Eldritch Horror Theatre

Although Crow Feather remained elusive, showing the head but not the tail like a divine dragon, the gains so far had been quite substantial.

For instance, Fu Qian now had a rough guess as to why the beast-transformation disease had appeared in the first place—to force the Night Watchers to transfer more manpower to the area.

The Tide of Clamor, sufficient to awaken a Deity, had been initiated by ordinary people. The true qualitative shift, however, only occurred when Valentin—under Crow Feather's control—blew the Horn for the second time.

The numerous transcendents who had previously managed to maintain their sanity failed to hold on. They all fell victim simultaneously, joining the ranks of those calling out to the Deity.

Many of these individuals had likely been transferred from nearby districts to help investigate the beast-transformation disease, just like Cassandra.

Camus and Marco should have been among them as well. In short, it appeared the formation of the Tide of Clamor required the participation of numerous transcendents below the Demigod Realm.

Such were the methods of a Deity!

Everything had proceeded silently, yet it all fit together perfectly.

The Night Watchers had obviously taken the matter extremely seriously, but they had still suffered a massive failure.

Unfortunately, it was still far from enough.

Most critically, under Ariel's distortion, it seemed that once Rom gained the upper hand in this cognitive clash of Deities, the Tide of Clamor would immediately end.

This was absolutely shameless, almost as if the scenario were reacting directly to his mission objectives.

Couldn't it enjoy the reverence of its believers for a little while longer?

Grumbling inwardly, Fu Qian casually spun a Silver-White Pistol in his hand.

This was Mercy, the weapon he had discarded earlier. He had used his underwater tentacles to retrieve it.

As a hard-won reward, he naturally couldn't treat it as a one-time consumable.

He was actually a bit curious at the time—what would happen if he hadn't picked it back up?

Would it just stay at the bottom of the water? Or would it disappear entirely?

Considering the Warehouse always presented him with a process to select his equipment, it was genuinely hard to say.

Speaking of which, up to this point, whether for skills or equipment, he had never encountered a situation where his loadout exceeded its limits.

Logically, the Warehouse wouldn't include a meaningless restriction. Fu Qian had pondered this for a long time. His ultimate conclusion was that, although his arsenal of equipment and skills constantly expanded, his personal growth in certain areas prevented his loadout from ever hitting the upper limit, creating this bug-like situation.

As for which area of growth?

Rank was obviously one factor. Beyond that, Fu Qian also thought of another possibility: a certain attribute he had rapidly maxed out—inspiration.

If that was truly the case, then his exact state of being during these missions was quite intriguing to consider.

Regardless, it was absolutely a good thing for now. For example—Fu Qian's gaze locked onto a half-meter-tall Iron Cage.

Sweet Dream Head Cage, it's time for your debut.

Although its design was horrifying and easily drew attention, its greatest advantage was its ability to isolate observation. Putting it on when necessary could yield miraculous results.

After all, that final glance Rom had shot him directly cost him five points of SAN Value.

Carrying the Sweet Dream Head Cage in his hand, there was, as expected, no prompt warning him that he was carrying too much equipment.

[SAN Value -1. Entering Containment Scenario.]

Fu Qian stood up in satisfaction and touched the illusory Mist Door amid the tide before him.

Hanging a sheep's head while selling dog meat was simply bad form. He would just have to help the Origin Council complete a true hunt!

"Your coffee and pastries. Please enjoy."

Accompanied by the familiar voice, a hearty afternoon tea was once again set on the table in front of him.

He didn't place the Head Cage on the table. Based on his previous experience, the mask could also conceal the aura of any transcendent items on his person.

He simply set it aside; it wouldn't do to frighten Old Man Camus.

Besides, if he set such a horrifying object on the table, the waitress might just hurl her coffee pot at his face.

"Hama~dus!"

Soon, the familiar roar rang out. The poor table immediately groaned in agony as the waitress rushed over to dance along.

Everything played out exactly as it had the last time, including Old Man Camus finishing his coffee, stepping forward, and pulling the mask off Fu Qian's face.

As their eyes met, the old man froze once again.

In fact, he appeared even more rigid than before.

"Marco?"

In that instant, Old Man Camus's voice sounded as if someone had just kicked him in the kidneys.

Beneath the mask was a face radiating an eerie, demonic aura.

"Surprise?"

Fu Qian, having assumed Marco's appearance, beamed at Old Man Camus. His tone was brimming with smug satisfaction.

"I'm so sorry, but it looks like I'm one step ahead again."

"...You're already a Demigod!"

At such a close distance, coupled with their regular interactions, Camus could naturally sense the shift in the other man's aura. Amidst his shock, his mood instantly plummeted.

"What's with that expression? Shouldn't you be happy about the Council's growth in strength?"

Fu Qian's smile never faltered as he extended his empty hand.

Beneath his thin skin, countless tiny insects seemed to be wriggling, quickly converging at the tips of his five fingers.

After a brief struggle, the tips of his fingers tore open. Five long whips—looking as if they were woven from tiny red insects—drilled out, swaying and thrashing in the air.

"What are you doing here?"

Sensing the Rank displayed by this transformation, Camus's face darkened even further. Looking completely unwilling to entertain the question, he bluntly demanded.

"Waiting for you, naturally."

Fu Qian flashed a deeply malicious smile, then immediately withdrew the expression.

"The Night Watchers' movements were somewhat beyond expectations. Wehle was worried you were dead, so he sent me to back you up."

"Then we'd better hurry. It won't take long for the Night Watchers to catch up."

Camus replied stiffly. Although the man had come to help him, seeing his nemesis swaggering about was completely infuriating.

"Alright!"

Fu Qian made a show of standing up, and the five tentacles hovering in the air began to retract.

Only, in the very next moment, they didn't fully withdraw into his hand. Instead, with unbelievable speed, they lashed out and seized Camus by the head.

"You—"

Camus only had time to force out a single word before his head was crushed like a tomato.

Amidst the splattering blood, a seemingly familiar phantom was torn from his body, darting outward like a bolt of lightning.

Unfortunately, this final escape attempt was intercepted by a hideous giant maw that swallowed it in a single gulp.

A Tier 4 Transcendent, Camus Greda, perished just like that, without a sound.

"At least that slightly makes up for my regrets."

Fu Qian sighed in satisfaction, picked up his coffee to drain it in one gulp, and then took a bite of his muffin.

It really was quite delicious; no wonder Old Man Camus had chosen to have his afternoon tea here.

The next moment, he bent down and fished out a stack of paper money from the headless corpse, along with a Talisman smeared in various colors of paint.

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