Eldritch Horror Theatre

That was fast!

Faced with Bernard's questioning, Fu Qian nodded to himself.

It seemed the man was truly well-informed.

Indeed, the odds of Sheriff Harry coming here to buy a book were practically zero. It seemed that group really had taken the matter of the "assassin" straight to him.

"I make it a habit to take evening strolls."

Under Bernard's dead-fish stare, Fu Qian offered a casual excuse.

Creak!

The door to The Bookstore swung open. Sheriff Harry stepped inside, his massive frame instantly dimming the light in the room.

The moment he entered, his eyes locked straight onto Fu Qian.

"Very much so."

Fu Qian answered with a smile, unfazed by Harry's emotionless small talk.

The sheriff had likely seen him coming in just moments before.

"Glad to hear it."

Harry nodded. He pulled out a piece of paper and snapped it open in front of Fu Qian.

"Have you seen this man? His right hand should be injured."

Huh.

Fu Qian stared at the portrait in Harry's hand. Old Man Lu Ming's face leaped right off the page.

He had to admit, the artist had skill. The banquet guests were a multi-talented bunch to produce such a likeness purely from memory.

"Never seen him."

Fu Qian shook his head as he marveled at the artwork. Beside him, Bernard offered a gruff grunt, signaling that he hadn't seen the man either.

"Mm."

Sheriff Harry didn't look surprised. He folded the portrait and tucked it away.

"I'm investigating an attempted poisoning. We're fairly certain this outsider is the culprit. If you see him, notify me immediately."

"No problem."

"Will do."

The two of them answered listlessly.

"Excellent."

Sheriff Harry offered a word of praise, then pointed a finger at Fu Qian.

"You, come with me."

"Why?"

Although he never expected things to be simple, the portrait clearly didn't match his face. Fu Qian couldn't figure out what the sheriff wanted with him.

"Every outsider who recently arrived in Baerluk needs to come down to the Police Department with me. The victim needs to make an identification."

"We obviously don't look alike, right?"

So that was it. Fu Qian pointed at where the portrait had been.

"You don't. But you still need to come with me."

Harry patted his waist, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Understood."

Fu Qian downed the rest of his coffee and waved goodbye to Bernard, acting as if they were old friends.

"What a pity. Looks like we'll have to catch up another time."

The bookstore owner stared at him blankly, silently tearing at his bird's-nest hair in mute exasperation.

...

The local Police Department was small and not too far from The Bookstore.

Perhaps considering that Fu Qian looked completely different from the portrait, Sheriff Harry didn't try anything extra on the way. He just drove in total silence.

Upon arriving at their destination, the first person Fu Qian spotted was a familiar face—Dean Collins.

The old man had changed into a long trench coat. His gaze was dark, and he didn't say a word.

Even when Fu Qian and Harry walked through the door, his expression didn't shift at all.

He was likely the one who had provided Harry with the portrait.

Harry greeted Collins and gestured for him to step forward and make the identification.

Collins nodded silently and stared straight at Fu Qian.

This guy is a bit different!

As the dean observed him, Fu Qian observed the dean right back.

And very quickly, Fu Qian confirmed that, unlike Grace, Collins was actually still in that special hidden state.

Even standing right in front of him, the man felt like a void in Fu Qian's perception.

So everyone is different?

There isn't a set time for everyone to drop out of that state together.

That was Fu Qian's first conclusion.

Guzman, Nate, Grace, Collins—so far, all of them had reacted completely differently.

It seemed the transition between the two states varied entirely from person to person, though they tended to cluster during the night.

"It's not him."

After a long, drawn-out scrutiny, Collins finally spoke.

"Understood."

Harry looked at Fu Qian, his tone lacking any surprise.

"You're free to go, Mr. Fu Qian. Thank you for your cooperation. If you run into any trouble in Baerluk, feel free to find me."

With that, he turned back to Collins.

"He was the last outsider. If I bring in any other suspects, I'll notify you to come identify them."

"Alright."

Collins replied flatly, his eyes fixed on Fu Qian, who was already heading for the door.

"Thank you for your help. I'll be going now."

Without waiting for Harry to respond, he followed on Fu Qian's heels and walked out of the Police Department.

...

"Mr. Fu Qian!"

Fu Qian had deliberately slowed his pace, and he soon heard a shout coming from behind.

When he stopped, Collins quickly caught up to him.

"I am Collins."

Once he caught up, the dean took the initiative to introduce himself.

"I apologize for what just happened."

"We suffered an incident last night."

"We're hoping to find the culprit as soon as possible to prevent anyone else from getting hurt."

"It's no problem."

Listening to an apology that sounded like recited lines from a script, Fu Qian smiled and shook his head to show he didn't mind.

"Are you enjoying your stay in Baerluk? If you're interested, I can recommend a few spots to visit."

Collins acted incredibly polite, falling into step beside Fu Qian.

"That would be wonderful!"

Thwip!

The next moment, accompanied by a muffled bang, Fu Qian collapsed to the ground.

An iron-black pistol had appeared in Collins's hand, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the barrel.

"Your disguise is brilliant, but unfortunately, it couldn't fool me."

Collins scoffed, pointing the gun at Fu Qian's corpse on the ground.

"Why do you think I gave them that portrait, even when I knew it wasn't your true face?"

"Because it was the only way to make a cunning opponent like you lower your guard."

"The reason I didn't identify you in there was that I didn't want to give you a chance to talk your way out of it."

"For a bug like you, I chose to send you straight to hell."

"This is what happens when you cause trouble in Baerluk."

Having grandly recited that long block of lines, Collins aimed the gun at Fu Qian's head, preparing to fire two more shots.

But a split second later, the figure on the ground blurred. Fu Qian was suddenly standing right beside him, casually dusting the dirt off his clothes.

...

He even attached a silencer in advance!

Fu Qian clicked his tongue as he examined the weapon in the man's hand.

So that was the plot.

In this guy's script, after the assassin escaped, he must have gone to Sheriff Harry for help and had him round up all the outsiders.

Then, he used a fake portrait to lull the target into a false sense of security, biding his time until he found the perfect chance for a one-hit kill. Thus, the assassin would be slain.

Setting aside the quality of the writing, things clearly hadn't gone according to plan. How would this "actor" react now?

Fu Qian stared at Collins's face, not missing a single detail.

Visibly, a deep look of pain and disgust washed over Collins's face.

But only seconds later, the expression vanished entirely, and his face returned to normal.

Hmph!

He let out a heavy snort.

"I knew you were playing dead."

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