Eldritch Horror Theatre

Was it really because of the special commandment on his body?

It had not only rendered him immune to the Lucid Dream, but had even stopped him from hearing the voice.

Even though Olinter's physique far surpassed that of an ordinary mortal under the Boon of the Stars, to Fu Qian, he was just a slightly denser punching bag.

Left with only half his face after a single slap, Olinter crashed heavily against the wall, his consciousness instantly blurring.

As an attending physician as open-minded as an empty valley, he naturally wouldn't retaliate merely over a difference of opinion.

But the man had made a good point: most suffering in this world wasn't karmic retribution for evil deeds, but simply a matter of bad luck.

As Fu Qian saw it, for this lovelorn man to attack with such brisk determination—dead set on striking down the chief culprit first and thus perfectly blocking Fu Qian's path—it was hard to say how much of that action was truly his own will.

Most likely, after canceling his ultimate move, a certain voice had also spoken in his mind, effectively helping him realize the full extent of his hatred for Fu Qian.

If that were the case, Olinter could be considered a victim too.

That was his first objective.

By deliberately switching to the Burning Frost State for that slap, he ensured that this unique scar would naturally be brought back to The Order.

His patience tonight stemmed not only from discovering elements deeply entangled with commandments here, but also because The Order behind Olinter was a very important target.

The Order still didn't place nearly enough importance on the Painting World.

Fu Qian had originally planned to pay them a visit midway through his mission to help correct that oversight.

Surprisingly, Nathalie's plan had saved him quite a bit of effort.

As for the final reason...

Fu Qian glanced at the shattered window and leaped out.

When The Order treated Olinter, they would be quite surprised to discover a rather special wound.

Woven into that slap was a touch of the Dimensional Poison.

He was very much looking forward to seeing how The Order, masters of Commandment Power, would handle such a tricky affliction and exactly how far their abilities extended. He would see the results the next time they met.

...

Though his movements had been fluid and unhesitating, a few seconds had still slipped by.

By the time Fu Qian landed outside, Jane had already vanished from his line of sight.

The Winslow Family's luxurious villa was now entirely shrouded in a thick fog.

A dense, blood-red fog.

Fu Qian didn't believe this was the root of all evil they had discussed during the consultation—the fog Jane and the others had encountered when they got lost outside the city.

In his view, if they had stumbled into something like this back then, the odds of Jane ever making it home would have been infinitely close to zero.

It wasn't that the fog was highly toxic or that a single breath would rot the lungs. In fact, Fu Qian was quite certain that despite its strange smell, it posed no threat to a person's health.

Instead, it inflicted an exaggerated deprivation of the senses.

Even a Tier 2 expert like himself had been suppressed nearly to the point of blindness.

If Jane and her companions had run into this fog back then, even if they hadn't been scared to death, they would most likely have been utterly lost and sent running off into the wilderness.

In fact, that seemed to be exactly what she was doing right now.

Compared to his vision, his perception didn't seem to have been too severely restricted.

Fu Qian could clearly sense Jane dragging her twisted, deformed body in a crooked but terrifyingly fast sprint, heading straight out of the estate.

...

The mastermind here was indeed far more sophisticated than the Ill Omen.

Taking in the scene, Fu Qian didn't rush to act. He let out a silent sigh of appraisal and calmly recalled the layout of the entire building.

As a professional guide himself, Fu Qian was always highly alert to being guided by others.

Whether it was effective or not was another matter, but there was no reason the omnidirectional, three-dimensional evasion aura of the entity behind the scenes would spare him.

This sudden blood fog was undoubtedly targeted, designed to keep him away from Miss Winslow.

But there was a glaringly obvious question here: for someone who was clearly not normal, what was the point of a fog that merely blocked physical sight?

The answer was that it actually blocked perception just as much. The images currently appearing in his consciousness were essentially just his own share of the "voice."

Not only had the evasion aura not spared him, but its treatment of him was unprecedentedly grand.

After all, simple imperative commands were completely useless against him; he could easily spot and filter them out.

A dense fog that blocked perception, paired with a "voice" masquerading as his own senses—this was taking misdirection to the absolute maximum.

Fu Qian was certain that if he actually followed the direction his senses were feeding him, he would never find his target.

It had a real flavor of rising to meet a strong opponent, which was exactly why he had praised its sophistication... and felt deeply gratified by it.

The more power it demonstrated, the greater the likelihood that his theory about the "eyes" behind the scenes was true.

...

All these thoughts—and the subsequent predicament they implied—flashed through his mind in a fraction of a second.

Along with the structural layout of the building.

Without hesitation, Fu Qian bounded upward, landing lightly and precisely on the flat roof of the villa.

The exterior framework was still part of the structure, after all.

Sure enough, the fog up here looked even thicker, reducing visibility to virtually zero.

To Fu Qian, the mastermind's modus operandi reeked of unbridled arrogance.

Even when faced with a threat like him, the odds of it fleeing in outright panic were low.

So his reason for coming up here was simple: this was the highest point of the entire villa.

Not only did higher ground offer a wider vantage point, but it also fit the target's stylistic flair.

Though, of course, he couldn't see a single thing right now.

Even Jane's position within his perception underwent a sudden, jarring jump, shifting to an entirely different direction.

This shift verified his theory to some extent, though it undeniably made the situation feel even more surreal.

Fu Qian found himself anticipating their impending meeting even more.

Rather than fumbling blindly across the roof in a game of hide-and-seek, he simply took a deep breath.

Riiip!

His fairly refined and elegant shirt was ruined once again as the flesh on his chest tore open, pulling back to form a massive, hideous maw that clamped down viciously on the blood fog.

In that instant, the sensory barrier shrouding everything seemed to tremble.

The fog churned, quickly surging in to fill the small void his bite had created. His attempt seemed as futile as Jingwei filling the sea, yet he didn't hesitate for a second. The fanged maw on his chest snapped open once more.

As long as there was a reaction, it was enough.

He didn't merely bite down this time. Instead, he generated a violently powerful suction, inhaling with the force of a breaching whale and dragging the blood fog into a terrifying, churning vortex.

Found you!

By the fifth second of this relentless assault, the existence of the blood fog finally grew extremely unstable.

An unfamiliar aura pierced through his perception, moving at a rapid clip.

"Fellow Daoist, please wait."

Springing into action at last, Fu Qian crossed the space in a single step and called out an enthusiastic greeting.

The opponent's appearance finally came into view, but the sight managed to startle even Fu Qian.

Bat wings?

And those classic red eyes.

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