The Crimson Game Chapter 8

I glanced up at him without speaking.

The player didn't mind, saying, "My name's Marcus Champion. What's yours?"

"Pfft—hahaha, sorry, couldn't help it."

I couldn't hold back my laughter at the name.

"Just call me Jake," I said, giving him a friendly smile.

Marcus pursed his lips. "Then you can call me Tank. Everyone does."

"Alright, Tank." I looked at his lovable appearance, wanting to tease him a bit.

Surprisingly, he wasn't offended. He cheerfully said, "Works for me, Jake!"

The three-day game period was torture for most people.

But for Tank and me, everything was under control.

Over these few days, Tank and I grew closer.

He was a warm-hearted and straightforward guy.

His straightforwardness didn't mean he was stupid—it meant that no matter what I said, he seemed to trust me completely.

Of course, I wouldn't screw over an honest person. As long as he had no ill intentions toward me, I didn't mind teaming up with him for the remaining games.

After the second round ended, we returned to the round table.

The table was still laden with various delicacies.

I surveyed the area.

Our team had nine survivors, the second team had eleven, and the third team had five.

From the original one hundred players, we'd dwindled to twenty-five.

Host K appeared, standing in the center of the table.

His voice rang out with enthusiasm: "Congratulations to all excellent players for completing the second round of the horror game. The next round begins in one day."