Eldritch Horror Theatre

Although he hadn't hesitated in his actions along the way, there was one question Fu Qian had never stopped pondering: why did the Warehouse make him work so hard to upgrade?

It was just killing at the end of the day. Once the target was locked, why not just send his complete form in and let him unleash everything to clear the field?

Why make his favorite type of mission so complicated?

Now, he seemed to have found the answer—this place's capacity had a limit.

Entities of too high a Rank making a direct Descent would be rejected by it.

Although he was currently only Tier 2, Fu Qian could already feel himself treading on some critical threshold.

Right now, he was like a high-powered appliance operating right at the circuit's limit; the slightest slip and he might get forcibly disconnected.

This also seemed to explain why Luyi, despite supposedly having the backing of a Deity's power, had to go through so much trouble to invite guests.

The three Demigods might possess a high Rank, but how could they possibly compare to a Deity's will?

The restrictions had to apply equally across the board.

Even if he truly had a high-Rank entity backing him, it couldn't make a direct Descent into this place to participate in the consensus.

Leaking in even a sliver of authority—such as the omnipresent Order of Blood—was likely pushing the limits of this space's capacity.

In short, absolute overclocking maneuvers like unleashing the King of the Abandoned Prison were completely off the table.

And Luyi's suggestion to continue elevating himself was clearly a trap as well.

Setting aside Anchor Points, the audience, and the story, continuing to upgrade simply wouldn't be enough.

Even if it were enough, doing so would likely just boot him out of the instance entirely, resulting in mission failure.

Fighting on his home turf, Brother Luyi hadn't disappointed; he had prepared contingencies, and multiple layers of them at that.

Not only was a cultural victory impossible, but Luyi was completely immune to physical annihilation.

"Indeed, one can never stop striving to elevate themselves. Isn't that right, Dean Li?"

Amidst his praise, Fu Qian turned to ask Old Man Li for his thoughts on the spectacle.

...

"Very clever, but isn't it a little late for that?"

Luyi was surprised by Fu Qian's sudden attempt to converse with their sole remaining audience member, but he appreciated the flexibility nonetheless.

"To respect the aged and honor the wise is only proper, of course. But shouldn't you consider what you just did?"

The implication was simple: you just executed his close companion, Ji Ning, right in front of him, and now you're trying to patch things up to keep pitching your story?

As for the deeper subtext, it was equally clear to Fu Qian: in taking the route of physical annihilation just a moment ago, he had essentially abandoned the story on his own. Did he really think he could just pick it back up and strive for a cultural victory?

"A curse that strikes straight at the essence?"

Unfortunately, it seemed Luyi's judgment was correct.

Old Man Li's face remained utterly expressionless. When he finally spoke, he completely ignored the question about self-elevation, bringing the topic straight back to the desperate warning Ji Ning had issued before her death.

"Yes. You can consider it the authority of the Tyrant."

Fu Qian took no offense at this reaction, answering him directly.

What Ji Ning had staked her life to convey earlier was naturally the Calamity Authority of the King of the Abandoned Prison.

It was also why her body had been so fragile against the Air Bullet.

Such an unreasonable amplification of damage instilled a very specific terror that a High-Tier Transcendent would understand all too well.

Thus, his purpose in using it—beyond mere efficiency—was to help Excellency Ji Ning recognize his true colors.

The results had proven highly effective; she had even passed the information along to Old Man Li.

"The Tyrant..."

This title had come up earlier during their conversation about the ring. The old man's memory was clearly still sharp.

The proof of this lay in the silver straight sword in his hand. As he muttered to himself, it began crumbling into countless chaotic fragments and raining down, exactly as the Golden Halberd had done before.

Unlike the halberd, however, the silver blade did not shatter completely. Faint, curling threads remained, barely sketching out its former silhouette.

"I have witnessed countless indescribable horrors. I have seen flesh and blood undergo metamorphosis and Sublimation through supernatural refinement, and I have seen humanity shatter like fireworks in the dark of night..."

The old man's emotionless voice continued.

"None of this has ever made me feel ashamed of my own insignificance. Instead, it has taught me to cherish the less exalted things in life, even a persistence born from fallacy..."

"I am no longer so worried about them. But by that same token, I no longer care about your true motives, either."

With his final word, he casually swung the shattered long sword.

No dazzling brilliance flared. No razor-sharp sword qi erupted. Yet, in that fleeting instant, both distance and physical form seemed to lose all meaning.

Amidst a bizarre, teeth-setting screech, the massive structure beneath them—a thing resembling both ancient Ruins and a mangled corpse—was cleanly split in two.

As an even more eerie sound echoed, several chunks of severed flesh tumbled abruptly out of thin air and hit the ground.

Beneath the swing of that corroded, shattered blade, the untraceable Tree Infants had been inexplicably slaughtered on the spot.

And now, that faint silhouette of a blade was pointed right at him.

Accompanying it was Luyi's laughter.

...

Sword cultivators truly were an unreasonable bunch. Leveling up in the middle of a battle was as easy as lifting a hand for them.

At that moment, Fu Qian couldn't help but sigh in admiration.

It wasn't too hard to understand what had just happened: Old Man Li had leveled up.

Just as Luyi had said, this old man's level was far beyond that of any ordinary Demigod.

Coupled with the 'mind over matter' nature of this space, the repeated shocks had pushed him right past his bottleneck in a single stride.

At the same time, it was obvious the old man had no intention of chatting any further. He just wanted to hack the masterminds to death, one after another.

Excellency Luyi's cheerful laughter was proof enough that he recognized this as well.

"Unfortunately, it seems Dean Li has no interest in hearing either of our stories."

As Fu Qian carefully examined the blade aimed at him, Luyi's voice rang out again.

"To be completely honest, no matter which of you falls first, I believe this story will reach its conclusion... which is also my conclusion."

Blood splattered.

While Luyi calmly and confidently seized every opportunity to push for a cultural victory, Fu Qian's left side was pierced clean through.

Old Man Li truly didn't care about anyone's words anymore. He simply launched his attack at the nearest target.

Even flesh and blood as resilient as a False God failed to block that casual strike.

Of course, Old Man Li paid a price for it: a counter-punch blasted him flying, reducing his sword arm to a pulp of mangled flesh.

Switching arms, he slashed out a second time in mid-air, ripping Fu Qian's red and blue robes to shreds. Simultaneously, the old man's body was struck by a beam of limpid radiance cascading from above.

A subtle but uncontrollable sluggishness weighed him down, practically ensuring he was struck by a second beam.

Then a third, a fourth...

"An interesting power, though it hardly suits your style..."

Watching Fu Qian suddenly transform into a moonfire warrior, his phantom-like movements continuously calling down bombardments upon Li He's body, Luyi seamlessly slipped into the role of a commentator.

Despite his obvious bias, it was clear that he genuinely didn't understand Fu Qian's strategy.

Although each strike compounded the slowing effect, it wasn't particularly obvious against a newly advanced Tier 2 expert—until suddenly, Li He's movement speed dropped to absolute zero.

A stark look of bewilderment forced its way onto his wooden face, as if he had just witnessed something utterly inconceivable.

'It really is an ancient Deity... so that face is?'

Slowly raising his head, Li He stared at Fu Qian.

'Hmph, you know nothing about cultural victories!'

'He could ignore the story this seat was telling, but what if the Progenitor of the Blood Clan told it to him personally?'

And that soul-stealing face—the one whose backstory had sounded like a mere Lie earlier—stared down at Luyi with a cold snort.

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