Eldritch Horror Theatre

This brilliant fire was far more intense than the tiny spark in Chaumont's hand.

So, was this his mission objective?

The Profound Saint had spontaneously combusted, and now he was supposed to play the healer and save it?

He had been attacked without a word of warning. However, given how incredibly slow the humanoid ghosts were flying, Fu Qian took his time, calmly analyzing the situation.

He had come here at Yuan Fang's request, but ultimately, completing the task was all that mattered; otherwise, everything else was meaningless.

The scene playing out before him was the direct result of his relentless, rapid advancement since the mission began.

If this truly was his target, the simplest way to finish the mission would be to kill the entity in front of him.

The problem was that, despite its wretched appearance, this thing's Rank was genuinely absurd.

The moment those humanoid ghosts locked onto him, Fu Qian clearly realized that the entity before him was practically at the Deity Tier, if not already there.

As he pondered, Fu Qian effortlessly dodged several of the drifting ghosts.

As they drew near, they even spread their arms, trying to pull him into an embrace.

He wasn't sure what would happen if they caught him, but he obviously wasn't going to let them find out.

Still, this was a Deity-level attack; it wasn't going to be that simple to shake off.

New ghosts were still emerging from the giant tongue, and the ones that had missed showed no signs of dissipating. Instead, they looped around in the air and came right back at him.

Something felt a little off.

Trusting that faint prickle of unease, Fu Qian avoided a head-on confrontation and gracefully dodged them again.

...

In theory, with Fu Qian's current perception and speed, he could take a leisurely stroll through these things even if there were ten times as many.

Yet just a moment ago, he had the distinct feeling that they weren't just blindly tracking him.

Every move he made seemed to trigger a calculated reaction, almost as if they possessed the foresight to wait for him exactly where he was going to land.

That was why he decided to test them again.

His suspicions were confirmed: dodging them was far harder than he'd expected. He actually had to change direction mid-air multiple times just to slip past their grasping arms.

All the while, new ghosts kept spawning. In the blink of an eye, the air was swarming with them.

To Fu Qian, the scene felt like a game of Go. His escape routes were being sealed off piece by piece, herding him until he was left with only a single choice.

It was all wrong. It felt exactly like following a pre-written script.

Acutely aware of this shift, a sense of foreboding rose within him.

It was the exact same feeling he'd gotten when he first walked down the streets of Unseen Hill.

As an outsider, was he gradually being assimilated?

If this assimilation reached its peak, would Yuan Fang be able to predict his every move?

With that thought in mind, Fu Qian stopped dodging. Several Air Bullets whistled out, slamming straight into the closest ghosts.

...

Sure enough, the ghosts—which were much slower than the Air Bullets—shifted their trajectories the instant the attack was launched.

The closer the Air Bullets got, the faster they reacted.

It looked as if the Air Bullets themselves were pushing the ghosts out of the way.

It wasn't just his imagination.

Seeing this, Fu Qian abandoned the useless tactic and immediately activated Mark of Old Days.

Unleashing a massive flurry of tentacles to completely deny them any room to dodge was an option, of course. However, considering the power attached to these ghosts, Fu Qian wasn't eager to make direct contact.

At this moment, this Authority Grade, self-inflicted damage skill was undoubtedly the best choice.

...

His choice yielded immediate results.

Even these seemingly formless, ethereal ghosts couldn't escape the damage of Mark of Old Days.

The closest batch was instantly shredded beyond recognition, rapidly dissipating into the air.

The ones further out quickly scattered to evade.

Unfortunately for them, Fu Qian's blistering speed allowed him to easily catch up, wiping them from existence.

Even in the midst of the chaos, Fu Qian still found time to study the faces of these ghosts.

Their features were surprisingly detailed. There were men, women, the elderly, and the young, all completely distinct. Could they be the residents of Unseen Hill?

The problem was that the Profound Saint in front of him was an untouchable existence to the Natives; the chances of them having been devoured by it were low.

Were they the iron shavings worn away by the turning gears of the world? The sense of self lost during every cycle of samsara?

Did they come from everyone within Unseen Hill, ultimately gathering here to become food for the coffin, rotting away into mud?

He couldn't rule out the possibility.

...

Soon, all the ghosts had been completely eradicated. The Great Hall fell quiet once more, and no new ones emerged from the giant tongue.

Of course, Fu Qian hadn't emerged unscathed. His entire body was now covered in gashes.

The backlash from Mark of Old Days was incredibly harsh; even with his regenerative abilities, it would take some time to recover.

Meanwhile, Fu Qian still didn't rush forward to slay the God.

Just because it had stopped releasing ghosts didn't mean it wasn't making a move.

Fu Qian could tell that it was still locked onto him. Moreover, the entity was currently undergoing a peculiar transformation.

The most obvious sign was the magma at the root of the giant tongue. It had become far more striking, and the twisting veins of light were visibly expanding outward.

In the blink of an eye, the bright yellow hue had swallowed nearly a third of the tongue. Even the coffin itself began to display root-like scorch marks.

The next moment, accompanied by an invisible ripple of energy, a ring of fire erupted from the coffin. It rapidly expanded outward, sweeping across the entire Great Hall.

Was it changing its attack pattern?

Just as he had refused to let those ghosts touch him, Fu Qian had absolutely no desire to be tainted by these flames—even if this was exactly what Chaumont and the others dreamed of obtaining.

So, with impeccable timing, he leaped lightly into the air, allowing the ring of fire to sweep harmlessly beneath his feet.

The fiery ring rushed outwards until it crashed into the walls of the Great Hall and dissipated. Instantly, the surrounding temperature rose a few degrees.

The flames seemed to grow even fiercer.

After dodging the sweep, Fu Qian silently evaluated the scene before him.

He could see that in the wake of the fiery shockwave, the blazing marks on the coffin were steadily creeping outward.

Before long, another ring of fire erupted.

It wouldn't be long before the entire place was reduced to a flaming purgatory.

In theory, what he ought to do was rush in and kill the Saint as fast as possible to complete his mission before that happened.

But that was only in theory.

That was setting aside the fact that something about the entity in front of him felt deeply wrong.

Even if he really did want to kill it, it would take time—time he clearly didn't have, because his little helpers were about to arrive.

As for the issue Yuan Fang had been most concerned about—how to lure Chaumont and the others into the trap—Fu Qian had never once worried about it. The tracking mark on his body hadn't been removed; drawing them here was the easiest thing in the world.

The only problem was that the Hunting Squad had arrived a little too quickly.

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