Eldritch Horror Theatre

From the looks of it, Crow Feather—who had yet to show their true face—was clearly the orchestrator behind this entire plan.

A scheme involving at least two demigods and a Divine Emissary had to have contingencies. Fu Qian refused to believe otherwise.

Besides, an official demigod stepping in to suppress the situation barely counted as an unexpected variable.

Sure enough, the sleep-inducing suppression had only lasted a few seconds before a sudden shift occurred at the top of the Lighthouse.

Count Valentin, who had been trembling as he walked just moments ago, suddenly darted forward and pressed his hands against the massive Horn's rack.

Although the artifact was an antique and its original function had long been replaced by more complex foghorns, it was still incredibly sturdy.

Yet in the next moment, Valentin twisted his withered body and forcibly tore the Horn right off its stand.

Such inhuman physical strength... was he a puppet too?

Fu Qian watched the chaotic crowd atop the Lighthouse.

By now, Valentin had hoisted the detached Horn high into the air.

It was an imposing display, but Fu Qian's attention was drawn elsewhere.

At some point, a garishly colored Glove had appeared on the count's right hand.

While it appeared intact, the gaudy style was clearly not something an old gentleman would normally choose.

Woooo—

The next moment, the Horn sounded again. A blare far more deafening than the last instantly swept across the docks.

...

A transcendent item? With an amplification effect?

At the very least, the mental influence carried by the sound had been noticeably magnified.

Fu Qian silently assessed the sensation in his own mind.

If the earlier Clamor had been a mere trace of background static, this was like someone blasting a video on their phone speaker right next to his ear.

Even with a demigod's fortitude, he felt a surge of irritability.

If a demigod felt like this, what about the others?

Fu Qian glanced around. Under the endless, amplified blare of the Horn, both transcendents and ordinary mortals had nearly all succumbed, joining the tsunami of howling voices.

More importantly, what surged this time was no longer just noise, but a true mental tide.

It was like tossing a match into a room full of gas.

Amidst his musings, Fu Qian caught sight of the Frank Quartet from the corner of his eye. They stood ramrod straight, staring fixedly toward the Lighthouse with feverish zeal.

Even without any amplification, the voices erupting from their chests were as deafening as if they had downed a vial of Mercury Storm.

The sudden, amplified chorus of tens of thousands completely overwhelmed the sleep-inducing power from earlier.

...

'Could the things in my hands have a similar effect?'

Fu Qian still didn't move. He simply looked down at the two Talismans resting in his palm.

He could tell that the howling from the other two directions was steadily intensifying, though the overall magnitude was much lower.

'Is it because I haven't chimed in?'

The task given to him and Marco was likely similar to what Crow Feather was doing right now.

But that raised a glaring issue.

Anyone below the Demigod Realm seemed unable to immunize themselves against this thing's influence.

Fu Qian had just seen proof of this. A heavily bearded man—likely an official operative and at least a Tier 4 Transcendent—was currently howling his lungs out not far from the Lighthouse.

So whether it was Camus or Marco, the moment they crushed their Talismans, they would probably end up acting exactly like that man.

They would scream until the Clamor ended and the Night Watchers arrived to haul them away.

The idea of "lighting the fuse and running away" was nothing but a comforting lie.

'Just what kind of payoff are they expecting, to use two Tier 4 transcendents as disposable pawns?'

As he marveled at the Origin Council's handiwork, a new shift occurred in his vision.

A pitch-black curtain suddenly enclosed the top of the Lighthouse, isolating it entirely from the Real World.

The stumbling crowd was instantly bogged down as if plunged into thick sludge, their movements slowing to a crawl.

Unfortunately, the frantic blare of the Horn seemed to have already synced with the chorus of tens of thousands. It pierced right through the barrier, driving the mental tide toward an endless new peak.

'That's definitely a demigod's handiwork, but it isn't enough.'

As he evaluated the situation, Fu Qian noticed a massive shadow swelling out in the sea.

Lightning flashed and thunder roared over the turbulent waters. Amidst the terrifyingly high waves, something seemed to be surfacing from the depths.

...

The next moment, another figure suddenly appeared on the Lighthouse.

It was an Old Lady completely shrouded in black robes. She materialized silently, as if tearing her way out of the darkness.

The instant she appeared, she reached out for Valentin, her target dead set on the hand wearing the Glove.

'A demigod, but not Chelfus.'

Fu Qian quickly made his assessment.

'The Night Watchers really went all out. Did they plant a demigod at every Horn location?'

'That sleep-inducing spell from earlier must have been her doing as well.'

Her goal was explicitly clear. She had recognized the Glove's unique effects and was trying to destroy it directly.

It wouldn't be easy, but it was certainly simpler than killing a demigod.

Unfortunately, a gold-inlaid cane blocked her path in the next moment.

With a light tap against the empty air, it instantly triggered a distortion across the black curtain behind them.

It was Wehle. Unsurprisingly, he had finally made his move, standing guard at the side like a bodyguard.

Caught in the distortion, the Old Lady demigod's movements began to suffer from that same slowing effect. She was no longer immune.

...

Amidst the crash of the raging waves, the boundary between sky and sea became almost indistinguishable.

The hindered Old Lady demigod didn't look the least bit surprised by this one-on-two situation.

Stretching her left hand forward, she clenched her fingers at the empty air.

With that gesture, the tangible darkness destabilized rapidly, quickly splintering and collapsing away.

And collapsing right alongside that darkness was everything atop the Lighthouse.

The stumbling crowd was silently torn into pieces.

Even Wehle let out a muffled grunt and was forced a step back.

Decisive and ruthless.

Fu Qian nodded silently. He completely understood why she had taken such a drastic measure.

It was a grim choice. The Tide of Clamor wasn't something mortal minds could withstand. If she didn't shut it down immediately, tens of thousands of people would be reduced to drooling idiots.

That was likely why she had decisively abandoned her suppression spell earlier instead of forcing a direct confrontation.

Now in a one-on-two demigod fight, once she realized a quick victory was impossible, she opted to indiscriminately wipe the area clean, striving to break Valentin's channeling as quickly as possible.

As for the innocent victims caught in the crossfire... a demigod of her age was likely long accustomed to handling that kind of mental burden.

When the darkness finally shattered completely, Valentin's body violently shuddered.

The next moment, his body, the Glove, and the Horn all disintegrated into pieces, halting the terrifying Clamor's ascent.

Even more bizarrely, the furious waves crashing outside the Lighthouse abruptly froze, suspended in mid-air like solid sculptures.

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