Eldritch Horror Theatre

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anyone use a cell phone yet.

Even the guy who died trapped in the storage room—assuming he could still move—should have been able to call for help and survive.

Did this world simply lack the technology? Looking at his surroundings, that was hard to believe.

Fu Qian kept a hand on his pulse and let his thoughts wander.

Using a heartbeat to keep time was an old-school method, and not hard to figure out.

After all, as the saying went, you had to put your heart into your work.

And he was certain Brother Jigsaw wanted him to use this method because of a direct hint in the recording: ”Your heartbeat is merely a necessity to maintain your thinking, and has no other meaning.”

That was practically a blatant instruction.

It also perfectly suited the style of this game of redemption. The chainsaw maniac always laid the path right in front of you; all you had to do was choose.

To do it or not? To do this, or to do that?In that regard, this copycat was undoubtedly doing a good job.

Fu Qian shook his head. Just then, another chime rang out to signal that a minute had passed, and he began to silently count his pulse.

Knowing the method was only the first step.

The situation seemed simple enough. He just needed to count his heart rate between two chimes, use basic arithmetic to calculate the intervals, and determine exactly how many heartbeats it took for the Razor Blade to stop. Then, he could use that as a benchmark to make his move.

A heartbeat would never be as precise as a clock, inevitably leaving a margin of error. But the time allotted to him already included a buffer. He only needed to pick the safest three seconds out of the five-second window.

However, that simplicity was only an illusion.

Under normal circumstances, a person’s heartbeat was naturally steady.

Steady enough to carve out a safe window of more than three seconds within a single minute.

But if those three seconds were a matter of life and death, maintaining that steadiness wouldn’t be so easy.

Anyone with the slightest will to live would inevitably experience a skyrocketing heart rate.

An accelerated heartbeat wasn’t strictly a bad thing. A faster frequency meant a more granular division of time.

But if that rhythm wasn’t steady, all the granularity in the world was useless.

He only had one chance.

According to the recording, if the Razor Blade cut his hand even once, he would instantly lose his balance. The mechanism would fail, the Key would drop, and he would be trapped here forever.

At the same time, he was already poisoned. He only had one hour before the toxin flared up, and an hour was merely sixty minutes.

He didn’t have unlimited time to calibrate his heart rate.

Zero margin for error coupled with encroaching death—these two factors were working together to test his ”calmness.” That was the true core of this trap.

And it was Jigsaw’s true goal.

66.

Amid his thoughts, another chime rang out, and Fu Qian confirmed his beats per minute.

A very standard figure. It seemed the toxin hadn’t affected his bodily functions yet.

The subsequent calculation was simple. At 66 beats per minute, 55 seconds would land exactly between the 60th and 61st beats. That meant if he wanted to play it safe, he could make his move after the 61st beat, then pull his hand back within four heartbeats.

Fu Qian rapidly ran the numbers.

Difficulty was relative.

This predicament would naturally be suffocating for an ordinary student with chuunibyou.

Unfortunately, the person standing before this door right now was not some naive teenager in need of redemption.

He was a veteran of a hundred battles now, having witnessed countless bloody scenes where severed limbs and rolling heads were commonplace.

Even back in his actual high school days, he would have been confident in steadying his heartbeat within minutes.

After all, even back then, he had already made his peace with the concept of death.

Ding!

Another chime rang out, signaling the end of another minute.

Perfect!

Fu Qian nodded in satisfaction.

He hadn’t stopped counting after the previous measurement, smoothly rolling right into a second one.

This time, his pulse was 65.

Very steady. The safe window after the 61st beat remained valid.

Fu Qian placed his right hand against his chest.

He didn’t want to count again; he was ready to make his move.

He was extremely confident in the stability of his current state. Under these circumstances, waiting any longer would be a mistake.

Delaying too long wouldn’t just risk the toxin damaging his bodily functions—the drain on his concentration would also take a toll.

Fu Qian slid his left hand straight into the circular hole, stopping right at the edge of his vision.

He could confirm that this section had no Razor Blades, so he could safely bypass this distance.

With another ding, Fu Qian began his count.

1, 2... 57, 58, 59, 60, 61—

On the instant of that final heartbeat, Fu Qian thrust his hand firmly into the depths.

The inside of the hole was perfectly smooth, evidently having been polished.

Even the curve of the opening wouldn’t hinder an arm’s movement in the slightest.

The door had to be over 40 centimeters thick. There was more than one slit in the middle, making it impossible to confirm where the Razor Blade would slice out.

The moment he touched the other side of the door, Fu Qian rapidly made a series of judgments.

Considering the recording mentioned the Key was on his right side, Fu Qian had used his left hand.

The process was so smooth that instead of pulling his arm back to play it safe, he swiftly felt around toward the right.

After grasping three times in a row, his fingertips finally brushed against a cold Key.

Right then, his 64th heartbeat thumped.

Fu Qian snatched it and swiftly pulled his arm back.

The gory scene of a severed arm never came to pass. Fu Qian looked at the item in his hand.

It was an iron-black Key. Its size looked perfect for the keyhole on the door, and it bore no markings.

Fu Qian tested it, sliding the Key directly into the lock.

He gave it a twist. It wasn’t as stiff as he’d imagined. With a crisp click, the lock on the door sprang open.

Applying a bit more force, he pushed. Heavy and slow as it was, the door noticeably shifted a tiny fraction.

The facts proved the recording was actually quite honest. It seemed this first test was complete.

Of course, even though he had finished it easily, it was actually a brutally demanding predicament.

Cracking this trap required extreme calmness.

But anyone with experience knew that some things simply weren’t controllable.

Often, the very act of self-monitoring served as a powerful catalyst. Not only would it fail to achieve the desired effect, it could easily plunge a person into a vicious emotional cycle.

Did Brother Jigsaw intend to use this method to make him realize how laughable his everyday ”calmness” truly was?

Of course, if one really couldn’t calm down, that didn’t mean there was zero chance of survival.

There was another way: doing the exact opposite and physically forcing the heart rate to its absolute peak. For instance, through bloodletting.

When the body rapidly lost blood, the heart rate would drastically spike.

By using this method, one could reduce the proportional impact of emotions on the heart rate, keeping it within a relatively stable, high-frequency range to still achieve the goal.

And the room right behind him just so happened to have quite a few sharp spikes.

Considering he was already poisoned, those spikes would be perfect for bloodletting.

Amid his thoughts, Fu Qian pushed the door open wide enough for a person to pass through. At the same time, a light flickered on behind it.