Eldritch Horror Theatre

A godsend for the obsessive-compulsive.

Though the sight was bizarre, from the moment the first cut fell, Fu Qian still gave it a fair assessment.

As if it had exhausted its last shred of value to complete the offering, the shriveled flesh was already honeycombed.

Its dead-wood hue contrasted sharply with the buried veins and sinews, immediately evoking a powerful urge—almost like the impulse to peel a scab right off the skin.

And the male office worker was doing exactly that.

Cut by cut, slice by slice, any trace of his previous hesitation had vanished. All his focus was clearly concentrated on the task at hand.

You could even see his hands trembling slightly.

Not from nervousness, but from excitement.

As someone with strong empathy, Fu Qian easily made this judgment.

The silver lining was that this loss of control didn't turn them into raving lunatics; rather, it was as if they were involuntarily prostrating themselves before a miracle.

As for the subject—the one undergoing the rite—not a hint of pain could be seen on his face. In fact, his posture perfectly complemented the two office workers.

Sitting ramrod straight, he exuded an almost palpable sense of intoxication, as if he were washing away his mortal filth and touching divine grace.

This joy of casting off his shackles was so intense that his hanging hands were visibly curling, as if he could barely suppress the urge to tear himself open faster.

Though this impulse was kept firmly pinned down by the female office worker standing guard.

They seemed thoroughly prepared.

Faced with this scene of tacit cooperation, Fu Qian watched with keen interest.

Of course, while not sparing his praise, he didn't neglect his old friend either; he continued to pay attention to his own body.

The changes were still ongoing.

On the back of his hand, the shape of the leech was already highly distinct.

His skin hadn't been torn, making it look as though the creature had burrowed underneath.

Over this period, the Burlap Doll hadn't made any new moves, but it didn't seem to have canceled the curse either. It was steadily outputting its negative influence, constantly helping him draw closer to the Solitary King as well.

Thriving and flourishing; there was no better way to describe it.

Fu Qian still took no action. Amid his marveling, he quietly felt the boundless vitality in this place where the dream began—a vitality so great it could barely be contained.

...

"Why—"

Unfortunately, the peaceful years were brief after all. Barely a minute into the tranquil atmosphere, a hysterical growl swept through the surroundings.

It wasn't the seated man finally feeling pain and struggling to stand.

On the contrary, the one who roared was the person holding him down.

It was so jarring that the newcomer, deep in the throes of liberating pleasure, was forced to open his eyes, the joy freezing on his face.

Truth be told, from this angle, no abnormality appeared on the female office worker, but that shout truly sounded bloodcurdling.

As to why she had such a reaction, Fu Qian figured he could hazard a guess—the female office worker's gaze was glued to the one wielding the knife.

And the latter, who had been controlling the situation all along, had unexpectedly stopped his movements.

There was clearly still a small portion left unfinished, making the newcomer look as if he were wearing a collared shirt. Yet the knife-wielding hand seemed frozen, showing no intention of coming down again.

"Why—"

After this standoff lasted for a few breaths, the male office worker repeated the exact same line in the exact same tone.

"Why is there no divine grace?"

...

Divine grace?

It was comforting to know that despite their emotional instability, they were at least making sense.

The male office worker's final confusion clearly explained why such a sudden shift had occurred.

A portion of the female office worker's fright obviously stemmed from him.

And the reason he had stopped was because he hadn't seen the divine grace.

As for what "divine grace" was—

Fu Qian's gaze fell upon the newcomer's neck.

Clean, pinkish, and tender—like a freshly molted crab.

He had previously wondered if this was the normal appearance after molting, but it now seemed that was not the case.

Judging by the reactions of the male and female office workers, even if it had just been peeled bare, it was likely supposed to have those white traces clinging to it.

Much like the blood light inside the leech, that too was a manifestation of the Solitary King's favor.

And this group's ideology was to excavate this trace from within the body, discard the useless burdens, and thereby draw closer to it.

An easily understood line of thought.

Even Fu Qian could, to a certain extent, figure out exactly what had gone wrong.

"Blaspheming divine grace—"

Amid his evaluation, the male office worker seemed to have found an answer as well.

The next moment, he suddenly whipped his head around and locked a death stare in this direction.

Even his previously darting eyes were no longer wandering; they looked as though they were bulging out of his skull, tinged with a blood-seeping crimson.

...

'That's right, it must be some lowly scoundrel causing a disturbance nearby, making me lose the Solitary King's favor.'

To this reaction, Fu Qian felt absolutely no surprise.

Whenever things involving faith and divine favor were concerned, looking for a scapegoat the moment they failed was standard procedure.

After all, such things couldn't be quantified. 'How could my faith be flawed? Who dares question my piety?'

Even they themselves wouldn't dare.

In the end, under such circumstances, anything could become a scapegoat—though this time, he himself was very likely the actual culprit.

What Fu Qian had just grasped was not only why the male office worker reacted this way, but also the core issue: exactly why there was no "divine grace."

It was all too simple. If she could help him feel more favor, why couldn't she weaken the favor of others?

One must never underestimate the flexibility of His Excellency Needle Witch's behind-the-scenes manipulations.

Furthermore, while acknowledging this point, Fu Qian even felt a deep sense of gratification.

'Did she finally lose her patience?'

...

Naturally, it was directed at him.

He didn't think there were many guiding factors behind the trio coming to this place.

But in Fu Qian's view, the subsequent bizarre shift couldn't escape His Excellency Needle Witch's handiwork.

From the moment he had sat down earlier, a subtle contest had begun.

Just as he had noted at the time, to Needle Witch and the Night Watchers likely backing her, the curse placed on him remained an open scheme.

Either he would fail to keep up the act, exposing the fact that he was merely bluffing.

Or, remaining truly unmoved, he would become their tool to touch the Solitary King.

And this standoff had clearly been perturbed after the trio chose this place for their ritual.

Although the male office worker wisely chose hard-won muddleheadedness and completely ignored his presence, Needle Witch obviously didn't want to let such a good external resource go to waste.

And for cultists in such a state of fanatical frenzy, leading them by the nose was all too easy.

With just a little manipulation, a conflict was primed to erupt. No matter how he responded next, he would be forced to reveal more—but in the end, it was His Excellency Needle Witch who had revealed her hand first.

Moving first was moving first, regardless of the reason.

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