Eldritch Horror Theatre

Was it really this extreme? By his count, it hadn't even been that long since Operation Rescue Logan.

As the mission briefing scrolled past his eyes, Fu Qian found himself filled with a myriad of thoughts.

Given that the mission details explicitly mentioned the Unseen Hill and "old friends," there was little doubt about his destination.

The first real question to consider was why the Hotbed had turned gray.

Based on his previous understanding, this place—which the Warehouse described as an Unfathomable Dimension—should have been quite stable.

Prophets, fate... The sheer tedium brought by these things was enough to make even certain Demigod Realm transcendents lose their minds.

Moreover, he had explicitly confirmed back then that no matter what fates the characters within it suffered, they would ultimately cycle through rebirth.

No matter how you looked at it, this was a highly closed system. It was hard to imagine a massive upheaval happening in such a short span of time.

However, since that question had no immediate answer, he might as well tackle a simpler one: what exactly did "turning gray" look like? Wait, where was the gray?

Despite the poor lighting, Fu Qian still found the surroundings remarkably familiar.

Exquisitely decorated, completely empty, and swaying slightly, though the soft cushion beneath him buffered the bumps rather well...

A carriage?

It was easy enough to recognize exactly what kind of space he was sitting in.

Crucially, Fu Qian remembered this vividly. During his first mission to the Unseen Hill, he had started in the exact same scenario.

A classic urban mode of transport, booked all to himself... At a glance, even the exquisite interior seemed absolutely identical.

...

Where was the gray? Everything seemed perfectly fine.

Not only was this a familiar start, but from the rhythmic bumps alone, Fu Qian didn't even need to draw the curtains to know the carriage was traveling just as steadily as before.

It was perhaps a little quieter, but considering the dim lighting clearly indicated it was night, that made perfect sense.

If that was the case, however, the wording of the mission briefing became even more intriguing.

Beyond that, the dim lighting didn't stop Fu Qian from catching a clear reflection of his current appearance in a polished ashtray across from him.

Even his hairstyle and facial features perfectly matched how he had looked back then.

The increasingly stingy Warehouse had actually gone out of its way to sculpt a face for him this time, and in a remarkably nostalgic style, no less.

Fu Qian was certain that if he stepped outside wearing this face, his old friends would easily recognize him.

The problem, however, was that catching up with these old friends likely wouldn't be a friendly affair—even if they had once revered him as the Savior.

Recalling everything he had done here during his last visit, Fu Qian shook his head.

When reuniting with old acquaintances, there was no need to make things so bloody right off the bat.

With that thought in mind, his face rapidly stretched and morphed.

As a flesh-and-blood expert, changing his appearance had always been his specialty, and that hadn't changed even after his Mechanical Ascension.

It was just that the stretching seemed a bit exaggerated this time. In the span of a single second, his features had warped into something only vaguely human.

Of course, he hadn't lost control. Fu Qian simply had no intention of adjusting it; instead, he let the exaggerated transformation intensify.

Finally, without a sound, the glaring, solemn face of a wrathful Vajra materialized there.

Looking closely, one could even see that this was actually a tightly fitted mask, with a distinct boundary separating it from the skin beneath.

That's right, Dayun Mingwang.

Fu Qian's approach was simple. Rather than swapping out his face like he usually did, he had directly manifested a mask and secured it in place semi-permanently.

While the design was a bit striking, it fit perfectly with the bustling atmosphere of the Unseen Hill.

As for his purpose, he wasn't trying to be completely heartless and prevent his old friends from recognizing him entirely.

After all, it was common knowledge that the only thing more shocking than seeing an old face was revealing that old face from beneath a mask.

Walking around here with this look felt like a rather good way to address his earlier concerns.

If he ran into someone holding a grudge, he could keep the mask on to avoid provoking them.

If he met someone with a bit less animosity, he could take it off; the sudden contrast would make catching up much easier.

Simply perfect.

Examining his new look from side to side, Fu Qian was incredibly satisfied with the idea.

Besides, if the plot was progressing as usual, this was right about the time for a GG Card to make a flashy entrance from the rooftops, wasn't it?

...

Reunions were difficult to come by, indeed.

The flashy entrance Fu Qian was referring to was, of course, a foreign object plummeting from the sky and slicing the carriage clean in half.

He had experienced that exact scenario more than once back then.

What a pity. Even after the expected time had clearly passed, he still wasn't treated to that open-air remodeling, nor did he hear the clown's hearty laughter.

That eccentric player who harbored so much dissatisfaction toward fate had failed to show up this time.

There wasn't even a blockade from the Demigod Hunting Squad. The carriage simply continued its steady journey.

It seemed times really had changed.

As the minutes ticked by during his musings, Fu Qian fully demonstrated the patience of a true professional.

With no flashy entrances and no mission targets appearing, he didn't even bother drawing the curtains to look outside, simply allowing the carriage to carry him onward.

But his time wasn't entirely wasted. For one, he was constantly mapping out the carriage's route in his mind. For another, he was tracking the identical route of a second carriage right behind his.

That was right. The rumbling of the rolling wheels was practically harmonized.

From the very beginning up until now, there had been another carriage tailing him.

Whether traveling fast or slow, no matter which way his carriage turned, the vehicle behind perfectly mirrored his every move, maintaining the exact same distance.

Had the city's transport system fallen under such immense pressure since he was last here that they needed to double their capacity?

The catch was that there didn't seem to be any passengers to justify it.

Harboring a mock concern over wasted resources, Fu Qian eventually raised his hand and drew back the curtain beside him.

Because the carriage had stopped.

...

In this little contest of patience, it seemed he had gained a slight edge.

Even if, at first glance, it appeared to be purely accidental.

The carriage wasn't moving forward, but it wasn't completely still either. It rocked back and forth, and the entire cabin was tilted to one side.

Looking out, he could see the cause: one of the wheels had sunk into a patch of mud.

Although it wasn't very deep, the black mud seemed exceptionally viscous, leaving the two draft horses pulling the carriage quite exhausted as they struggled against it.

Fortunately, the carriage behind them had also stopped immediately, avoiding a rear-end collision.

And despite the road being wide enough to pass, it showed absolutely no intention of going around him. It was as if it were locked on auto-follow.

That wasn't just a figure of speech. Looking out, he saw that there was indeed a second carriage there, and its design was nearly identical to his own.

More striking than that, however, was the fact that its driver's seat was completely empty.

Interesting.

Fu Qian then drew back the curtain on the other side of his own carriage.

As it turned out, nobody had invented self-driving technology just yet; his own driver was sitting right there.

The man was a little too calm, however. Despite the commotion right in front of him, he sat perfectly rigid, not reacting at all.

And in the gloom of the night, a trickle of the same black mud from beneath the wheels was slowly seeping out of one of his ears.

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