Eldritch Horror Theatre

The frost version of the Biochemical Demonic Arm.

Even now, Fu Qian remained utterly amazed by the seamless fluidity of this miraculous transformation granted by the Pope.

Yet, he had to admit this new visual effect not only suited his current image far better, but also adhered to the Pope's authority over aesthetics.

Ferocious and crystalline, the endless frost billowed like a harnessed, surging mist.

In that moment, his entire right arm seemed to transform into a frost dragon. With a body of pure ice, it unleashed a roaring white frost that symbolized death, pulverizing everything before him.

It wasn't just the three Blood Mirrors posing math questions—the entire footpath stretching into the distance was obliterated. Not a single intact fragment could be found in its wake.

Combined with his earlier words and imposing aura, it looked exactly as if Excellency Grimshaw, in a fit of absolute rage, had unleashed an even more taboo spell to bring down endless cold and destruction.

But as everyone knew, casting taboo spells always came at a price.

And right now, that very price was manifesting on Fu Qian's body.

Beneath his clothes, however, spiderweb cracks traced across every inch of his flesh—just like those shattered mirrors.

These wounds had appeared almost simultaneously with his strike, though they hadn't caused his attack to falter for even a fraction of a second.

Even now, he didn't spare a single glance at his own body.

"Clearly, you are still far from truly achieving Sublimation beyond your bestial nature."

As Fu Qian coldly put away his Bell Staff and surveyed his masterpiece, Brother Saint's voice was the first thing to ring out from the ruins.

Delivering a hopelessly negative review.

...

Layered shadows of butterflies.

Unfortunately for him, as a qualified charlatan, Fu Qian had long since mastered the second cardinal rule of the profession: never care about bad reviews.

Still silent, he merely gazed ahead, not even breaking his stride.

Yet amid the ruins in his line of sight, accompanying that latest negative review, white fragments fluttered up like dancing butterflies.

Their shapes were even identical to their source—the shattered remains of the Blood Mirrors scattered across the ground.

In the blink of an eye, the butterflies swarmed together, reassembling into a familiar figure among the rubble.

"You completely misunderstand what true power is, and how to wield it."

Although the wings on his back were less extravagant than they had been in the mirror, his face remained impossible to discern.

The faint, thread-like cracks tracing the intersections of the fragments on Brother Saint's body were completely identical to the wounds on Fu Qian's flesh.

And these fissures were healing at an even faster rate than Fu Qian's own.

On one hand, it proved that Brother Saint had suffered very little damage from the recent attack; on the other, it made his critique seem all the more justified.

"Oh?"

Finally coming to a halt, Fu Qian looked at the Saint blocking his path almost perfectly, giving a flat, emotionless response.

The next moment, his fractured face curled into a cold smile. He raised his Bell Staff once more, still lacking any interest in striking up a conversation.

"Unreasonable!"

The body blocking his way didn't move, but it inevitably radiated even more disdain.

"Give up. Until you understand what true existence is, your barbaric actions won't have any effect."

"Of course, they will be even more useless once you do understand, heh heh heh..."

Displaying a similarly charlatan-like demeanor, Brother Saint reached out as he spoke, catching a fluttering finger in midair.

"Did you think I had to rely on fragile concepts like a Reflection to manifest in this Sacred Land?"

Snapping the final piece of his body into place, he was clearly mocking Fu Qian's earlier brutish display.

"Then you've sorely underestimated the Third Follower."

In the next moment, he even took the initiative to reveal a new title.

A Follower? While it didn't sound quite as impressive as his own title of Dark Moon Apostle, it still carried a certain flair.

It even came with a number.

Speaking of which, if every one of them had a numbered seat, the group that had first appeared in the House of Mirrors could have formed a reinforced platoon at the very least, right?

They were definitely thriving far more than the Dark Moon Apostles.

Amid his silent admiration, Fu Qian finally paused his movements.

His consistently flat, mild expression made it seem less like he was intimidated, and more like he was giving the other party a chance to deliver their final words.

...

"Any damage inflicted upon me will only reflect back onto you."

He seemed to vaguely want to strike an imposing posture, but under Fu Qian's overwhelmingly oppressive aura, Brother Sanxun paused for several seconds before speaking. Even though his words sounded dire, they still came across a bit like a plea for leniency.

"I don't know what your purpose for entering this place is, but I know full well you consider yourself entirely different from the other fools."

"Unfortunately, believe me, you are fundamentally no different from them here... and absolutely no change inside this place can escape my eyes."

As if sensing his lacking momentum, Brother Sanxun elevated his posture significantly for his next statement.

"To the point where I can say with total certainty that they learned humility much faster than you have, heh heh heh..."

Amid his concluding chuckle, not a single trace of a wound could be seen on Sanxun's body. He used this practical demonstration to push his imposing aura to its absolute limit.

See? Interrogation under torture really is effective!

Although he clearly had no idea what was going through the mind of Fu Qian, whose expression hadn't changed once this entire time.

The way of application lies in a single heart.

Though it didn't sound particularly technical, the rule that "a good beating makes people talk more" was effective in many situations.

Whether the motive was fear or the desire to prove an absence of fear, Fu Qian believed that if not for his earlier physical language, the other party might not have shared so many interesting things.

"So this is why it's called the Sacred Land? Because there are too many rules to follow?"

To reward Brother Sanxun for his hard work, Fu Qian finally spoke, even adding a thoughtful expression for good measure.

"Though it wasn't particularly fast, it is somewhat gratifying."

Finally ceasing to flaunt any new spells, Sanxun expressed satisfaction with Fu Qian's performance for the very first time.

"You'd do well not to forget it, because moving forward, you'll increasingly realize just how important that sentence is."

"Don't worry, my memory is excellent. In fact, because it is, I have one small question."

Unfortunately, Fu Qian didn't gladly accept this opportunistic admonition. Instead, he rapidly demonstrated the rigorous mindset of an academic researcher.

"Are the rules originally carried by those people, and even the ones currently spreading throughout West Plain City, also connected to the Sacred Land?"

...

"Or are they connected to the Sacred Tree?"

Amid Brother Sanxun's silent response, Fu Qian neither minded nor stopped, simply continuing to add one last remark.

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