Eldritch Horror Theatre

Holding back on this contingency plan was the right call.

Staring down into the crater, Fu Qian felt the lingering tremors through the ground and thought to himself.

What had just happened was simple enough: he had waited for the perfect opening to take on the mantle of the King of the Abandoned Prison.

The White-Faced Man—who severely lacked brains and operated almost entirely on instinct—had predictably tried to clash with him head-on, throwing away every accumulated advantage in a single stroke.

Beyond landing a successful strike, the sudden shift in perspective had given him an unprecedentedly clear understanding of his own current state.

For instance, outside the Healing Dreamscape, his real body still sat within the Stone Tower...

Over in the corner, Doctor Dorian's eyes remained squeezed shut in a desperate, strained effort...

There were also the numerous Dolls belonging to both the Natives and the outsiders...

And then there was another Akons—one that perfectly overlapped with this "real world" yet never intersected it.

With his earlier theories about his predicament confirmed, Fu Qian even tried reaching out with his senses toward that untouchable, true Akons.

As he clearly observed Doctor Dorian leisurely toying with the Dolls back in the clinic, a bizarre sensation prickled at him. It felt as though a gaze had locked onto him in return.

Unfortunately, the sensation was entirely traceless. Rather than wasting effort trying to track it, Fu Qian simply canceled his Mythical Form and withdrew.

His reasoning was simple: the aftershocks he sensed were not just from his recent kick.

The moment he manifested as the King of the Abandoned Prison, every version of Akons—both real and illusory—began shuddering uncontrollably, teetering on the brink of collapse.

After a brief estimation of the force, Fu Qian concluded that long before he could shatter that layer of "glass," the entire place would cave in.

Option one really did have some execution flaws.

With that sigh, Fu Qian vanished from his spot. Slicing straight down through the earth with a Blood Crusade, he went after the White-Faced Man.

...

Now this is what you call perfect force control.

When Fu Qian reemerged, he was in a dim Underground space.

It was not particularly spacious, and dust still swirled through the air, but comfortingly, an indescribably intoxicating sweet fragrance laced the atmosphere.

Exactly. His kick had sent the White-Faced Man plummeting straight down into this underground clinic.

He had not chosen his retreat path blindly. The entire vertical layout of the Church had already been mapped out in his head.

Supplemented by his heightened perception and absolute control over his strength as the King of the Abandoned Prison, he had pinpointed the landing spot to the dead center of the Stone Chamber.

Considering the potential risks, Fu Qian had never intended to maintain his Mythical Form for very long, meaning he had to choose the location for his strike carefully.

Now, the main event of this trip was finally beginning.

"Thank you four for holding your posts. I brought my friend along."

Giving a slight nod to the four dust-covered Hilarias, Fu Qian stated his business without delay.

They certainly had not disappointed him.

Despite the massive commotion and the bizarre phenomena from above, the four Hilarias—who had previously failed to detain their patient—had resolutely stayed behind amid the rubble.

"We hit it off right away. I won't be accepting any treatment until he's cured."

Their perseverance had paid off. Suddenly, they had two patients on their hands.

...

Other than being weak, was there anything else special about the White-Faced Man?

There was one glaring issue he had raised just a moment ago—he was incredibly hard to find.

The creature clearly lacked the intelligence to deliberately hide, yet during his first night in Akons, Fu Qian had charged around with reckless abandon and still had not crossed paths with it before dawn broke.

Finding an excuse for that was not difficult. As Dorian had once mentioned, the White-Faced Man actually rarely showed up; most of the missing townsfolk had vanished of their own accord.

Perhaps he had simply missed its schedule, leaving him no choice but to rely on this dream-summoning method to force an encounter.

But was it possible there was another explanation?

What if it was also locked behind a pane of glass? Two exiled characters who inherently could not meet under normal circumstances?

As for the reason behind his own exile, the most logical explanation seemed to be that he was being specifically targeted for carrying out his mission.

