The Night of Awakening
Idle Hamster — one playthrough.
I sold four hamsters and got charged one as a commission, with the remainder rounded down. It was definitely enough stress to make someone faint.
Blooming Madness — one playthrough.
As if the corpse had been used for some strange ritual, it had been grotesquely torn apart according to some unknowable set of rules and stretched out along the tree branches like laundry hung out to dry. The skin of the face had been peeled off separately and tacked onto some enormous plant, shaped into a scarecrow doll of sorts, so I'd mistaken it for a living person, walked toward it, and died not long after.
The same thing had probably been done to my own body.
After that single playthrough, I never so much as glanced at Blooming Madness again.
It was an instructive session — a fresh reminder that I had my reasons for hating places packed with trees.
I don't think I'd do it again even if they offered me a gold coin.
Poke-Poke Darts — four playthroughs.
I hit the Fragment of Life once. Exactly once.
Pupil of the Pupil was tolerable — the kind you could at least survive.
Void of Pain was, honestly, a blessing. My bones didn't hurt one bit when the snake was crushing them.
Void of Silence was horrific. Literally — I couldn't even speak of it.
The experience of having something forcibly erased from your memory is not the sort of thing you should ever go through more than once.
I never threw a dart again after that.
True Stories — seven playthroughs.
Thanks to the method of having one person solve one question per loop to pass the turn, I learned the answers all the way through Case 20.
Garden of Psyche — nine playthroughs.
Project Delphi — zero playthroughs.
I didn't want to do it anymore. Not in front of other people, anyway.
Every single time Yu Hyeonjae played Project Delphi, he received the exact same prophecy. He always exceeded the two-second limit on the same question, and always got the sixth one wrong. And every time, he would come back wearing the expression of someone who hadn't noticed the curse-like prophecy at all.
Every time I met those oblivious eyes of his, my fingertips would tremble with an anxiety I couldn't name.
And I found out what happens when you fail to answer a single question in Project Delphi.
Thanks to Choi Jaeha.
Some kind of manipulation must be inflicted on the brain, because the ability to predict or imagine the future becomes severely impaired.
In any case, after dying in the staff snake's coils half a dozen times or so like a lamb nestled against its shepherd, I learned one thing: this snake devours people in a fixed order.
I didn't notice at first, because the casualty lists in the underground parking garage, at NeoSoft, at Singye Daily and elsewhere kept changing the headcount every loop. But once I got used to it, the order of the people who died before me became visible.
Yu Hyeonjae is first.
Hwang Juyeon is second.
Choi Jaeha is third.
Lee Jinsu is fourth.
Fifth is me.
I've never yet seen the scenes where Lee Nahyeon or Jeong Jiho die.
I have no idea what rule determines the order.
For one thing, it's not by age. If it were by age, Yu Hyeonjae would have to come before me. He was born in January of the same year as me.
I do have one rather crude hypothesis: that Hosu's snake kills people in descending order of their assets. My thinking was that since this is a space that pays out in gold coins, the criterion probably has something to do with money.
Granted, even accounting for the fact that I quit my old job not that long ago, I doubt that I — currently an unemployed job-seeker — have more money than Lee Nahyeon, who's employed as an assistant manager.
But you never know with people.
No.
Wrong.
The order in which people die doesn't matter in the slightest.
"Welcome, Seon Yuhan, Yu Hyeonjae, Lee Nahyeon, Lee Jinsu, Jeong Jiho, Choi Jaeha, and Hwang Juyeon. I am your host. Please call me Hosu."
What matters is how we survive from here on out.
"Seven people exactly. How convenient."
How long had it taken us to finally gather everyone like this?
"Shall we enjoy the final play right away? Or would you rather enjoy the other games I've prepared first?"
The hand that had reflexively shot out to grab Choi Jaeha by the collar settled for a compromise at his wrist, seeing as how I was currently sitting in a chair.
Seven. Exactly seven, all gathered here. Only just now. Not a single one can drop out. Did you really think I'd leave you to die like that, you—
Fortunately, I didn't actually say any of that out loud. But the meaning seemed to come across well enough through my eyes.
It would be just my luck if, chasing after gold coins, someone died before we even got started. At the very least, I needed to see what that bastard's "final play" actually was.
"Seon Yuhan, Yu Hyeonjae, Lee Nahyeon, Lee Jinsu, Jeong Jiho, Choi Jaeha, and Hwang Juyeon. Shall we enjoy the final play?"
"Yeah."
"Yes."
"Yep."
"Yes……"
And so, in a remarkably amicable unanimous vote, we proceeded straight into the final play.
"I have prepared a very special game for you all."
Following the host's guidance, we all took seats around a circular table at even intervals.
"None of you will have heard of this one. You'll never have played it, either. Naturally — because I made it myself."
He was tremendously excited about it, judging by the way his shoulders swaggered and the corners of his mouth kept twitching. Like a mischievous child who couldn't contain his glee.
"The name of the game is…… Shepherd's Silence!"
Isn't that title plagiarism?
"Wolves wearing sheep's clothing slip into the ranch and, every night, secretly hunt the sheep. When day breaks, the sheep must find the wolves and banish them from the ranch."
Hosu tilted his head.
And, sure enough, those rectangular, enigmatic pupils alone stayed perfectly parallel to the floor.
