Who's the Boss Between You Two?

Administrators and players are meant to support, assist, and benefit one another.

That sounds reasonable, but it is far too idealistic.

Administrators often look down on players for their lack of skill, performing brain-dead maneuvers within the instances.

Players, in turn, despise administrators for being useless, failing to provide any helpful support, and acting like slackers who just loiter on the sidelines, forcing the players to carry the entire performance.

Although system constraints and performance quotas force administrators to treat players well, the reality of their actual competence remains; not every administrator or player is willing to accept such an arrangement.

Even though the Administrator Department tries its best to prevent it, conflicts between administrators and players remain numerous.

Administrators do not want to deal with weak players who drag down their performance, and players are not necessarily willing to tolerate an administrator's foul mouth, accusations, micromanagement, or other restrictions.

This has extended to the very model of cooperative instance raiding, which has begun to be questioned by certain players.

From this, the Ten Evils were born.

Ancient laws were structured with complete clauses and strict rules from a very early stage, but in the feudal era, how could laws possibly be without loopholes?

Imperial power and the nobility were, in themselves, the greatest flaw in ancient law.

Beyond those who possessed immunity, the ancient imperial family loved to issue general amnesties whenever there was a joyous occasion.

Strictly speaking, there was only one exception: the so-called Ten Crimes.

These included treason, rebellion, lèse-majesté, unfilial conduct, patricide, and insubordination, among others.

If one committed these crimes, even royalty could not escape death; a general amnesty would be of no use, hence the term "Ten Evils, Unpardonable."

These players, who have used unknown means to break free from the company's control, are commonly known as rogue players, and the Ten Evils is their leading organization.

The most distinct characteristic of the official members of the Ten Evils is their ability to change their identity, transforming from players into monsters or even bosses within an instance, integrating into the plot and residing there long-term.

"This is the first time we've encountered them in half a year, isn't it..."

The Official Division had dealt with them a few times before. As administrators, they were the people who understood players best, knowing exactly how terrifying their destructive power could be.

Having broken free from the company's control and unburdened by moral constraints, the members of the Ten Evils were particularly dangerous existences among players.

Moreover, after leaving the company, what they gained was far more than just unrestricted freedom of movement.

"This rogue player just lost contact last month; they shouldn't have joined the Ten Evils for long. Their control over the instance permissions must be incomplete. As long as the trapped player has basic combat capability, we have a chance..."

In the Official Division office, Xu Xinhai and countless members were focused, staring intently at the screen as the image gradually materialized.

The people present included a living library with exceptionally rich gaming knowledge, strategists capable of precisely calculating instance conditions, and combat experts who could provide professional tactical guidance.

As long as they could establish contact with that player, they could...

"Buzz!" The screen flickered a few times, and then, everyone fell silent.

It wasn't that the matter had been resolved; it was just that the scene on the screen seemed a bit too complex, leaving these well-informed members of the Official Division feeling utterly bewildered.

"Wait... is this instance designed with dual bosses?"

"Did two of the Ten Evils show up, or does he have a lackey?"

In the image, inside a dimly lit, warm-red studio, a corpse lay quietly in the center. The surrounding half-finished leather materials and cold, gleaming blades made one's heart grow cold.

Mask after finished mask sat on the shelves, looking bone-chilling.

Two figures stood at the entrance and inside the studio, staring at each other in a standoff.

The one at the door had a hunched frame, thin as a dried stick. One leg seemed to have suffered a severe injury; the bone looked deformed and twisted, swollen into a large lump.

He wore a leather work apron hung with various equipment. In his hands, he held a meat cleaver capable of easily shattering bone, and a short-bladed skinning knife, a sight that struck fear into the heart.

But the most terrifying part was his face, where the flesh had withered like a severe burn. Charred dead meat, raw polyps, and blisters from scalding were mixed together with bleeding wounds.

It also looked as if he had been struck hard by something; a massive scar was exposed on his forehead, where one could see more than one layer of torn flesh.

A shocking amount of thick, fresh blood covered his entire face, filling his eyes with bloodshot veins. As it dripped onto his body, it made him look as if he had just crawled out of a slaughterhouse.

Yet, compared to him—who was panting heavily and looking fierce—the one the members of the Official Division were focusing on was the person opposite him.

That person was not particularly muscular, but his posture was upright. He was dressed in standard college student attire, yet his temperament was clearly more mature.

In his left hand, he gripped an unsharpened prop bronze sword, and in his right, a long-handled, flat-headed serrated saw that clearly came from the studio.

What was most baffling was that, beyond his calm demeanor, a thick, primal wildness radiated from within him.

This came not only from the thick blood covering one of his hands but also from his head.

Starting from his neck, his skin had transformed into a coarse, grayish-white texture. Or rather, a layer of thick, short fur had grown over his skin.

The face wrapped in fur looked extremely distorted. Where there was no fur, one could clearly see bulging veins. His mouth protruded, fangs were exposed, and thick, long hair covered the back of his head all the way to the crown.

Two pointed ears twitched left and right, and hot air puffed from his large nostrils. A pair of eyes seemed to be covered by something, reflecting a murky yellow light in the room.

It was clearly a massive wolf's head grafted onto a human body, and it looked incredibly lifelike, baring its fangs and growling low at the doorway.

"Isn't this the Flaying Labyrinth... how did it turn into Werewolf?"

This was the first reaction of countless Official Division players upon seeing this image, followed by the thoughts they had just been having.

"Are you stupid? Both of them are wearing masks. Didn't you see the other animal masks left on the shelf behind them?"

"That's right, Bi Gan's ability—his unique leatherwork allows his goods to possess special effects. The Burn Victim might have been able to create burns in an unscientific way, and the Wolf-Head Mask... I fear it might actually be able to eat people."

The daily duties of these Official Division players feel like a mix of Pokémon trainers, game masters, and a touch of corporate HR.

Logically speaking, having reached the Official Division, their ability to judge people should far exceed that of an ordinary person, yet this scene is just too bizarre.

If you were to say the one at the door is the boss, he certainly looks deranged enough, possessing that abnormal vibe of the Ten Evils.

But if you were to say he is a boss? How could a boss be beaten so miserably, with one leg crippled and his head bloodied?

This is a boss who was once a player turned into a monster; even if his ability isn't combat-oriented, he has a 10% completion gap, two promotions, and has been operating in this dungeon for so long—yet he was beaten like this by a newcomer?