Eldritch Horror Theatre

By creating a classic crisis scenario to draw the Warehouse's gaze, they could then do everything in their power to force the task's Containment attempt to fail.

If all his guesses were true, what was the purpose of this test, or rather, this ritual?

While he casually drew a standardized clock and the Demonic Doctor made arrangements nearby with a solemn expression, Fu Qian pondered silently.

He had thought it would be an easy solo run, but it turned out to be unexpectedly troublesome.

Of course, the Warehouse seemed to think so too, even taking the initiative to restrict his Items.

The reason for this design was likely the assumption that carrying strange Items would immediately raise alarms and cause the target to flee, making it a poor option.

But the problem was that this was only on the surface. Once it turned into such a meticulously designed death trap, it directly weakened his Asura Mode abilities.

Most crucially, it completely refused to correct its mistakes; even after a restart, the task and restrictions remained unchanged.

Of course, complaining was pointless. A professional task runner was unstoppable, even when the obstacles came from the task itself.

It couldn't possibly be just for amusement, could it?

Otherwise, the entity behind the Nether Steed might as well be called a god of trolls.

Regardless, one thing was certain: she had some understanding of the Warehouse, or at least of this kind of Containment attempt.

But for the poor Warehouse employee, it was a bit of a tragedy. After all, every attempt consumed their SAN Value.

Wait a minute—the SAN Value!

The next moment, a thought struck Fu Qian.

Everything required a motive. He hadn't considered this angle before because, although it sounded simple in theory, the Warehouse was not so easily fooled in practice.

At least so far, the resets for every task restart had been completely thorough. The people inside retained zero memories.

Under these circumstances, cycling through time and time again... a trick was a trick, but it felt utterly meaningless. The Warehouse never messed around when it came to space-time resets.

But thinking about it now, throughout these loops, the only parameter that actually changed seemed to be his own SAN Value.

Could the SAN Value consumed by failed tasks be the true purpose of this ritual?

Aside from someone doing it purely for kicks, this seemed like a plausible guess.

So the essence of the ritual was to deliberately attract the Warehouse's attention, then use an absurd difficulty gap to force the task runner to fail, thereby "eating" their SAN Value?

Boldly hypothesize, carefully verify. Fu Qian had never been one to restrict his own imagination.

And at this moment, that boundless imagination rewarded him with a rather fascinating theory.

...

"Doctor, 9527 is here."

"Thank you for volunteering for this test. I am Cynthia."

While he pondered, everything proceeded exactly in the order of his memories.

Thanks to Fu Qian's flawlessly precise control, he had triggered the Demonic Doctor's shock and arrived before Doctor Cynthia at almost the exact same time as before.

Sure enough, to deceive others, one must first deceive oneself!

Looking at the face before him and listening to the familiar dialogue, Fu Qian sighed inwardly.

From the start up to the moment of their deaths, whether it was Doctor Cynthia or Goya—the project leader he had killed twice—their behavior had perfectly matched their identities. He hadn't spotted a single flaw.

Considering the extraordinarily high Rank of the Warehouse, rather than believing these individuals had the iron will to never slip up, it was far more likely they had used special methods to deceive themselves, achieving the pinnacle of deception.

This was far beyond merely facing death with equanimity. Once targeted by the Warehouse, one was thrown into a relentless meat grinder of flesh and blood that would not stop until a victor emerged.

Only after a considerable number of repetitions—when the staff member's SAN Value was completely depleted and they remained trapped in a certain test—would death become a reality.

Thus, the choice facing these participants had been whether to join an attempt that was uncertain to have any effect and uncertain to draw attention, and within it, calmly embrace self-deception while facing death with the most natural attitude possible.

To be honest, it truly resembled a ritual.

An affair filled with the unknown, the illusory, the dangerous, and an uncertain fate.

It felt like, to get someone to accept this, the payoff had to be incredibly lucrative.

Was SAN Value really that precious?

Or was it only precious to the entity behind the Nether Steed?

But regardless, that entity must be quite familiar with the operational patterns of the Warehouse's Containment attempts.

...

"Mr. 9527, it was a pleasure talking with you."

Doctor Cynthia once again conducted her professional inquiry on Fu Qian. After he provided the exact same answers as his first run, she nodded.

"Given your condition, you will need to enter the Testing Room one more time. I hope you will cooperate. Of course, according to regulations, this will be recorded as additional contribution, allowing you to offset your past mistakes faster."

After reciting the familiar lines, Cynthia directly called for the guards without waiting for Fu Qian's response.

A moment later, Fu Qian was once again brought outside the Testing Room on the lowest level.

Unsurprisingly, the numb-faced Subject 1349 stood in front of him, just as before.

After a brief wait, Ms. 6, Kuraki Eiko, once again stepped forward with confident and poised strides, joining this three-person testing project.

...

As the metal door clicked shut, Fu Qian stood before the Nether Steed in the exact same position as before.

As expected, the bizarre, off-pitch howling began to bombard his consciousness.

Soon, Subject 1349 grew increasingly quiet, while Kuraki Eiko lost her smile and lowered her head to stare at the ground.

Time trickled by. The oppressive atmosphere did not last long; with a scream of pure terror from Kuraki Eiko, the scene from his memory played out once more.

This normally optimistic contestant leaped to the side of the metal door and began frantically pounding and screaming.

At the two-minute mark, Subject 1349 slowly turned his head and walked toward her.

"Don't come any closer!"

Kuraki Eiko shrieked a warning. When it proved futile, she hooked her fingers like claws and lunged at him.

Subject 1349's clothes and flesh were torn open, but he acted as if he had lost all sense of pain. He casually ripped off a strip of his own exposed flesh, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.

From beginning to end, the people outside showed no reaction whatsoever.

The door did not open, nor was there any attempt to stop the violence. They completely ignored the conflict Inside the Door, as if observing bacteria in a petri dish.

Of course, the people outside weren't the only ones ignoring them.

At the four-minute mark, completely ignoring the two struggling by the door, Fu Qian stepped forward and approached the silently standing Nether Steed.

This strange, visually deceptive construct showed no reaction to his approach.

How dedicated!

Clicking his tongue in admiration, Fu Qian moved without the slightest hesitation. His chest tore open to reveal rows of jagged teeth, and his entire body swelled grotesquely.

The next moment, this hideous, blood-red maw stretched open to a terrifying angle and swallowed the Nether Steed whole in a single bite.

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