Eldritch Horror Theatre

Naturally, this wasn't an overflow of compassion; it was purely academic.

Fortunately, this rare opportunity meant the Witch had finally helped him figure out the origins of his past missions.

There still seemed to be two lingering questions.

First: who killed Him, leaving only a corpse on the Other Shore?

An authority of this nature would be incredibly difficult to deal with—just thinking about it made that obvious. Was this also something that happened during the Long Night?

Second: exactly as the Witch had just asked, what was the deal with these religious buildings in here?

He had only seen this kind of unique congregation effect over in the Wasteland, and even then, the intensity had been far milder.

Its underlying cause truly invited speculation.

Of course, all that was for later; right now, time was running out.

Sensing her analysis had helped, the Witch beamed as she watched the Knight ponder, waiting a moment before speaking up to remind him.

"And you know how to use this thing now. You need to keep finding food for it to provide me with an Anchor Point.

"However, I might not be able to show up so smoothly next time, so I might still need you to shoot an arrow. Even then, it will likely just be verbal communication."

Making it clear that this current situation was exceptionally rare, the Witch stared at Fu Qian's face, waiting for his answer.

Continue devouring to summon? That sounded a bit evil.

As for the causes and consequences of this change to his body, it did seem very necessary to share them. However—

"There's no need."

Fu Qian shook his head.

"Hmm?"

The Witch frowned slightly.

"Help me find that handprint and manifest it in my field of vision as much as possible. Can you do that?"

Fu Qian pointed at his own eye.

...

I'm not finding an Anchor Point for you; you're finding one for me.

As for a strenuous task like a Descent, I'll be the one doing it this time.

Back when he first discovered that the sacrifice's effects were so ideal—when the Witch made a direct, true-body Descent—Fu Qian had already formed a certain idea.

He couldn't hear the Witch's voice because he had lost his Transcendent Perception.

He couldn't lock onto his Imprint in that world to use the Extreme Hunger Infection, also because he had lost his Transcendent Perception.

And the only reason he could hear the Witch's voice right now was because she had skipped the perception process entirely and appeared directly in front of him. She had done the heavy lifting of breaking through the boundary.

So, was it possible for her to take it a step further and help him see that drop of blood?

He certainly had many things worth sharing, but there would be plenty of time to chat once he went over there.

Furthermore, many speculations related to the Dark Moon were well worth a trip to that world to seek out answers.

"I can... but are you sure? Your side effects will be much greater than mine."

The Knight was actually preparing to follow her back.

The Witch clearly understood Fu Qian's intentions, but she still offered a serious warning.

"It's fine. I'm much stronger now, aren't I?"

Fu Qian casually patted his chest.

"Heh... alright."

Without offering any further persuasion, the Witch chuckled and raised her head.

A moment later, a dark red mark shaped like a hand actually began to slowly emerge on the Dark Moon in the night sky.

Truly not bad. The Pope is mighty.

It wasn't particularly clear, as though separated by layer upon layer of space and time.

But there was no doubt it was his handiwork, and it had indeed entered his field of vision.

Praising her in his heart, Fu Qian locked onto it without hesitation and activated the Extreme Hunger Infection.

The Other Shore, space and time, barriers... all these concepts washed over him.

...

This had to be the legendary conjugate mutual visit.

The Pope had gone to so much trouble to visit the Bookstore World, yet he was heading to her point of origin to seek out the painting within a painting.

For the destination to be in his field of vision yet not within the world was truly an alternative sensation.

But for Fu Qian, who already had experience operating it, the process remained silky smooth.

Having packed his things in advance, he didn't even need to exert great effort to maintain his Mythical Form this time; he simply needed to be himself.

This true self was even more intact and sturdy than his Mythical Form had been back then—but wasn't it a bit too sturdy?

At a certain moment, accompanied by a seemingly familiar loud crash, Fu Qian clearly felt his body leap out and fall back down, as well as the fragments showering down from above his head.

Although the operator was no longer who he used to be, the rigidity of the Extreme Hunger Infection remained the same.

Transforming into a worm meant he absolutely had to burst out from the Underground; this standard procedure hadn't been omitted in the slightest.

That's right, the scene before his eyes was a familiar one as well—the Art Gallery.

The layout of the building, and even the paintings hung all around, easily evoked numerous memories for Fu Qian. This was exactly the destination of his last Extreme Hunger Infection.

The plan to have the Witch help move the destination right in front of his eyes, thereby skipping the Transcendent Perception step, appeared to be a complete success.

In fact, due to the Witch's control, there was even a minor improvement: what he had just pierced through was not the Art Gallery's bottommost foundation, but the floorboard of one of its levels.

Looking up now, the painting bearing his bloody handprint was just a few steps away.

Not only had he arrived smoothly, but the positioning was even more precise compared to last time.

And that wasn't the only change... Without rushing to touch his handiwork, Fu Qian instead looked down to examine himself.

As for his clothes, the successive encounters over the past few days could absolutely be called an unbearable burden for textiles. By now, they had been completely reduced to ash.

But compared to last time, the damage to his flesh and blood was much lighter.

He vividly remembered that when he arrived back then, his body had been torn apart along the way to the point where he felt completely dismantled. This time, although he was covered in scars, his flesh and bones were still securely connected.

Was the Complete-Form Tyrant terrifying to this degree? Or had the mechanical remake sacrificed inspiration in exchange for higher durability?

Regardless, it didn't seem to be a bad thing. It was just a pity that the Armor gifted by the Red Moon couldn't be summoned.

Feeling slightly regretful, Fu Qian surveyed his surroundings and recalled the layout of the Art Gallery—the next moment, he actually turned right around and walked downstairs.

...

I remembered it being here.

Arriving at his destination a moment later, Fu Qian felt very satisfied with his memory.

The venue didn't just exhibit paintings. Placed before his eyes was a complete set of full-body armor, though it obviously leaned much more toward artistic aesthetics than practicality.

Even though it was made of metal, its lines were smooth and covered in exquisite ornamentation; the material itself seemed so overly focused on visual effects that it was as thin as if woven from silver silk.

As for the headpiece, it seemed to have completely given up any pretense of practicality, taking the direct shape of a top hat.

Of course, this still wasn't a problem. Protective effects were the very last thing Fu Qian needed. Having a good style was enough—

"It looks pretty good."

Facts proved that great minds think alike. Almost exactly as he put it on, Nelgria, the Dark Moon Pope, walked out from the side and gave the same high praise while scrutinizing him closely.

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