Eldritch Horror Theatre

Inside the Rotunda, the Blood Clan once again displayed their elegant side. Surprisingly, they took no offense at the attendee's belated arrival.

Every eye in the room was fixed on the thick paste of bloody gore stretching from the seat to the floor, locked in deathly silence.

Unbothered by the silence, Fu Qian smiled and nodded, openly displaying the Vampire Heart in his hand for all to see.

In most legends, the Blood Clan possessed far greater vitality than ordinary humans.

Unless completely obliterated, they were incredibly difficult to kill. It was said that as long as the heart remained intact, they could quickly regenerate.

Of course, that didn't apply to the one in his hand.

...

The figure who had just been sitting here setting a trap had clearly been a pivotal member of this noble race.

The title of elder reflected that to a certain degree.

Fu Qian was absolutely certain that, compared to Jacques, the elder held a crushing advantage in sheer life intensity alone.

Even among the nearly twenty Blood Clan members in the hall, no one could compare to him.

If judged by Rank, he had been at least a Divine Emissary, if not higher.

But in Fu Qian's eyes, having such an existence within a low-profile, loosely organized race wasn't healthy.

One only had to look at the atmosphere of their meeting earlier—it clearly hadn't been very lively.

They had even tried to block a specially invited guest, only to extend a fake invitation before shutting the doors to slaughter him.

The Hazy Saw from moments ago had truly been a marvelous killing method. Wielded personally by the elder, it was invisible, traceless, and entirely unstoppable.

Even the instantly shutting doors had an effect similar to the cell from earlier, ensuring he had no way to escape.

Coupled with the surrounding audience of Blood Clan members, walking in here was essentially throwing oneself straight into a slaughterhouse. The elder's confusion at his arrival had clearly been genuine.

However, he had clearly underestimated the determination of a friendly communicator.

Fu Qian's response had been simple. He had walked right up to the man, fully activated Mythical Form, and transformed into the King of the Abandoned Prison.

Of course, even then, swiftly dispatching someone who was at least a Divine Emissary wasn't easy while they were under the Protection of the Stars—an authority approaching that of a Deity.

Considering the drain of maintaining the King of the Abandoned Prison, a drawn-out battle was clearly out of the question.

So he had simultaneously rung the Eternally Lucid Mind.

As tested during his treatment of Miss Winslow, its mystery-dispelling effect worked just as well against the Law of the Stars.

Though it only lasted a single instant... and even his own powers were suppressed for that same fleeting moment.

But that was enough.

This wise elder before him, this chosen Divine Child, had held every advantage in terrain and numbers, and had even waited at ease for an exhausted opponent.

Yet, compared to Fu Qian, he still had one glaring weakness: he lacked twenty years of experience living as a mortal.

Professionals always played to their strengths and avoided their weaknesses.

As it turned out, the Law and the King of the Abandoned Prison recovered almost synchronously.

Unfortunately for the elder, his body reacted in time, but his mind did not.

A full-force strike pierced straight through the elder's chest and seized his beating heart.

What immediately followed was a Visceral Attack launched personally by the King of the Abandoned Prison, layered with the Calamity Authority, crashing head-on against the Protection of the Stars.

As the arena for this clash of forces, the elder bore the final result: every trace of his existence was utterly annihilated.

This included both his physical body and the faint glimmer of life within his heart.

The Stars lost; they had failed to protect their Divine Child.

But the Blood Clan hadn't lost, because after a brief shock, the atmosphere for communication clearly began to liven up.

...

"Herbert?"

The first person to pull her gaze away from the gore on the floor was a woman in a hat.

Aside from her bewitching appearance, her most striking feature was her excessively tall stature.

She was a full size larger than even the men in the room.

Her enormous eyes—similar in size to Jane's when the young girl had been sick—somehow didn't look out of place on her face at all.

Right now, those massive eyes were sweeping up and down his body.

"Gulade, Herbert Gulad."

Fu Qian maintained his smile, borrowing the surname of a certain ancient family.

"A Dark Moon Apostle?"

The female vampire remained noncommittal, asking another question.

"The First Apostle of the Dark Moon."

"And the seventh?"

"And the seventh."

Given this bunch of oddities, Fu Qian wasn't surprised they knew even that much. As he answered, he mused to himself that The Order truly had been infiltrated like a sieve.

"Heh... you've caused quite a lot of trouble for us, because it seems we're the ones expected to supply the remaining five apostles."

Sensing Fu Qian's candor, the female vampire chuckled again, confirming the headache The Order had caused them over the past few days.

"Why are you wasting your breath on him, Baley? Hurry up and help kill him!"

Unfortunately, not everyone shared her conversational mood. Another female voice quickly snapped.

"Safar's heart is still in his hands."

So the elder's name was Safar?

Fu Qian didn't mind this diverse expression of opinions at all. Looking thoughtful, he lifted the heart in his hand slightly higher.

"Elder Safar? Is that his name?"

"...Of course not! Elder is just his title within the clan."

Even the fierce-looking Madam No. 2 was momentarily caught off guard by his question.

"So during his self-introduction earlier, he didn't even bother to tell me his real name?"

At those words, the seated Dark Moon Apostle instantly dropped his smile, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

"Such an act is truly courting his own death! I really let him off too easily just now!"

...

Let him off too easily?

It was clear that this remark sparked a strong reaction. More than one person stared back down at the bloody paste on the floor, utterly speechless.

"It's precisely because Safar's heart is in his hands... Go after him yourself if you want to."

The woman in the hat, Baley, finally answered the call to arms with a disdainful snort.

"Are you scared?"

Madam No. 2 was both shocked and furious. Fangs peeked past her lips as she glared at the woman, her eyes brimming with murderous intent toward this supposed traitor.

"There are so many of us! Even if his methods are bizarre, do you really think he could kill us all?"

"He could certainly kill the one suggesting it, at the very least."

Baley remained completely unfazed, waving her right hand, which had already shifted into a sharp claw.

Eerily beautiful, blood-red patterns coiled around her razor-sharp fingertips, even extending beyond them. At a glance, they almost looked like an exotic manicure.

"And let me remind you—Safar is completely dead. Even if you take that heart back, it's nothing more than a lump of rotting meat now."

"You—"

That last sentence clearly carried a heavy impact.

They had already somewhat sensed it, but the fact remained: Safar—arguably the strongest among them—had been instantly obliterated in a single clash, without even a sliver of hope left for resurrection.

With this bloody truth laid bare, Madam No. 2 couldn't help but look around the room, yet no one even met her eyes.

"Jacques."

But she clearly wasn't going to give up that easily. After a brief hesitation, she called out a name.

"Tell them what you told me earlier. Repeat it for everyone."

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