Eldritch Horror Theatre

He had encountered countless evil forces by now, but this situation was a rarity.

Fu Qian was confident in his perception. While this negative effect wasn't identical to color loss, the two were fundamentally connected.

All his maneuvering had finally forced the mysterious opponent's Rank to climb, only for it to manifest this specific authority?

It posed a unique danger to him, without a doubt, but it was also something of a surprise. The origins of this Night Butcher were growing more and more intriguing.

Fracture Cleaver... did that name hold some special meaning?

Furthermore, this color loss effect felt less like a general trait and more like a targeted attack against him.

After all, according to Dorian's description, this blade seemed forged purely for torment. When it slaughtered the Natives, the process had been far from clean.

Even if the end result was pristine, leaving not a single trace behind.

Ultimately, the White-Faced Man before him was essentially just a projection of the true entity within this dreamscape.

If he couldn't even endure a few strikes of color loss, it was hard to imagine how the Natives had been tormented for so long.

Of course, it would be best if the entity itself could answer these questions.

"What should I call you?"

His tone was mild. Facing the White-Faced Man, who was sizing him up once more, Fu Qian smiled and offered the same greeting as last time.

Clang!

Unfortunately, even with a Rank vastly superior to before, his opponent chose the exact same response: an immediate attack.

This strike was even more ruthless than the last, aimed directly at cleaving Fu Qian in half.

The move was sudden, but Fu Qian had dealt with enough deranged lunatics to never truly let his guard down. He successfully swatted the blade away once again.

However, after two consecutive parries, the veins and bones beneath the skin of his right hand were clearly visible.

...

Bang!

He had assumed its previous refusal to communicate was due to the extreme instability of the projection.

Now it seemed far more likely that the original entity's mental state was deeply compromised to begin with.

Fu Qian didn't need to look down to know the condition of his right hand.

Firing a casual shot in return, he silently calculated how many more strikes he could endure. Yet, what concerned him most was still his opponent's well-being.

Dorian had undoubtedly poured everything he had into this encounter; within his capabilities, the doctor had pushed things to the absolute limit.

The results were staggering. This was entirely different from the other entities he had faced—beings with high Ranks but fundamentally incomplete forms, manifesting only a sliver of authority.

The thing standing before him felt almost like a genuine Tier 1 entity answering the summons.

Unfortunately, the only thing radiating from the White-Faced Man was a naked, bestial thirst for slaughter. Trying to squeeze a few more words out of it was clearly a lost cause.

Still, this information wasn't entirely meaningless.

First, a mindless Tier 1 entity prowling a specialized night to indulge in slaughter further diminished the chances that this was taking place in reality.

Second, the probability of such a creature deliberately avoiding him was even smaller.

The absolute lack of mercy it had shown him in both Healing Dreamscapes proved as much.

Yet, despite his previous brazen strolls through the night, he had never once bumped into it...

Clang! Bang!

He swatted away another strike. After his previous shot was easily dodged, he fired one more right before vanishing from the spot, reappearing a safe distance away.

Unfortunately, his opponent's next strike cleaved through the air almost simultaneously, without slowing for a fraction of a second.

While the White-Faced Man hadn't displayed any cross-dimensional tracking abilities after Fu Qian concealed himself with Blood Crusade, the creature still possessed the keen instincts of a Tier 1, shadowing his hidden movements in perfect synchronization.

Trying to shake it off with this method was clearly impossible.

Fu Qian couldn't even dodge this incoming blade.

The terrifying strike carved a hideous half-gash across his waist.

It was only half a gash because, in that same fraction of a second, a fist wreathed in golden flames slammed into the swordsman's body, sending it flying.

A cloud of white dust even erupted from its frame, as if that single punch had instantly reduced it to bone ash.

...

Of course, it wasn't that simple.

Feeling a bizarre sensation pulse through his fist, Fu Qian didn't press the attack after trading blows. Instead, he inspected his own body.

Without a doubt, the wound tainted by the strange oil from the blade showed absolutely no signs of healing.

What was worse, he could see his internal organs at a glance, and even the Church behind him.

If color loss had a Health Bar, that single strike had chopped away nearly half of it.

His margin for error had just been compressed to virtually zero.

That wasn't the only negative consequence. The opponent he had just sent flying was already rushing back toward him, entirely unfazed.

With his current Rank and the power of that unique flame, a punch like that would have severely injured even the Old Man of Anjing back in the day.

Yet, based on the tactile feedback, he had likely only managed to leave a minor dent in that inhuman body.

The color loss effect wasn't merely a risk of being forcibly ejected from this world; it also seemed to severely dampen his offensive output—even his non-physical damage.

Roar—

Facing the charging White-Faced Man once more, he responded by fully unleashing a Gospel Shockwave.

The White-Faced Man didn't falter for a single second; it immediately slashed down with its blade once again.

The strike missed, as Fu Qian had already vanished from the spot.

Did its lack of sanity, coupled with the effects of color loss, render such a Mental Shock completely useless?

Analyzing the situation as he reemerged from Blood Crusade, Fu Qian widened the distance significantly this time, stopping just a single step away from entering the Church grounds.

Unsurprisingly, the blade known as Fracture Cleaver caught right up to him.

Clang!

This time, the strike was met by another hand burning with golden flames—only this one was a full size larger.

That rapidly expanding, blinding figure grabbed the long blade with unimaginable speed right before the strike could land.

"Too attached to your weapon to let it go? Makes sense. It suits your style."

Having transformed into the King of the Abandoned Prison, Fu Qian swung his other fist, hammering into the exact same spot as before.

In that moment, countless overlapping wails seemed to echo through the air. A massive chunk of that previously indestructible body instantly vanished.

Crack!

Amidst a crisp shattering sound, the Fracture Cleaver—which its wielder still stubbornly refused to release—was crushed into dozens of pieces by Fu Qian.

"Let me double-check the angle..."

Looking down at the ruined body that had crashed to the ground but was still struggling to move, Fu Qian muttered to himself as he gauged his orientation and his distance from the Church. Then, he raised his foot.

Boom!

With an earth-shattering impact, a savage stomp drove the ruined body deep into the ground.

"Your mental state doesn't look too promising. Let me recommend a few good doctors."

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