Eldritch Horror Theatre

Isn't the effect a bit too good?

The scene was as dazzling as a firework, and just as fleeting.

The Meteors rapidly drifted and dimmed. By the time everything settled, that stretch of starry sky was completely consumed by chaos and disorder.

Almost instantly, Fu Qian sensed an indescribable danger emanating from within it.

It seems I've fulfilled my previous promise. As a Dream Dominator, I've finally developed some high-end techniques.

Amid his self-praise, Fu Qian clearly felt the surging pressure the Mythical Form inflicted on his body as the seconds ticked by.

It was no longer the feeling of a rapidly draining Health Bar, but the critical danger of a fuel gauge hitting absolute zero.

Yet Fu Qian still did not cancel it.

The next moment, he focused his entire perspective on the painting in "reality," refusing to miss a single sliver of information.

This small space was being repelled by the rest of the world.

Conversely, inside the true Lucid Dream at this moment, its connection with the surroundings had grown far smoother.

At that moment, Fu Qian believed that anything—whether human or insect—could step into this dream completely unhindered.

Just like what the Blood Clan had done tonight.

...

Patterns, colors, shapes, textures... A multitude of elements unfolded before his eyes.

Under the full gaze of a Deity, everything contained within the painting lay completely bare before him.

At this moment, this painting could practically be considered as truly existing within a Nightmare.

How could a professional give up so easily?

Although, despite his iron-fisted progress, the increasingly clear truth was growing increasingly grim.

But Fu Qian had always possessed excellent, rather inhuman thinking habits.

Take, for example, the methodology he had mentioned to Ms. Bali during the meeting: discarding any bias about whether a premise was valid and simply using it as a foundation for deduction.

Therefore, no matter how much the investigation results screamed that everything was already meaningless, Fu Qian never abandoned one specific thought: what would happen if this painting was truly thrust into a Nightmare?

Stripped of the defining restraints of the Law, would it still retain a shred of meaning?

...

A hypothesis was one thing, but actually producing such an effect in this world was no easy task.

Due to recent unforeseen events, people from The Order entering Nightmares had almost become a daily occurrence.

Even when he and Reginald had explored that dream hospital together, Reginald had brought the Pocket Watch lady inside.

But in essence, that had merely been a projection of the item itself.

After all, it wasn't until they left the Nightmare that Reginald shoved the "spoils of war" at him, declaring that The Order wouldn't take unearned advantages.

If he had handed it over within the dream, only for them to wake up and find the Pocket Watch missing, the secret would have been instantly exposed.

What Fu Qian needed to do was place the painting itself in a state genuinely forsaken by the Stars, utilizing every available resource.

As early as his time in Mist Town, Fu Qian had already made up his mind. This was exactly why he had asked Amira to help him request a leave of absence.

Confirming the painting's location in advance would save the maximum amount of time.

And now, after braving immense risks, the moment to test his theory had finally arrived.

From the looks of it, those risks had not been taken in vain.

From Fu Qian's perspective, a certain abstract concept rippled outward from the painting bit by bit, sweeping across the surroundings.

It was difficult to describe precisely with words. If he had to put it into terms, it was as if everything around him was dehydrating and collapsing, ultimately being smeared onto paper like paint.

Fu Qian did not resist; he even canceled his Mythical Form.

The next moment, an even deeper darkness swept over him.

...

In the extremely dim light, Fu Qian peered through the stained-glass window, gazing at the howling blizzard outside.

Without even turning his head, he knew he was no longer in the Art Gallery.

The shape of this window was all too familiar to him.

Shifting his gaze downward, Fu Qian looked at the massive canvas before him.

Next to the canvas sat a tall stool, holding a few paintbrushes and a dried-up palette.

It was an entirely familiar scene, one that seemed as though it had never changed.

Only this time, there was no figure sitting on the tall stool, confidently dictating the state of the world.

Yes, Fu Qian was absolutely certain. He was currently standing in the exact place where he had once been invited to repaint the Painting World—that hidden little studio.

And besides the fact that the Witch was no longer there, the painting on the canvas before him had actually been swapped out for a different one.

Although the colors were similarly faded and aged, Fu Qian recognized it at a single glance: it depicted his current workplace—the Art Gallery of Laerdin.

The painting in the Art Gallery depicts this place, and the painting here depicts the Art Gallery?

To the outside, this world is a painting, but to the inside, the outside world is a painting?

There's a certain conjugate beauty to it.

Fu Qian nodded slightly, finding it deeply fascinating.

The normal state is naturally the former. But when the outside world is forsaken by the Stars, does the situation begin to tilt toward the latter? Thus creating that sensation of being smeared onto paper?

He didn't actually believe the outside world was truly painted into existence like this. Compared to before, the power contained in the painting before him was significantly weaker; it was hard to imagine it supporting a city of that scale.

It felt more like it was using this unique method to preserve a hidden entrance for this world.

"Now I know why you were afraid to embarrass yourself back then."

After examining it closely, Fu Qian let out a long sigh, muttering to himself.

"This brushwork doesn't even measure up to Tan Ying's."

...

Without a doubt, the painting before him was the handiwork of the Pope.

And Fu Qian hadn't let that bias him; he had still given a fair and objective evaluation.

After ensuring he hadn't missed anything, Fu Qian didn't linger and immediately left the studio.

The layout was exactly as he remembered, though it carried an even heavier sense of age and weathering compared to his last visit.

Even the darkness of the raging blizzard outside had grown far deeper and gloomier.

However, he could see that the areas buried in snow during his last visit had all been cleared away.

Considering it had once been chosen as the Dark Moon Church, it remained consistent with what he had seen during the call.

It was just that at this very moment, not a single trace remained of the festive grandeur from his final exchange with the Witch.

Along the way, there wasn't a single living creature in sight. Even the Seven Lights in the sky had long since dissipated.

A complete and utter deathly silence shrouded everything. Even Fu Qian's unsuppressed footsteps failed to disturb it in the slightest.

Of course, the dim lighting had absolutely no effect on Fu Qian's movements either.

Recalling the layout from his memories, Fu Qian navigated through the darkness without pause.

Creak!

Then, at a certain point, he stopped in his tracks, raised a hand to push open a large set of doors before him, and peered inside expressionlessly.

Amidst the slightly grating sound of the doors, a familiar, magnificent Great Hall came into view.

And at the far end of the Great Hall, a figure was leaning diagonally against an exquisitely ornate long seat, resting their cheek against their hand, looking as though they were fast asleep.

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