Eldritch Horror Theatre

"So you two really haven't considered the consequences of failure?"

The Witch was undoubtedly just as unfazed; bathed in the moonlight, her footsteps didn't falter as she walked step by step deeper into the dream.

Faced with this scene, the Persuader—who had seemingly made up his mind to remain calm—finally lost his composure.

However, despite his incredulous question, he didn't dare resort to a passive slowdown by stopping in his tracks, evidently cowed by the despotic power of the two behind him.

At the same time, it was clear that, just like before, he had carefully taken in Fu Qian and the Witch's analysis regarding the severity of the situation.

"Of course I've considered it. I actually thought you'd be looking forward to seeing that."

There was no need to trouble the Pope for an answer, so Fu Qian just smiled and chatted happily with his old friend.

Naturally, the consequences of failure wouldn't be pretty.

He himself would be fine, but the Witch was undoubtedly the deliberate target of The Prisoners. He couldn't even rule out the possibility that the Dark Moon inside The Corridor was bait They had laid out.

Moreover, one shouldn't think the Persuader was being stupid by asking this. The Prisoners behind him fundamentally shared the same doubt: where exactly the Witch's bottom line lay.

In this kind of head-on confrontation, feeling out the opponent's trump cards was absolutely essential.

He was certain They held some doubts about whether the Witch was truly charging forward undaunted. After all, the taste of being locked in here as a prisoner was far from pleasant.

And if their opponent became preoccupied with gains and losses, it would obviously create more exploitable openings.

"I am looking forward to it, of course... Are you sure I'm still the one opening the doors?"

Despite having accumulated a wealth of frustrating defeats, the Persuader still seemed unwilling to be completely suppressed. He gritted his teeth and stated that he would indeed be happy to watch the show when the time came.

Not only that, he actually followed through the next moment, stopping in his tracks to present the two heavyweights with a choice.

Oh? These doors were getting more and more unique.

Stopping alongside him, Fu Qian looked at yet another of His Excellency Arakiel's doors and sighed in admiration.

...

The deeper reaches of the dream, shrouded in moonlight, were far more illusory and disorienting than the layer above.

At first glance, the layout remained the same. However, the hanging white curtains stained with Rust Marks easily gave the impression of a flimsy paper mansion.

Not only did they stretch on endlessly along the path, but a closer look revealed that there was absolutely nothing supporting the white cloth from behind.

Of course, the impact went far beyond this intense visual sense of emptiness.

In the short time it took for the Persuader to ask his question, the chaotic melody mentioned earlier had suddenly grown distinct.

It became so pronounced that it could be seen with the naked eye—

Though they were clearly just filthy Rust Marks, at that moment, they exuded an extreme ferocity, morphing into different shapes and even extending beyond the curtains.

Clang!

With a crisp ringing sound, Fu Qian casually flicked away an attack thrusting right at his face.

That's right, a murder weapon had actually materialized.

Not only was the thick blade visible, but the mottled rust on it perfectly matched the style of the marks on the white cloth.

Even so, the moment they were deflected, the weapon instantly dissipated back into the thick fog.

The corresponding Rust Marks on the white cloth trembled in response.

It easily brought to mind traditional shadow puppetry.

Just like Sister Ox-Head from before, the weapons emerged from the Mist and returned to the Mist.

And this entire process was projected by those Rust Marks.

Moreover, although they collapsed at the slightest touch, their power was quite impressive.

Fu Qian's Lingxi Finger just now might have looked stylish, but it felt as if he had flicked a mountain. What was more, a faint streak of rust was left on his finger.

Much like the marks on the cloth, the streak was also moving. It wasn't a simple fracture; it also bore the hallmarks of a shadow play.

For example, even though the weapon had shattered, the moving trajectory of the rust still mimicked a Long Blade slashing into his body—and the damage was genuinely manifesting.

...

Fascinating.

Although there was no visible wound on the surface, Fu Qian could clearly feel the devastation wreaked inside his fingers and palm, as if a sharp blade had truly sliced through them.

Of course, to him, it wasn't a very serious injury.

The problem, however, was that the Long Blade didn't just strike once.

The rust on his hand was still morphing, unleashing an endless stream of attacks. Even more absurdly, a ceaseless barrage of fresh strikes continued to emerge from the white cloth through the fog.

For a moment, it was as if three hundred warriors stood before him, unleashing a geyser of diverse weapons.

This was exactly why the doors were getting more unique. The rust hadn't just spread to the reddish-brown door; there were even fresh gouges from axes and swords.

Shocking battle scars were rapidly multiplying with abstract efficiency.

Coupled with the reflecting moonlight, a murderous aura instantly flooded the entire corridor—Clang!

However, Fu Qian's second Lingxi Finger seemed to experience a slight color loss, the crispness of the sound somewhat dulled.

The reason was that the speed of the spear thrusting at him this time had noticeably slowed down.

As for why it slowed, Fu Qian easily noticed that the moonlight reflecting on the white cloth had grown increasingly pristine, almost tangible.

Beneath a faint, ghostly blue hue, it remained as dazzling as silver—or snow.

Like strolling through a snowfield in the dead of night, the Rust Marks on the cloth were highlighted to look incredibly wicked, yet their movements became distinctly sluggish, as if they were struggling to pull their feet out of deep snow.

This was obviously the reason the attacks had dulled, and the lethargy was only intensifying.

"Continue."

By the time a host of weapons tried to strike at them with a speed slower than a snail's, the Witch beside him gave a curt command, her tone completely flat.

...

Who else could it be? The Pope was mighty.

It could only be said that she truly lived up to her title as the symbol of the true Dark Moon, effortlessly executing such an interesting countermeasure in the blink of an eye.

The moonlight, which originally symbolized the target of their journey, had been silently commandeered by the Witch.

Her power seeped into it, completely freezing these bizarre scars of war.

Though her exact methods seemed bizarre at first glance—almost as if simply smearing a bit of color could suppress the attacks—it made perfect sense upon closer thought.

Lest one forget, the Pope was a master of the arts. What was so strange about her casually engaging in an artistic confrontation?

"Heh... I suppose I should be thankful for the trust?"

While the Persuader might not have grasped the artistic nuances behind it, he clearly understood the sheer tyranny involved.

The assorted weapons were obviously highly targeted and were never once aimed at him.

With a low chuckle, the Persuader actually heeded the call. He stepped forward and pushed open yet another door.

"Or should we all be thankful?"

However, the moment the door opened, another voice from behind it spoke out in unison with him.

Thank you to the book friend "Wu'ai Tianliu" for the Alliance Leader reward, and thank you all for your support. Here is the first chapter; the next one will likely be out tomorrow morning.

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