If that were true, the previous hypothesis would not hold up. The White-Faced Man would be nothing more than the Night Butcher who had been active for years.

But what if there was a different explanation for that, too?

Compared to the other lost outsiders, what was intrinsically different about him?

—He was an outsider among outsiders.

He did not belong to the world outside; he had merely undergone synchronization.

Was it possible that this made him too difficult to convert—that rotten wood cannot be carved?

From that angle, his earlier theory might just hold water.

Provided the White-Faced Man possessed a similar uniqueness. For instance, the simplest possibility—a former administrator.

Given how often he bumped into his predecessors, it was not out of the question.

It also meant he did not have to entertain the assumption that his disguised persona had been instantly seen through—an assumption that severely underestimated the Warehouse's capabilities.

In short, both scenarios were entirely possible, and he did not have enough information to disprove either one.

Fortunately, he did not need to.

Because regardless of which was true, his next step remained exactly the same.

He was going to attempt to turn the White-Faced Man—this unique existence—into a Doll.

...

Once pure logic had identified the White-Faced Man as the unique variable, the idea of turning him into a Doll had instantly popped into Fu Qian's mind as a way to exploit him.

Destroying the creature was pointless; that much had already been proven.

So how could he make it work for him? Dorian had conveniently demonstrated a few referential methods.

By subjecting non-Natives to his "treatment," they would directly transform into Dolls upon a successful cure.

And Fu Qian had already proven that he could extract items from these temporary files.

The sheer possibility of carrying the White-Faced Man around in the form of a Doll made it entirely worth the attempt.

That was exactly why he had gone out of his way to collect four Hilarias.

After forcing Dorian to use as many outsiders as anchors as possible to summon a White-Faced Man with a much more stable existence, he still needed the most luxurious healing team available.

That had been the plan from the start.

His discoveries along the way—like the possibility that the White-Faced Man was a former administrator—only reinforced the necessity of pulling this off.

If the creature had been isolated because rotten wood cannot be carved, could forging such a character into an enduring Doll act as a poison pill, fundamentally disrupting the growth of the Bitter Fruit?

He would find out very soon.

"Good."

The Hilarias had clearly been moved by his display of friendship.

Uttering their agreements, the four women rose to their feet and advanced on the half-crushed corpse.

Ever since crashing down here, the creature had seemed mildly pacified by the sweet fragrance, no longer thrashing about violently.

Eight arms wrapped around the shattered form as four veiled faces pressed tightly against its broken remains.

Driven by the universal salvation of all living beings, they completely ignored its horrifying appearance—and their own rapidly withering flesh.

An unprecedentedly heavy, cloying sweetness permeated the entire space.

Fu Qian did not step back. He stood by, taking in the sensation.

Time seemed to lose all meaning. It could no longer be measured in terms of length, yet it felt incredibly, undeniably real.

He did not linger out of some desire to share in their suffering. He did it to offer Doctor Dorian outside one final sliver of hope, preventing him from throwing in the towel and forcefully aborting the treatment.

After all, despite his lack of cooperation, there was still a marginal chance that between him and the White-Faced Man, he would be the first to break and transform into a Doll—

But the White-Faced Man fell quiet first.

In his field of vision, three of the Hilarias had already been reduced to dry, withered bones. The final one slowly lifted her head, fixing her sluggish, almost entirely motionless eyes upon him.

"Thank you."

Fu Qian offered a gentle thanks. At that exact moment, he once again saw his own reflection mirrored in those dead eyes, alongside a ring of flickering candlelight.

He was back in the Stone Tower.

Just as he had thought. Once a treatment was completed, Doctor Dorian's dreamscape required a brief recess.

Glancing over, right beside the lifelike Doll of Hilaria, stood a newly added, diminutive figure wearing a round bowler hat over a stark white face.

[Current task completed. Designation 1-011 Containment successful.]

Oh?

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!