

As a lazy, idle “Zodiac” hosting his first game, was he really going to stake his life against her?

“What do you want with us?” Wen Qiaoyun frowned.

She could see the human-pig wrestling with some monumental decision, but after a long pause, nothing came.

“I want to…” The human-pig gnashed his teeth, but in the end, reason prevailed over greed. “…say goodbye.”

Wen Qiaoyun and Han Yimo exchanged puzzled glances. That wasn’t a phrase they’d heard before.

After all that fervor, his grand declaration was: “I want to say goodbye”?

“So… we can leave?” Wen Qiaoyun asked.

The human-pig sighed deeply. “Yes… go…”

He knew if he was going to gamble his life, now wasn’t the time. His game revolved around “luck”—another unlucky participant might still stumble in.

Wen Qiaoyun allowed herself a faint smile, as if already plotting her next move. For now, though, her priority was to report the door’s contents to Chu Tianqiu.

In this game, the participants weren’t just fighting each other—they had another path to take.