Eldritch Horror Theatre

It was only a part-time job, after all.

After returning with a full haul and parting ways with Professor Lisa—who was in a rush to conduct her tests—Fu Qian arrived back at the Laboratory. Unsurprisingly, his research assistant hadn't returned from her cultivation, leaving him unable to assign any immediate follow-up work.

Since there was no follow-up work to begin with, this obviously wasn't a problem.

Professor Fu, who had just been preaching about the world's karmic ties, walked straight over and opened an unlocked cabinet.

After his return, Classmate Liushuang had made a point to remind him that the surplus funds for the Laboratory's daily operations were all kept inside.

She had even been considerate enough to convert a substantial portion of it into cash.

Pocketing all of it as his "scientific research funding," Fu Qian headed up to the top floor. With a casual flick, he adjusted the dial's hands, ensuring that by the time Classmate Liushuang returned from class, it would already be the dead of night inside—the perfect atmosphere for her to study hard.

He didn't leave a single word of explanation behind. Instead, he directly removed the "Emissary."

...

The light suddenly dimmed. The next moment, Fu Qian was sitting in his chair, silently offering that evaluation as he toyed with the cylinder in his hand.

He could easily sense that the activity level of Claudora's flesh inside the cylinder had dropped even further than when he was outside.

It had shown some restless activity after being brought out, but now it lay almost entirely dormant.

Not bad.

This meant his plan was solid: he would use the Warehouse to quickly transfer to the Shangjing Bookstore, and from there, set out for West Plain.

Because of the distance, this route would save a considerable amount of time compared to setting off directly from the Academy.

As for the off chance of a miscalculation—what if the flesh exhibited abnormal behavior inside the Warehouse? Well, how could that even be called a mistake?

Testing the properties of the Warehouse was a highly valuable endeavor in its own right.

Besides, given his prestige in Apocalypse—not to mention his personal relationship with the person in charge—applying for another sample wouldn't be a problem at all.

Of course, even so, that was no excuse to casually waste it.

For instance, he still needed to observe its reaction to the Warehouse's influence a bit longer before drawing any firm conclusions.

He had to be rigorous.

Casually setting the cylinder on the table, Fu Qian quietly watched it.

After all, he needed to wait a little while anyway. If he put the mask straight back on right now, he would just end up back at the Academy.

In the silent air, Fu Qian sat like a languid sculpture, completely melting into his chair.

Only the bloodstains on the "Emissary" slowly spread through the darkness.

...

There were indeed no abnormal movements, and the Warehouse didn't seem to have any intention of purifying "it".

Time ticked by. Eventually, Fu Qian's hand moved, snatching the cylinder back up.

Even an action like that failed to provoke the slightest reaction from the flesh.

Meanwhile, the mask had made a substantial recovery, as shown by the bloodstains.

Grabbing the "Emissary" with his other hand, Fu Qian placed it squarely on his face.

Light swirled. His sense of timing proved to be spot on; before his eyes lay the familiar upper floor of The Bookstore.

Given that it wasn't open for business, it was also remarkably quiet.

The light filtering in through the window already carried a hint of twilight.

Fu Qian didn't pause to admire it, however. He immediately got up and went to the nearby wardrobe.

"Why does it feel like I ruin an outfit every time I come back?"

Muttering the complaint, Fu Qian managed to fish out his sole surviving outfit and slip it on, removing the "Soft Hedgehog Armor" in the process.

That was right—another reason he chose this place as a transit hub was so he could change clothes.

Not everywhere had a dense academic atmosphere like the Academy, so it was better to dress like this to avoid scaring people.

He checked himself in the mirror. Once he confirmed everything was in order, he brushed a hand over his face, his features rapidly shifting to form another visage.

Brown hair, green eyes, and mature features.

That was right. It was none other than the diviner who had once made a name for himself in Loss—the mysterious Frost Demigod, Grimshaw.

The only difference from back then was the thick beard now covering the lower half of his face, though it did nothing to diminish his wise, gentle appearance.

Theoretically speaking, this trip was just revisiting an old haunt for a quick look around. Proceeding openly under his identity as an Academy professor would have been perfectly fine—but that was only in theory.

Given the potential connection to the Law, along with his previous experiences in Laerdin, Fu Qian had set a rather high ceiling for the level of trouble this trip might involve.

Because of that, he ultimately decided to proceed under this identity.

Packing away the demigod's flesh, Fu Qian activated Blood Crusade and vanished from the spot.

Of course, before he left, he checked the ground out of habit to confirm there were no new letters.

It hadn't been that long since his last departure. Chief Yuan was probably still living it up in the Sacred Night Capital, completely forgetting about home.

...

Clack!

With the subtle yet distinctly heavy thud of a closing door, the pitch-black night was completely shut out.

As an aging small city, West Plain wasn't exactly bustling at night, let alone now that it was already so late.

Take the figure who had just walked through the door, for instance. He clearly had no love for nightlife—even if he was ridiculously burly.

After firmly shutting the door, the man didn't stop there. He carefully worked his way around the area, setting off a series of mechanical clicks and clatter.

Phew—

Only after fully activating what appeared to be an entire security system did the man finally let out a long sigh of relief and turn around.

"Hi!"

He was welcomed by a wildly enthusiastic greeting, freezing his half-turned body in place.

"Who's there?"

He was undoubtedly thoroughly spooked, but it was still obvious that the man returning home was no ordinary person.

"How did you get in?"

Without attempting the tedious process of unlocking the door to flee, he stood his ground with a guarded expression. Sizing up the seated intruder, he asked coldly.

"Compared to those two questions, don't you think it's more important to figure out whether I'm here to hurt you?"

Despite the less-than-polite reception, Fu Qian didn't mind. He even took the initiative to offer a suggestion.

That was right. After arriving in West Plain, he hadn't rushed to Mid-Mountain Manor to visit his old friend from the Huang Clan. Instead, he had chosen to come here first.

After all, even though the man standing before him couldn't recognize him, he was still essentially an old acquaintance.

He had even been to this residence once before. This was one of West Plain's transcendents, a paragon of self-preservation—the burly Heavy Hammer who had rigged his entire house with layers of heavy security.

When it finally came time to execute Ill Omen, this guy's caution had paid off. He had spent most of the time on the sidelines acting as a cheerleader, which saved him from getting his head chopped off.

Of course, he hadn't come here to drag up ancient history.

"So you're here to kill me?"

The burly man took the advice. Maintaining a hair-trigger tone, he asked a new question.

"That depends."

Fu Qian's response was entirely mild.

His reason for making this his first stop was simple. This guy had proven to be incredibly well-informed during their last encounter. Combine that with his overwhelming drive to survive, and who could possibly be better suited for gathering intelligence and assessing the current situation?

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