"How strange. The name of this game is Shepherd's Silence."
"Ah. Ahh……. Yes……"
Come to think of it, it wasn't just goats — sheep had horizontally stretched pupils too.
"Well done. Not so different from the daily work of an entrepreneur."
"However, I will not tell you how many wolves and how many sheep there are. Every faction is ignorant of the others' true identities."
"Huh? Isn't this just Mafia—"
"—Wolves."
"……The wolves don't even know each other? Don't they confirm each other's faces at night when they, I mean, when they pick the sheep?"
"During the night, everyone's sight and sound are cut off from one another. You needn't worry about the person beside you catching on through some tell. The only being capable of perceiving any of you is me — so rest easy."
When he coldly corrected the role's name, he did so with an utterly pleasant expression, the picture of helpfulness. At that, the questions it spawned set the group murmuring.
"So the wolves can't even discuss who to kill at night?"
"Don't tell me each wolf picks separately? Then if there's more than one wolf, wouldn't the whole thing be over in three turns? There are only seven of us."
"Is there a doctor? A doctor? What about a detective?"
Now.
Tap.
The moment the host tapped the floor with his long wooden staff, everyone's mouths snapped shut.
"Each wolf marks a single target during the night, and only the wolf who chose a target first succeeds in the hunt."
First come, first served — one kill.
"How strange. Can a doctor revive the dead? Can a detective arrest the wolves?"
There were no special roles like doctors or detectives.
Though I suppose it would be odd for animals to have occupations.
"Hold on a second."
Hwang Juyeon, her brow furrowed, raised her hand.
"You said the wolves don't know how many of them there are, or who they are. So that means a wolf could end up killing another wolf?"
"Yes."
"……Shouldn't that be against the rules?"
"Allow me to explain the victory conditions."
The host began his explanation, gentle as silk.
"If you are a wolf, then devour your prey until only wolves remain in this ranch. And make yourselves the new predator — the new master — of these grounds."
The wolves must kill every sheep, yet never be banished themselves.
"If you are a sheep, then drive out the predator until only sheep remain in this ranch. And, freed from every threat and every form of control, enjoy safety and freedom in the open field. The moment either faction achieves its victory condition, Shepherd's Silence ends immediately."
I briefly organized in my head what each role had to do.
Wolf.
One: don't get banished during the day. Two: at night, mark someone — anyone — faster than the unknown kin who might mark you.
Taken to its extreme, a wolf simply has to kill everyone except itself.
Sheep.
One: during the day, be careful never to end up alone with a wolf, and unite to banish one. Two: at night, pray to God that no wolf marks you.
"Aren't the sheep at a huge disadvantage?"
With no doctor, there was no one to protect. With no detective, there was no way to unmask a wolf.
"Which is why the sheep possess a special ability."
The host answered my question.
"Once while alive, a sheep may mark someone they suspect is a wolf during the night and learn whether that person truly is one. Call it a single, life-or-death gamble."
There was laughter brimming throughout Hosu's voice.
"If the one you marked is a wolf, then once while alive, you may protect someone. Whether you protect yourself or someone else is entirely up to you."
"So it's just the doctor and detective rolled into one……"
"However — if the one you marked turns out not to be a wolf, there is a penalty, so do be careful. Failure always comes with a price, you see."
"A penalty? What kind of penalty?"
"If you're curious, you'll simply have to enjoy it and find out. Where's the fun in knowing everything beforehand?"
Hah……
"You're hiding more rules from us right now, aren't you. Rules you just aren't telling us about."
The host, looking like nothing so much as a saint, broke into a wide smile.
"But of course. Where's the fun in knowing everything beforehand?"
"Whoa. What kind of host does that? That's so unfair!"
"This kind, apparently. How strange. I consider myself a very accommodating host."
What an infuriating bastard.
Still, given how candidly he admitted it, I figured we could probably learn the finer rules by actually playing. Maybe that, too, was part of the joy of a game called Shepherd's Silence.
"Jiho, so — let's say you turn out to be a wolf……"
We spent a short while confirming the rules with one another, committing them to memory once more. And Hosu, remarkably, waited patiently for us with a faint, gentle smile on his face.
Watching over us with a sheep's eyes.
"Oh, and—"
Everyone held their breath and looked up at the host, standing alone.
"I nearly forgot to tell you the most important rule of all."
Somehow, I had a feeling I knew what was coming. If anything, I was more surprised he hadn't said it until now.
"The world outside the ranch is a wild land of great danger. There's a reason the wolves slunk into the ranch in the first place. Whoever leaves the ranch will never return."
A soft, lilting voice, as if reciting a bedtime story.
"The ranch, likewise, is not safe merely because it is the ranch. Every night, the starving and the savage fall upon the weaker in a paranoid frenzy. Flesh is torn and devoured, and a body left bloodied and bone does not rise again."
I knew another name for "the ranch."
"So please, everyone — do enjoy yourselves. This little game of silencing someone forever with nothing but the tip of a finger and three inches of tongue."
It is life. It is the world. It is the labyrinth.
"Only those who survive and win may leave this ranch."
"Now, then……"
To lose is to be silenced from life, cast out beyond the world, swallowed whole by the labyrinth.
"The night of awakening has arrived."
Shepherd's Silence had begun.