Chapter One: What Evil Intentions Could a Golden Finger Possibly Have?

Colin found himself inside a decaying wooden cabin.

Cold, damp, and dilapidated—that was his first impression of the interior.

Almost instinctively, he turned his gaze to the glass window, where all he could see was fog. Endless, gray mist shrouded the world beyond, obscuring both earth and sky, so that nothing but the fog itself remained visible to him.

Moreover, this gray mist seemed almost alive, flowing in unsettling silence with a strange vitality. Colin’s instincts screamed danger; if he dared leave the cabin and step into the fog, death would be his only fate.

Overwhelmed by a sense of unease, Colin withdrew his gaze.

Only then did he realize he was lying on a wooden bed, uncertain how long he’d been there.

The bed creaked beneath his weight as he sat upright.

“How did I end up here?” he muttered, pinching his brow as if trying to summon the memory. But his efforts were fruitless; a crucial segment of his past seemed erased, as if wiped clean by some force.

All he could recall was a life devoid of family ties—a realization that filled him with anxiety and trepidation. But his attention was quickly diverted by something else.

On a table nearby lay two items: an old-fashioned lantern filled with dark red liquid, and a scroll of leather.

They appeared deliberately placed, positioned so that anyone rising from the bed would see them at once.

Colin didn’t move immediately. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the two objects, pondering their purpose. Whatever the intentions of those responsible for all this, these items didn’t seem meant to kill him…

He was still mulling it over when, suddenly, a line of white text flashed—not before his eyes, exactly, but in his mind.

[This is an antique-style lantern, fueled not by kerosene, but by a substance resembling blood.]

The abrupt appearance of this information startled Colin; he recoiled, and the words vanished from his mind.

“What was that…” he murmured.

Regaining his composure, Colin realized that if he stared at an object for several seconds and focused on it, relevant “hints” would appear in his mind.

The message just now was one such unintentionally triggered “hint.”

He tried it again, gazing at the lantern, and almost immediately, the message reappeared.

[This is an antique-style lantern, fueled not by kerosene, but by a substance resembling blood.]

As Colin prepared to shift his focus to the scroll, believing he had gleaned all there was, another line surfaced in his mind.

[You realize this is likely a very important item, but there are no tools in the cabin for lighting a flame. How, then, will you ignite it? Gazing at the crimson liquid, you wonder if a drop of blood might suffice.]

[Note! You sense it will only burn for one hour!]

“I don’t care what you think, I care what I think,” Colin muttered, almost sardonically, before whispering, “A lantern lit with blood… but to what end?”

The hints hadn’t revealed what would happen once it was lit.

Perhaps the answer was in the leather scroll.

Still, Colin didn’t open the scroll at once. Instead, he stared at it for a few seconds, triggering the “hint” as if it were a skill.

[A leather scroll containing important information—never mind its material, open it at once!]

After a moment’s hesitation, Colin climbed off the bed, approached the table, and unrolled the scroll.

At that instant, a light rose from the parchment, coalescing in midair into lines of fine script.

[Welcome to the Global Gray Fog Survival Game. Here, survival is your foremost objective. To that end, heed the following counsel.]

[1. The wooden cabin can keep out the gray fog and is your final sanctuary, but do not become overly reliant on it.]
[2. Terror exists only within the gray fog.]
[3. The lantern can disperse the gray fog.]
[4. All personnel acquired through the system are absolutely loyal—use them with confidence.]
[5. Beware the night! Beware the night! Beware the night!]
[6. In the fog, if you do not wish to become prey, your best choice is to become a hunter.]
[7. Always maintain reverence for the fog.]
[8. Cherish your life, for you will not be resurrected.]

“A survival game?” Colin narrowed his eyes.

He had never heard of any game so immersive…

But the scroll’s script did not end there. As it faded, three options appeared:

[Chat Channel]
[Quest List]
[Personnel Recruitment]

Among them, the [Chat Channel] flickered constantly, suggesting lively activity.

Colin, now curious to communicate, tapped it without hesitation. He discovered three sub-channels: [World Channel], [Regional Channel], and [Private Channel].

The [World Channel] flashed most frequently, so Colin opened it.

Instantly, the air half a meter above the scroll filled with a cascade of messages from others.

These messages refreshed every ten seconds, but he could scroll ahead, pause, or reply as he wished.

“Important! I’ll say it three times: close the door! Close the door! Close the door! There’s something in the fog!”

“Mom, Dad, brothers, sisters, I’m xxx—if you see this, reply…”

“What’s happening?”

“No idea. I just had a birthday, was drinking and singing, and the next thing I knew, I was here. Totally confused, this is a nightmare…”

“You think that’s bad? I was in the middle of… well, doesn’t matter, but suddenly I was sent here. The real question is, does anyone know how to light the kerosene lamp?”

“I need help with lighting the lantern too—can’t do any quests without it. Anyone know how?”

How to light the lantern? Colin read the flood of pleas for help and muttered, puzzled, “Handheld lantern… they must mean the lantern here. Don’t they know they just need a drop of blood? All it takes is staring and—”

He broke off abruptly, a realization hitting him: others might not have this ability.

This “hint” that appeared whenever he observed something was likely unique to him… In other words, it was his special power—his so-called “golden finger.”

Yet, rather than feeling pleased, Colin frowned.

Unless fate had distributed special abilities at random, he saw nothing about himself that was particularly remarkable compared to others.

He’d always longed for fortune to fall into his lap, but he never truly believed in such luck.

This “golden finger” that offered him second-person prompts—was it a blessing, or something more sinister? There was no way to know.

In the end, Colin could only shake his head, helpless to do anything more. For better or worse, he had no choice; the ability was lodged in his mind, and he couldn’t exactly crack open his skull to examine it.

Perhaps, if he chose to be optimistic, he really had been struck by a bit of luck—and perhaps this was nothing more than a simple, harmless hint.

After all, what harm could a little prompt do?

Still, Colin resolved to stay cautious.