Eldritch Horror Theatre

They wanted to confirm his identity, but they weren't entirely concerned if he was the real deal.

Fu Qian arrived at this conclusion as he casually shut the door behind him.

He knew perfectly well that his earlier performance hadn't come close to dispelling their suspicions. It had merely prevented them from definitively proving he was an imposter.

In fact, this was exactly what he wanted.

Once he realized something was fishy, testing their attitude toward a highly suspicious Camus became far more important than maintaining a Perfect Disguise for the operation.

After all, the operation's details were already confirmed. Given Wehle's level of trust in Camus, there was little left worth gleaning anyway.

He might as well test just how credible this supposed operation really was.

As it turned out, even though he was wildly suspicious and knew all about the God Hunting Plan, they hadn't adopted a "better safe than sorry" approach to kill him. They had actually let him walk away.

They had even helped him lift his curse, though their method was highly suspect.

The crow feather's magic might have genuinely been able to cure the curse, but he suspected it carried a secondary effect: verifying his true identity as Camus.

Since they had provided both the method and the tools, following their instructions to the letter would have given them an absurd level of control over his condition. Peeling back his disguise would have been child's play.

If his identity was exposed, he never would have learned their true stance. So, Fu Qian had chosen to let the curse linger as the price of keeping them guessing.

...

As expected, the plan was nowhere near as simple as Wehle had claimed.

At the very least, his assigned task was far less critical than they made it out to be.

Armed with this final conclusion, Fu Qian stepped up to the curb and hailed a cab.

His destination was, without a doubt, the Phoenix Palace.

He was playing the role of an ambitious Quasi-Demigod, after all. He naturally had to be a man of his word.

As for the fare, the savings he had scrounged from purple-haired Frank's pockets had already been blown on his current, airtight outfit.

Fortunately, before leaving the meeting, he had tracked down the bespectacled Old Man—who had mostly regained his wits—and claimed he had lost his wallet to requisition a bit of operational funding.

Wehle had lapsed into a heavy silence but hadn't stopped him, and the Old Man was clearly loaded. Fu Qian had absolutely no need to worry about dodging the fare.

Besides, seeing as his goals temporarily aligned with the Primordial Council's, he took the cash with a perfectly clear conscience.

...

Weathered by the years, the Phoenix Palace was still every bit as magnificent, elegant, and towering as its reputation suggested.

Standing before his destination a short while later, Fu Qian studied the ancient structure and immediately understood why it had been chosen as one of the three sites to blow the Horn.

Unfortunately, security checks for such a highly symbolic landmark were exceptionally strict. Between his mask and his semi-invisible tattoos, there was no way he was getting through the front door.

Not that it mattered. The demigod Wehle had mentioned another location.

Fu Qian turned to the side, his gaze landing on an equally gorgeous classical building.

The Opera House Wehle had brought up sat right next to the Phoenix Palace.

This was the place.

Straightening his clothes, Fu Qian marched right up to the entrance.

...

Even as a fellow arts practitioner, Fu Qian had never held much interest in opera.

He was an honest man.

And in his view, art had only one true principle to adhere to: honesty.

Feigned love for something was just as poisonous to a masterpiece as feigned hatred.

So, a mere thirty seconds after buying his ticket and taking his seat, his attention drifted away from the stage and landed squarely on two women in the audience.

Three things prompted this shift in focus.

First, one of them was a transcendent.

Second, she was a transcendent he actually recognized.

Third, they were currently under Night Watchers surveillance.

It was the swordswoman, Veil, and her rebellious younger sister, Lotte.

Running into these two here was certainly a surprise.

Fu Qian had a decent grasp of the world's geography.

Baerluk was separated from Dunis by an entire ocean.

Traveling across the ocean just to catch a play? Were they really that hardcore about opera?

"This is always performed right before the Clamor Festival every year. It tells the love story between the God of Clamor and the God of War's wife, and it serves as the origin of the festival itself."

Veil's familiar voice drifted into his heightened hearing.

She was whispering explanations to her sister while they watched the stage.

"Do deities even feel such ridiculous emotions? I'd bet the odds of them feeling lust are way higher than love!"

Unfortunately, the rebellious girl was clearly disinterested, and her tone was as angsty as ever.

Still, her complaint resonated perfectly with Fu Qian's own thoughts.

"Hehe! I actually agree with you."

Veil wasn't the least bit offended by her sister's retort. She just giggled and wholly agreed with her.

"But the fact that it's stayed so popular over the years means it definitely caters to a certain crowd's tastes."

"Since we're here, it doesn't hurt to learn about it. It would be pretty awkward if we couldn't keep up a conversation with anyone at the carnival tomorrow."

"The only reason I came was because you said I could scream at the top of my lungs here and nobody would care."

Lotte muttered sullenly.

"If anyone starts pestering me with questions, I'm ignoring them."

"Alright, alright, I know. Just think of it as keeping your big sister company!"

Veil hugged her sister and giggled.

The Clamor Festival really was incredibly famous!

Fu Qian clicked his tongue in mild awe as he eavesdropped.

Lotte's injuries had likely healed up nicely, and Veil, worried her sister might sink into depression, had brought her out to blow off some steam.

It was a sweet, thoughtful gesture.

But that brought up a very pressing question.

Why would the Night Watchers dispatch an entire demigod to surveil a mere Mid Tier transcendent who dragged dead weight around and had a squeaky-clean record?

That's right. Fu Qian was completely certain that the man sitting by the aisle in the third row was a demigod—and that he was intensely focused on the Veil Sisters' conversation.

Whether or not he was Chelfus, the Night Watchers chief Marco had mentioned, was impossible to confirm at a glance.

Actually, the demigod wasn't just watching Veil. He was keeping close tabs on every single transcendent filtering into the theater, treating the ordinary civilians as invisible.

Which included Fu Qian.

Right now, Fu Qian's bizarre outfit was turning heads everywhere he went. Yet, the esteemed demigod hadn't spared him a single glance.

Every time he realized that, Fu Qian couldn't help but marvel at the sheer quality of his mask. He was practically tempted to shout, "Praise the Dark Moon!"

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