Just what on earth were these hundred-odd people suddenly appearing before her?

Dressed uniformly in pristine white robes—symbolizing orthodox cultivation—with delicate cyan patterns along their sleeves, they exuded an aura of disciplined might. The leader stood tall and imposing, handsome yet icy-faced.

Blood still dripped from their weapons—swords, spears, halberds—and each pair of eyes fixed upon her with a mixture of suspicion and restraint.

At this moment, Lin Nan became absolutely certain: the system had screwed her over and dropped her into the wrong faction.

And here she was—a mere Level 1 pitiful villainess who hadn’t even committed a single evil deed yet—already facing annihilation at their hands?

No, no, no. Stay calm.

Yes! Just pretend this is a harmless coincidence. No need to interact—just pass quietly by without causing any trouble. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll let her go, seeing how utterly harmless she looked.

“+10 Aloofness Points!”  
“+10 Aloofness Points!”  
“+10 Aloofness Points!”  
“…”

Jackpot!

It turned out that in crowded places, simply maintaining a cold, aloof demeanor—without saying a word or initiating contact—would rapidly accumulate Aloofness Points.

*Ding!*  
“Your Aloofness Points have surpassed 100. Your passive talent has now been activated. As long as you avoid actions that diminish your Aloofness, this talent will continuously grant you bonus experience.”

Fantastic! These righteous disciples were actually quite amiable—just like she used to be.

She walked slowly past them, and remarkably, not a single one of them moved. In fact, they generously showered her with Aloofness Points. They were practically saints!

Lin Nan had already made up her mind: once she forcefully logged out, she’d immediately file a complaint with the game company.

Clearly, the righteous sect was where she belonged. Today’s group of orthodox cultivators hadn’t slaughtered her on sight—if they had, she’d already be respawned at the starting village, soul shattered.

“What should we do, boss?” whispered the deputy, watching the black-clad woman pass by with icy indifference.

Tang Tong gritted his teeth. “Better not stir up trouble. I can’t afford any complications with my promotion quest. Map exploration is already at 100%. Once she’s gone, we pull out immediately.”

“Got it.”

But just as the woman was about to step past the last person—and only a short distance from the Spider Cave—an arrow suddenly shot out from within their ranks, aimed straight at the back of her skull.

In a flash, as if sensing it with eyes in the back of her head, she tilted her head slightly. The arrow whistled past her ear, severing a few strands of hair that fluttered softly into the air.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye.

Before Tang Tong could even react, the woman had already turned around—her clear, bright eyes now coated in glacial frost.

“Shit! Who the hell disobeyed orders?!” Tang Tong barked.

But before the words left his mouth, the black-clad woman vanished before everyone’s eyes. And in the next instant, she reappeared directly in front of the archer who’d shot at her.

“She teleported! It’s a teleport!” the crowd erupted.

Viewers in the live stream collectively gasped.

“Dao Quest” used an upgrade system nearly identical to the legendary “Overlord,” so players familiar with the latter could pick up “Dao Quest” effortlessly. Abilities like teleportation—similar to “Flash”—were exclusive to elite NPCs in “Overlord.” For players, obtaining such a skill required not just power, but also extraordinary luck.

By the time “Overlord” shut down, fewer than a thousand players had ever acquired teleportation—and even then, its usage conditions were extremely stringent. Top-tier players treated it as a last-resort trump card, never to be used lightly.

And yet this black-clad woman had instantly teleported the moment she was ambushed. Based on “Overlord” precedent, she had to be at least an 80-level NPC boss.

Tang Tong, the highest-leveled among them, was only Level 10.

A hundred Level 10 players—or even lower—were nothing but ants before an 80-level boss.

Yet some people clearly hadn’t grasped that reality.

The archer, now face-to-face with the woman, actually shouted, “Kill her! She must have epic gear!”

Some newcomers who’d never played “Overlord” actually charged forward, ignoring others’ warnings.

And then—it happened.

The black-clad woman merely raised her right hand. From her fingertips drifted down several delicate snowflakes—except these were strangely patterned in black and white.

In the next moment, the fleeing archer was yanked into the air. His neck seemed gripped by an invisible hand, emitting a dreadful “crack-crack” sound. Less than a second later, his head lolled limply, and his body dissolved into thin air.

Without breaking a sweat, she’d executed her attacker. Then her gaze—cold as the deepest winter—locked onto Tang Tong.

He felt it instantly: pure, chilling killing intent.

He knew. The moment that arrow was fired, they’d drawn the attention of a boss they never should have provoked.

Classic aggro-pulling—except done at the worst possible time.

Although the system gave no explicit alert, there was no doubt: every one of his outer sect disciples had been individually targeted by the boss. Escape was impossible. And with thousands of live viewers watching, their only option was to fight their way out.

“Listen up! Tanks, move in! Healers, fall back and keep your distance! Archers, harass! Throw every last fire talisman you’ve got! Sword cultivators, follow me—we strike together! We’ve got over a hundred of us… maybe a miracle will happen!”

