Master of Kaidan
Chapter 368: Is the Streamer Insane?

Chapter 368: Chapter 368: Is the Streamer Insane?

Gambling Ghost’s tendril-like tentacles had already reached Dunn’s face in the blink of an eye, a sight that at any other time, would have been prime material for a climactic scene in a horror movie.

However, at this moment, Dunn radiated a thick clownish temperament. He grabbed a tendril with one hand and, like a nimble monkey, leapt up and down, constantly letting out bursts of yells. With dodging skills that would amaze even the most experienced of Eastern veterans, he evaded the tendrils that seemed to lock down every possible place he could move to.

"Vroom Vroom—"

The roar of the chainsaw echoed in the live-streaming room. Whether it was the splattering weird liquid, the twisted and dry tentacles, or the furiously cutting chainsaw, each element was true to the essence of a chilling horror film. Yet when pieced together, they created an intense sense of discordance.

The navy that had been arranged in advance finally made its appearance at this moment, with VIP barrages of chat scrolling conspicuously across the screen—

[Is the streamer actually promoting chainsaws for the company?]

[Damn, now that you mention it, it does seem like it.]

[Streamer is so good at chopping, surely he isn’t fatigued from logging, right?]

...

The barrage, full of memes, humor, and teasing, exploded in an instant, suppressing the last bit of oppression and fear, leaving only the streamer’s comical movements flowing across the screen.

"Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck, bad luck!"

Muttering nonstop about bad luck, Dunn finally managed to carve an opening with the chainsaw and tossed the still-spinning chainsaw towards the "main body" of the Gambling Ghost. He himself accelerated and sprinted through the opening.

While squeezing through, he warned the drone,

"An activated chainsaw is a very dangerous thing, don’t ever imitate me and throw it around recklessly! Ya know, hee-haw~~!"

Before he could finish, a tendril struck him, but the somber and fearful atmosphere was utterly destroyed by his off-key, braying scream.

Dunn spun away like a top after being hit by Gambling Ghost, but his strong voice made it clear to the viewers that the streamer was still very much alive and kicking.

"Damn, older brother ain’t no pushover, you messing with me thinking I’m a sick tiger?!"

Twirling in the air like the Team Rocket being blasted off, Dunn caught hold of the edge of a garbage-laden building—it was a rather smooth little hook shot. But the moment he flipped to his feet, he stepped on a smashed watermelon, and "whooosh~~" he went, tumbling down from ten meters up.

Just as the viewers were about to cover their faces, they saw the sturdy tendrils sweep across vehemently, and the robust building, just like a banana sliced by a monomolecular blade, slid down diagonally. What was originally an embarrassing situation instantly turned into one of relief.

"That’s why you can’t be afraid when fighting ghosts. Look, those tendrils easily sliced through a building, but because my will is strong and unafraid, when it hit me, nothing happened!"

With a watermelon rind still on his head, Dunn finally stood up and began to earnestly share his knowledge with the audience in the live-streaming room. Although the viewers really wanted to give the streamer a mirror to show him the stark difference between himself and the description of "nothing happened," upon closer inspection, they realized that although his wool coat had been shredded into a beggar’s attire, he had indeed not spilled a drop of blood.

[Is he actually freaking impervious to swords and guns?!]

The perfectly timed teasing barrage appeared, and the audience who had witnessed the tendrils slicing through the building couldn’t help but think that they were not lacking in power. The live-streaming room’s chat experienced a surge.

Feeling the influx of "Identity" into his body, Dunn comically began to look around, seemingly searching for a weapon to use.

Soon, his eyes lit up—not just figuratively, the viewers actually saw his eyes gleam at that moment!

At last, Dunn, having found the "Big Killer," started off with a strange posture—one where his body raced ahead while his head seemed to linger in place—and charged out. However, just when the audience wondered if the Streamer had outrun his own head, they realized what was left behind was nothing more than a watermelon rind that "couldn’t keep up."

"Does the Streamer have any interest in making movies? We at Lanka Movie are thinking of making an action comedy film."

"We at Hollywood will double that offer!"

"We at Xiangla Movie will quadruple it!"

"Pfft, where would Xiangla Movie get that kind of money?"

Accounts without real-name registration were making statements without any sense of responsibility; they weren’t worried about the film companies holding them accountable since they were all Navy hired by the Mysteries Consortium.

But the audience didn’t know this; under the belief that "no one dares to impersonate big company IDs," they subconsciously took these bullet chats as genuine.

The online atmosphere became increasingly heated, attracting more viewers. After getting a scare from the gambler ghost, whose mere appearance was enough to make one’s sanity points drop, their attention then locked onto the Streamer rummaging through the garbage pile, butt in the air.

"Isn’t the Streamer going to run? What’s with sticking your butt out?"

"Damn, is that ghost a Shy Ghost? Why does it only tear off clothes and not people?"

"The Streamer is impenetrable!"

"Holy moly, impenetrable..."

As more and more bullet chats appeared, Dunn’s movements, like a wild dog digging through trash, suddenly froze. Then, he pulled out a metal tube as thick as a small arm from the pit, held it in his hands, and revealed a smile perfect for a commercial.

The screen even gave a close-up for a moment; if one didn’t consider the grim environment behind him, they would think it was an advert from some daily chemical company.

Dunn only held that commercial close-up for less than a second before being interrupted by the gambler ghost. It seemed that the ghost, realizing it couldn’t harm him directly, inexplicably pulled out a road roller and smashed it towards him.

It was in this composition full of a sense of crisis that Dunn suddenly pushed the metal tube forward and pronounced in a tone filled with commercial rhythm:

"Spray and Wilt Weed Killer! All unwanted weeds and germs, dead with a single spray!"

As soon as he spoke, his fingers swiftly pressed the spray nozzle. An even mist ejected violently from the metal tube’s sprayer, and the gambler ghost, though clearly not a plant, began to struggle and contort the instant it came into contact with the spray. Its dice-shaped head also emitted a painful moan.

"This isn’t science!"

"It’s not magic either!"

"Nor is it mysticism!"

"I could put up with plastic-wrapped chocolate, but weed killer, what the hell?"

...

Watching a flurry of bullet chats, which he wasn’t sure were setups or just the audience’s natural reactions, Dunn kept up with the spraying as he ran after the branches. At the same time, he didn’t forget to explain in a muffled voice, covered by his sleeve:

"How many times have I said it, ghosts are made of cognition; as long as your will is strong, whatever you think the ghost is afraid of, it will fear. I think it looks like a weed, so I think it fears weed killer, so now it’s afraid, get it? Ouch, you’re still resisting? I spray!"