Eldritch Horror Theatre

Is this guy really courting death?

Having failed his operation and received this invitation, Ballard was clearly blown away by Fu Qian's logic once again.

"Since you don't have anything else to do, sitting here waiting for the target to throw itself into the net a second time might have absurdly low odds, but it's still better than running around aimlessly, right?"

However, Fu Qian's next question left him temporarily speechless.

Although he desperately wanted to retort, the guy was right.

Given the current situation, waiting by the stump for a hare like this was certainly foolish, but it truly was the only thing left to do.

Take the initiative to strike? Search the entire city?

If that approach actually worked, how could this guy have strutted around so smugly for so long?

After some internal struggle, Ballard signaled the other demigods to leave and slowly sat down in the empty seat.

"So, Mister Grimm, what do you think is the point of maintaining order in a prison like this?"

He had originally sat there in stony silence, but the sudden question made Ballard frown slightly.

This atrocious defector hadn't followed up on the topic of lunch, but was instead asking a question with a perfectly serious face.

The meaning of order...

Both Fu Qian's posture and the question itself were completely beyond Ballard's expectations.

And a philosophical question like this was obviously not easy to answer.

Under the strange gazes of Akasha and Crystal, Ballard pondered slightly, keeping his silence.

...

Excellent.

Fu Qian was quite satisfied with this scene and didn't rush to press him.

This question wasn't just for Ballard to hear, nor was it even meant for Yuan Fang behind him.

If his earlier guess was correct, every person and object before him was a manifestation of concepts from someone's will.

Then that possible fellow outsider was highly likely an entity akin to the will of the world in the Unseen Hill.

And Fu Qian needed to cure his mental pollution.

A simple process of elimination revealed that their current situation was far from optimistic.

First, violent methods were almost guaranteed to fail.

Judging from his previous two experiences attacking the saint, any form of assault would only make the flames representing the pollution burn fiercer, accelerating the task's failure.

Therefore, even if he had teamed up with Chaumont just now to slaughter a room full of demigods, the result would likely be the same.

At the same time, he was now trapped by fate, entering a future where the task was doomed to fail.

According to Yuan Fang, that ending would inevitably arrive, independent of his will.

At a glance, it felt as though there was absolutely nothing left to do.

But was it truly a dead end?

Don't forget, the task hadn't failed yet.

He needed to open his mind; he was a professional task runner.

It might be independent of his will, but what about the patient's own will?

A professional psychiatrist never fought the pollution on behalf of the patient. Doing so would only replace it with stronger pollution—drinking poison to quench thirst.

The correct method was to help the patient inspire their own heart.

...

It had to be said that the psychiatrist analogy had indeed sparked a bit of inspiration for Fu Qian.

In fact, from the moment he started speaking, Fu Qian had treated his every word and gesture as a form of communication with that fellow outsider.

After all, as a psychiatrist, talk therapy was a fundamental method for treating and saving patients.

And among all these people, Ballard was undeniably a highly distinct symbol, which was exactly why Fu Qian had sought him out.

"Are you trying to tell me that everything I've done is nothing but a boring, laughable act?"

Ballard, having fallen into deep thought, finally spoke slowly after shooting a glance at Akasha.

This extra little movement didn't surprise Fu Qian much.

Last time, Akasha had mocked Ballard with similar words; Fu Qian was essentially plagiarizing her now.

The Catherine incident had still happened this time around, so the odds of the same dialogue occurring weren't small.

"More than that. It's utterly meaningless."

Facing Ballard's question, Fu Qian nodded slightly, delivering a rather unceremonious critique.

"All your efforts, your deliberations, your unyielding persistence—in the eyes of that Prophet, they've long been preordained. Just like in an old videotape, you are merely a character with a vibrant personality inside it."

The concept of determinism was quite a shock to a person's worldview. Backed by the existence of a Prophet, its destructive power multiplied exponentially.

"So this is what makes us ridiculous in the eyes of an outsider?"

Despite Fu Qian firing on all cylinders, Ballard had actually calmed down. He let out a cold snort.

"And precisely because of this, you don't feel any psychological burden no matter what you do?"

"Because the seemingly bustling crowds aren't even entities that can be considered life, right?"

"It's not surprising. I understand you all far too well. But do you want to know how I see it?"

Nonsense, wasn't my very first sentence asking how you see it?

Understanding that Ballard might be a bit agitated, Fu Qian still couldn't help but inwardly complain.

However, seeing the man brimming with emotion, he ultimately chose to be gentlemanly and didn't interrupt.

"It's actually quite simple. Whether this is a prison or an old story, no matter how laughable or meaningless it seems, I still choose my current role."

Ballard pointed to their surroundings.

"I am happy to see a restaurant like this exist in this chaotic city, and I am willing to make every possible effort to help maintain it—even if this effort is just a preordained plotline, my willingness won't diminish in the slightest."

"Got it. You're saying that even if a so-called superhero is essentially just a puppet on strings, you'd still gladly endure it and happily play the part?"

"Yes."

Ballard nodded, emphasizing his stance.

"In the so-called rotting future that the Prophet sees, I think I will always remain exactly as I am now."

"Perhaps it's foolish, but embodying this prejudice and persistence within this story is the meaning of my existence."

"Excellent. I think I completely understand what you mean."

Fu Qian sighed, his gaze drifting toward some infinitely distant point.

From the start of this conversation until now, he didn't know if his patient had heard him, but they clearly hadn't shown any reaction.

He wasn't too disappointed either. This was only the beginning, and there were many ways to communicate.

A philosophical salon with Ballard was one way, but next came body language.

"Just one small question left. What if you usher in your destined Death because of this? A complete death, the kind with no possibility of Rebirth, even completely erased from everyone's cognition."

"...Then I would be deeply honored that the role I play helped maintain such an order in such a meaningless endeavor."

After a brief hesitation, Ballard still spoke firmly, simultaneously feeling a sharp pain under his ribs.

Looking down, he saw that his sturdy Mirror Armor had actually been pierced straight through by a single hand.

"I am deeply honored to bring your story to a close."

And the murderer who had launched the attack was bidding him a very earnest farewell.

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