He didn’t even believe his own last sentence—but what choice did he have?

The live chat exploded with excitement.

“No way! They’re actually fighting a hidden boss? She can teleport, she’s massively overleveled, and we don’t even know her skills! This is like a bunch of noobs trying to clear a raid boss blindfolded!”

Most viewers gave them zero chance—but spiritually, they still rooted for them.

Because that instant kill after her teleport? Absolutely iconic.

She barely lifted a finger, and that guy was dangling in midair like he’d hanged himself! Who did he think he was—some invincible archer just because he held a crossbow?

Meanwhile, as the self-proclaimed “leveling maniac” Tang Tong frantically arranged his battle formation, the black-clad woman simply watched with the faintest trace of amusement, as if witnessing the funniest farce in the world.

The black-and-white snowflakes around her grew heavier, and slowly, their hue shifted toward pure black.

Tang Tong didn’t know what would happen once the snow turned completely black—but he knew one thing: you never delay fighting a boss.

With no way out, he charged forward, hoping his team would follow orders and unleash their remaining fire talismans as cover.

But in that very instant—his body froze.

Not just him—everyone’s movements locked up, faces twisted in disbelief.

Damn it—this had to be a mass fear or stun ability!

And indeed, the moment they were immobilized, the black-clad woman leapt high into the air, drawing a pitch-black sword from its sheath.

“Phantom Sea!”

A hurricane of black snow erupted outward. Those soft flakes now transformed into razor-sharp projectiles. The players, just regaining mobility, couldn’t dodge in time. Those closest were instantly skewered like porcupines, vanishing into wisps of smoke.

In a single move, one-third of their group was annihilated.

Yet the woman didn’t press her advantage. Instead, she landed gracefully back on the ground, as if toying with them.

Tang Tong, miraculously still alive, let out a shaky breath.

But then—the ground beneath the black snow trembled.

Dozens of rotting hands burst from the earth, seizing everyone by the ankles.

They swung their weapons wildly, desperate to break free—but it was futile. For every hand severed, another sprouted in its place, until every last one of them was pinned flat on their backs, arms and legs firmly clamped to the ground.

The scene turned surreal.

Only the black-clad woman remained standing—a solitary figure of cold elegance amidst a sea of immobilized bodies.

Then she simply blew a breath.

The black snow settled gently upon them—and in the next heartbeat, tore their forms apart into gruesome, pixelated fragments.

In an instant, every last player dissolved into white smoke.

When consciousness returned, they were already at the town’s respawn point.

The entire massacre had been captured in full by countless spectators.

From that moment on, two voices echoed across the “Dao Quest” community:

“Holy crap—this hidden boss is insane! Killing people like it’s performance art! So freaking cool!”

“Black clothes, black hair, black sword, black lips… don’t you guys think she’s stunningly beautiful in a unique way? I’m officially a fan!”

“She’s so aloof—her expression never changed once. What kind of tragic past made her like this?”

“Ugh, she’s just a soulless NPC. Stop projecting your fantasies onto her!”

“Seriously? She’s dressed like that and murders people without remorse—why are you guys worshipping her?”

“Come on, she only wiped out a bunch of Level 10 noobs. If she ever faced the Purple-Robed Immortal of Heaven Sword Sect, she’d get obliterated in seconds. No chance to show off.”

Meanwhile, Tang Tong—the first player ever to complete the promotion quest—had just lost half his experience to death.

Now demoted back to Level 5, he’d have to grind all over again before he could even return to the inner sect elder to submit his quest.

He was nearly driven mad with frustration.

But thanks to the hidden boss encounter, his stream had skyrocketed in popularity, earning him massive profits. That at least soothed his wounded pride.

After all—every loss comes with a gain.

Still, one question haunted him: why was an 80+ hidden boss roaming a Level 10 quest zone? If players stumbled into her by accident, wouldn’t they get wiped instantly?

His forum post about the incident shot straight to the front page.

Players were still buzzing with awe over the “Thousand-Bird City outer disciples wiped out in one move by a hidden boss.”

Someone immediately replied:  
“Dude, the boss wasn’t even going to touch you! It was your own teammate who recklessly pulled aggro. You could’ve avoided this entirely. Stop whining—we all watched the livestream, remember?”

“Yeah! Honestly, thanks for getting wiped—you gave us the chance to witness the boss’s glory. Haha!”

“Do any of you have hearts? The guy just got knocked down to Level 5! Can’t he vent on the forum? LOL, let me laugh a bit longer.”

Then—unexpectedly—the official game developer responded:

“Regarding NPC movement: we cannot control it. In our design philosophy, NPCs are living beings with their own thoughts, judgments, and agency. Perhaps that day, she simply happened to be wandering near the Spider Cave. Perhaps her mood was foul, leading her to unleash destruction. Ultimately, everything in the game mirrors reality—chaotic, random, seemingly accidental yet inherently inevitable. Thus, we cannot answer your question. We only urge you to think carefully before acting in the future.”

—End of Chapter 3