Eldritch Horror Theatre

Did these people eat rat poison?!

Staring at the scene inside the White Tower, Fu Qian let out a sigh.

In the sprawling, open space, waves of sound crashed over each other.

Men and women, young and old—their cheers and screams blended into a chaotic roar.

Some were just howling nonsense, sounding like deranged donkeys.

All these noises echoed and tangled together, inexplicably reminding him of a tune called "Flight of the Bumblebee." It made his ears itch.

From the inside, the building looked even more magnificent than it did from the outside, though the architectural style left much to be desired.

The massive space and towering, spiraling white columns made it feel like standing inside an impossibly tall cathedral.

Yet the bottom of this space was laid out like an ancient Roman Colosseum, surrounded by dense, honeycomb-like stands.

Was this the legendary, unparalleled White Tower Arena?

He could only say it fully showcased the builder's boundless wealth—and terrible taste.

If he had to describe that overwhelming sense of dissonance, it was like the King of Hell wearing Bluetooth headphones while playing with a boomerang.

"Hello, please step this way."

A young woman with brown hair and a white robe, dressed like an ancient Greek priestess, approached him. She interrupted Fu Qian's musings right on cue, gesturing toward a side corridor with an impeccable smile.

Fu Qian glanced around. Sure enough, every participating "gladiator" had one of these women standing beside them.

According to previous years' data, the number of participants in this tournament was absurdly high. It must have been hard for them to find so many guides to the Yellow Springs.

It was easy to imagine that for a large portion of these priestesses, their jobs would end very quickly.

After walking through a long tunnel, the two of them soon arrived at a space that resembled a preparation room.

"You may choose any weapon that suits you!"

The priestess led Fu Qian to a weapon rack near the wall and pointed at it.

"Anything works?"

Fu Qian took a look. The sheer variety of weapons was impressive. From standard swords and spears to all sorts of unimaginably bizarre shapes, they had it all.

Most importantly, the craftsmanship was top-notch. They all looked to be of excellent quality.

Of course, they all shared one common trait—he didn't know how to use any of them.

It was true. Ever since he transformed using the Thug, he hadn't had the time to learn how to wield any kind of weapon. He had just been throwing wild haymakers, adhering to the philosophy that formlessness beats technique.

The key point was that his brawling seemed pretty effective so far, and Fu Qian had no plans to change it anytime soon.

"As long as it is on the rack, you may take it," the priestess answered.

"Additionally, any personal equipment you brought can be used as well, provided it passes inspection."

"Got it."

How remarkably considerate.

Fu Qian looked around. Given the massive number of participants, it was impossible to luxuriously provide a private preparation room for everyone. Right now, aside from himself, there were three other people in this room:

A young man who was clearly quite nervous, a young woman with blonde hair, and—a blackened tin can?

Fu Qian stared at that final contestant. The guy was wearing a full set of ostentatious black plate armor covered in exquisite etched patterns.

The full-face helm sported two sharp horns, making one momentarily think they were looking at a dark knight.

"That's allowed too?" Fu Qian pointed at him.

"It is."

The priestess gave a noble, aloof nod, gesturing toward a rack on the other side of the room.

"In fact, we have some defensive gear here as well. You may choose as you see fit."

Fu Qian looked over. All kinds of armor and shields were lined up from one end to the other.

She was being too modest. While nothing was quite as flamboyant as the dark knight's armor, basically every standard design was available.

Too bad it was still useless to him. Any attack capable of hurting him wouldn't be mitigated by a few pieces of scrap metal anyway.

Fu Qian scanned the selection and ultimately picked out a White Mask, placing it over his face.

"Done."

The mask was very light. It wasn't even made of metal, so he could barely feel its weight.

He had worn a mask exactly like this one back at the Huang family's Mid-Mountain Manor.

Since nothing else was of any use to him, he might as well use this to maintain the mysterious aura of an expert.

Fu Qian's choice clearly caught the priestess off guard. She froze for a moment before recalibrating her goddess-like smile and thoughtfully explaining the current situation.

"Due to the massive number of participants, three arenas will be running simultaneously. For now, you simply need to wait here."

Fu Qian nodded. Listening to the tidal wave of noise outside, he was just wondering how this King of the White Tower would make his grand entrance when the screaming suddenly stopped.

The next moment, all the lights instantly converged on a single spot, and an open-air elevator slowly descended from above.

Huh!

Fu Qian's eyesight was no longer what it used to be. In an instant, he confirmed that the person standing in the elevator was his target for this trip: Bai Jinting, the King of the White Tower.

Compared to the assorted freaks and monsters in the stands, this guy's appearance was actually quite normal. He didn't have any extra heads.

The problem was, the old man had to be over seventy, right?

Setting aside issues like safety for a moment, was he serious about this iron cage-styled elevator?

Tracked by the spotlights, Bai Jinting's elevator slowly descended until it finally stopped at an isolated position apart from the other stands.

"Welcome to the Ring Archipelago!"

Bai Jinting, already over seventy years old, looked much younger than his actual age. He began his speech with a booming, resonant voice.

Roar!

The howling of the crowd instantly doubled in volume.

"Welcome to the White Tower Arena..."

Fu Qian narrowed his eyes, observing his surroundings.

Inside this bizarre, hodgepodge behemoth of a building, the security was appallingly strict.

Aside from the various defensive measures, the greatest stabilizing force here was none other than the legendary Demigod, Ibrahim, known as the Spirit of the Storm.

Word was that five years ago, at the advanced age of 68, he ascended to Tier 3. Later, due to a fondness for the maritime climate, he accepted an invitation from the White Tower Group to become a special consultant and had rarely left this place since.

According to the intel, Bai Jinting rarely showed his face in public, always hiding behind this kind of airtight protection.

Only for the annual King of the White Tower tournament would he attend the entire event, and in the end, he would even personally present the award to the final victor.

In theory, this was a fairly good opportunity.

The data clearly stated that this man was not a transcendent. Slugging his way to the championship, using the award ceremony to instantly kill him with a single kick, and directly completing the task sounded like a very reasonable plan.

By then, even if the Demigod intervened, it would be too late.

Moreover, there was no time limit for this assignment, so he could indeed spend some effort finishing this tournament first.

It would also serve as a chance to learn more about his target.

Even as a ruthless task runner, he still had principles.

Gathering a list of his crimes would make eliminating him completely justifiable.

Finally, for some inexplicable reason, Fu Qian had a feeling that the man before him wouldn't be that easy to kill.

Bai Jinting's speech was incredibly long-winded. He even stole the host's job at the end, sluggishly reading through the tournament rules.

This shameful waste of time successfully added a trace of murderous intent to Fu Qian's heart.

Finally, as Bai Jinting sat down in satisfaction, the host snatched his microphone back and announced the start of the tournament.

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