Eldritch Horror Theatre

Slam!

The moment the back door closed again, the breathing of every customer in the Legendary Little Shop grew a fraction shallower.

Faced with a bloody murder in the back, this eccentric madman hadn't just refused to steer clear—he had actively run over to join the spectacle, shocking the crowd all over again.

Of course, what truly silenced them was the news he had just delivered: the blessing would definitely appear, and it would be accompanied by even more blood.

Had anyone else present said it, the crowd would have dismissed it as alarmist nonsense meant to scare off the competition.

Under the looming threats of Siren and the Ji Clan, anyone who still dared to come here and risk their lives was no coward. They wouldn't be so easily tricked.

Yet coming from a thoroughly eccentric and unfamiliar madman, the claim carried an inexplicable weight.

Especially since someone from Siren had just lost their head.

Unaffiliated transcendents made up over half the crowd, but very few were truly flying solo on this trip. Most had formed small groups.

"We wait for the blessing to appear first."

Meeting Nora's questioning gaze, Old Man Tyr frowned and finally whispered his decision.

That guy had given him an incredibly bizarre feeling—something far beyond a simple alarmist.

But after struggling all the way here and waiting this long, turning back now was impossible.

They might as well wait and see if Mister Lu's prediction about the blessing was accurate.

"Alright."

Sitting on Tyr's other side was the craftsman who had sold Fu Qian the bullets earlier. Both he and Nora nodded in perfect unison, raising zero objections to Tyr's plan.

The blessing appeared randomly to begin with, so the chances of it enveloping this exact spot were slim. If things truly took a turn for the worse, they still had plenty of time to back out.

But if it proved that he was telling the truth... Looking at the untouched glass of wine on the table, Nora suddenly felt her previous gesture of goodwill had been a bit shabby.

...

'Everyone's having the exact same thought!'

Walking down the corridor, Fu Qian sensed the shifting mood in the Legendary Little Shop behind him without an ounce of surprise.

People with the guts for snatching food from a tiger's mouth wouldn't be chased off by a few crazy words.

Most of the crowd clearly shared Old Man Tyr's mindset.

It didn't matter. Making them act a little more conservatively, a little more cautiously, would still help reduce the hassle of his task.

After all, even if most of them were dead weight, he couldn't entirely rule out his target hiding among them.

Now, it was time to find a place to wait for his guest.

...

"Mister Lu."

At the entrance to the rest area, Gerald returned from his sweep of the back. He glared at Fu Qian with overt hostility.

"No luck?"

Fu Qian offered a polite smile while silently counting the men behind Gerald.

Not a single one was missing.

Given that the blessing could appear at any moment, this impromptu manhunt was clearly over.

Since they hadn't found the killer, they had prudently decided against leaving anyone behind to keep watch, clearly afraid of a repeat incident.

"No."

Gerald was clearly stung by the remark, but what truly baffled him was why this guy had come to the back in the first place.

Did he not realize he was one of the prime suspects?

Was he just unbelievably arrogant, or was he putting on an act to clear his name?

"I came to rest. It's been a long time since I've visited the Wasteland, and I'm feeling a little out of sorts."

Fu Qian played the part of a cooperative guest, proactively offering an excuse before Gerald could even ask.

...

Faced with this explanation, Gerald hesitated for a second before signaling his men to make way.

"Not a bad choice. It's a bit crude inside, but it's quiet. No one will disturb you."

'That last bit sounded a lot like sarcasm.'

Fu Qian mused to himself, completely understanding Gerald's mood.

While Gerald probably didn't think he was the killer, he would absolutely love it if the real killer showed up and murdered him, providing them with another test case.

"I certainly hope so."

Without dropping his smile, Fu Qian walked right through the path they cleared for him.

...

There really weren't many people around.

As he walked down the hall, the stench of blood still lingered in the room with the headless corpse. The body had been lifted onto a nearby bed, clearly left there until this whole mess blew over.

Without pausing for even a second, Fu Qian ventured deeper inside and quickly found a room to his liking.

He liked it because, although it lacked the bed of the murder scene, it did feature a rather elegant stone table and chairs.

And while several rooms he had passed showed signs of recent use, there wasn't a single soul in sight right now.

Clearly, as time ticked on, no one felt safe enough to rest in here anymore.

As for the dead man, if he hadn't been assigned guard duty, he likely wouldn't have stayed behind to hand the killer a free opportunity either.

Ignoring the invisible, lingering peril that seemed to fill the room, Fu Qian strolled right in. He took a seat on one of the stone stools and silently counted the seconds.

...

'Sure enough, kids just have zero patience!'

He didn't have to wait long. A moment later, Fu Qian reached out and caught a snowflake drifting down from above.

Unfortunately, the moment it touched his palm, it vanished like a popped bubble, leaving behind nothing but a feather-shaped imprint.

The flesh directly beneath the mark was already crumbling away into a thin layer of ash.

'Not bad. Last time, this move drained a full point from my SAN Value. It seems my Blank-Slate Demigod status is pulling its weight after all.'

He was absolutely certain. This was the exact same move—a sky full of falling feathers—that a transformed Ji Yicheng had used against him back in the Angel Dungeon.

In fact, the moment he grabbed that first feather, countless other crystal-clear feathers began drifting down like a flurry of snow, blanketing the entire room.

The feathers passed right through his clothes without the slightest resistance, sinking straight into his flesh to erode away more marks.

Yet under this absolute, full-coverage barrage, Fu Qian sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the doorway.

Less than five seconds later, a figure wearing a heavy hooded robe that obscured most of their face appeared silently in the entryway.

At almost the exact same moment, the dancing feathers froze in mid-air, as if someone had just hit the pause button.

"Please, have a seat."

Fu Qian gestured toward the other stone stool, extending a polite invitation.

For three or four seconds, the figure didn't react at all.

But eventually, they stepped through the frozen swarm of feathers and took the seat across from him.

Smiling in satisfaction, Fu Qian spared only a single glance at that unfamiliar face before his eyes dropped to the figure's abdomen—which bulged too much for the heavy robe to fully conceal now that they were seated.

'It's been a while, Child of Lorraine.'

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