Eldritch Horror Theatre

Since Gerald was leading the team, had Kelsen gone to support the conflict with Anjing?

Fu Qian still had a strong impression of that hot-tempered, blue-haired demigod.

Yet neither he nor Sibyl were present for a grand event that sounded every bit as significant as the Angel Dungeon. That naturally led to the conclusion that the current point in time was after Siren and Anjing had clashed.

Even if they hadn't traveled together, after Sybil's will was violently distorted by Yasui Tokiyuki, it made perfect sense for Kelsen to be transferred over to hold the fort.

As for the other equally well-organized and strictly disciplined team, despite consisting entirely of unfamiliar faces, their identity wasn't hard to guess—they were Siren's primary rival in the Wasteland, the Ji Clan.

And their leader, Demigod Angui, was notably absent as well.

It was a rare opportunity to visit, yet he couldn't even catch up with his two life-and-death comrades. What a shame.

"Thanks!"

Shaking off his lament, Fu Qian didn't stand on ceremony. He accepted the invitation and took a seat.

Gerald delivered the polite words without a shred of sincerity, eyeing Fu Qian with a half-smile.

The two other men sitting at the table wore the exact same expression.

Clearly, no one in this establishment believed that anyone walking in at a time like this would actually be worried about the price of a drink.

Faced with such a suspicious character, their invitation—coming from one of the most powerful factions present—was a blatant attempt to probe his background.

That less-than-courteous question could easily be translated into much blunter terms: Who are you? What are you doing here? Out with it!

"Lu Ming!"

Accepting the glass of liquor slid over by the man next to him, Fu Qian answered crisply under their scrutinizing glares.

Lu Ming...

Gerald frowned slightly, narrowing his eyes as he studied Fu Qian's face.

It was obvious that he couldn't piece together any meaningful connection between that name and the appearance of the man sitting in front of him.

The same went for everyone else currently pricking up their ears to listen.

Old Man Lu of the Rebirth Club might have risen to prominence recently, but with the sheer number of transcendents out there, a normal person simply wouldn't jump to the conclusion that the man they were interrogating was a demigod.

Just like how a normal demigod wouldn't be fussing over whether their lodgings were free.

"So, why has Mister Lu come here so late at night?"

Clearly doubting Fu Qian's proclaimed identity, Gerald continued his questioning with a plastic smile, not seeming to mind.

"To maintain world peace."

Fu Qian didn't even hesitate for a second. The answer spilled out of him effortlessly.

...

In his peripheral vision, one of the men beside Gerald was already shooting his leader an inquiring look. The implication was obvious: This guy is refusing to cooperate. Should we just rough him up?

"A lofty ambition!"

Gerald gestured for patience, his gaze falling onto Fu Qian's right arm as he offered his commentary.

Ever since he walked through the door, Fu Qian had kept his right hand tucked in his pocket. Even when the drink had been passed to him, he had reached out with his left to take it.

"What happened to your hand, Mister Lu?"

Confronted with such suspicious behavior, Gerald was quick to express his concern.

"It's a bit indisposed."

Fu Qian answered, as natural as ever.

"But it's fine. I'm quite used to using my left hand."

Heh...

Gerald let out a low chuckle.

"It seems Mister Lu has exceptionally good luck today. Not only are you getting free drinks, but we just so happen to have someone here who excels at treating all kinds of injuries."

...

The bright moon hung high in the sky as a chilling wind whistled through the cracks.

Inside the Legendary Little Shop, the atmosphere rapidly heated up, all thanks to the uninvited guest calling himself Lu Ming.

The mounting tension from the agonizingly long wait had finally found an outlet. Almost every patron in the tavern perked up.

A latecoming competitor with a built-in target on his back picking a direct fight with the strongest faction in the room—there was no better entertainment to relieve the stress.

And Gerald's underlying message was crystal clear: You're going to take that hand out and show it to us.

"I think you misunderstood what I meant."

Unfortunately for the expectant crowd, the uninvited guest Lu Ming didn't take his hand out. Instead, he gave a cold smirk.

"When I said my right hand was indisposed, I didn't mean it was injured. Quite the opposite, really. As a top-tier martial artist, my right hand is much faster than my left."

Fu Qian spoke with an arrogance that treated every expert in the world as beneath notice.

"And precisely because of that, it draws blood every time it strikes..."

What kind of nonsense is this? A martial artist? Did some lunatic wander in off the street in the dead of night?

Internal complaints aside, as the leader of this operation, Gerald certainly wasn't naive enough to take him lightly.

How could a mere lunatic survive making it this deep into the Wasteland unscathed? Furthermore, while he couldn't pinpoint the man's exact Rank, the guy sitting across from him was definitely no weakling, otherwise Gerald wouldn't have been in such a rush to test him.

At the same time, Gerald subconsciously glanced toward the other side of the room. The men from the Ji Clan at the neighboring tables had completely forgotten about their drinks, unified in their eagerness to watch the show.

Rather than feeling annoyed, Gerald actually felt a slight sense of relief.

"That's perfectly fine. I'd love to see it for myself. Otherwise, just sitting around drinking is far too dull."

As he spoke, the man beside him let out a knowing, savage grin, slipping a pitch-black iron glove onto his hand.

While Gerald wasn't about to lose his composure over a madman's provocations, he wasn't going to give the man any more room to act arrogant either.

"You actually want to see it?"

It turned out that no matter how eccentric and deranged someone seemed on the surface, they couldn't have made it this far without knowing how to weigh the risks.

Faced with such blatantly aggressive body language, the brazen Lu Ming finally dropped his act, his expression turning serious.

"Fine!"

Not wanting to lose his momentum, he let out a long sigh and slowly drew his hand out.

You know what's good for you!

Though the man talked a big game, he had finally backed down. Gerald sneered inwardly, yet kept his eyes glued to Fu Qian's movements, refusing to let his guard down.

The other patrons, whose appetites had been thoroughly whetted, watched with equal intensity. Even the blonde proprietress looked deeply intrigued, showing absolutely no concern that her establishment might get trashed.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, Fu Qian finally rested his clenched fist on the table.

Disappointment rippled through the audience. At a glance, the hand looked no different from his left. There was absolutely nothing special about it to back up his arrogant claim of drawing blood every time it struck.

Was there something hidden in his palm?

A few quick-witted observers were already starting to wonder.

As if to oblige their curiosity, Fu Qian proved to be quite accommodating. Without needing any further prompting, he slowly opened his clenched fist.

"We've got a situation!"

But right at that moment, the back door of the tavern was thrown open. Two figures rushed in, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"You see..."

Instantly snapping his fist shut, Fu Qian blinked at a stunned Gerald.

"I told you it draws blood every time, didn't I?"

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