Eldritch Horror Theatre

In this place where mind and reality intertwined, everything was peaceful—except for Demigod Weilon's mood.

After Fu Qian's perfectly natural denial, the unshakable killing intent he had felt when facing Yi'an echoed in his heart once more.

But that was all. The surrounding scene underwent no further changes.

Unfortunately for Weilon, this lack of change seemed to shock him deeply.

"How could this be?"

After repeatedly looking around, the demigod finally let out an exclamation of astonishment.

"Logically speaking, any words or actions contrary to the subconscious should cause instability, triggering unpredictable changes..."

"Is it possible that the change has already happened, just not on the surface?"

Facing Weilon's confusion, Fu Qian thoughtfully offered a suggestion, stomping his foot on the ground as he spoke.

It had to be said that Weilon, as a Psychic Type demigod, was quite skilled with this maneuver.

"Is it possible that because I just lied, the grade of the steel rebar in here shrank a size, turning this into a shoddy construction project?"

...

Of course, there was no way Weilon would actually discuss construction standards with Fu Qian. He remained silent in the face of this nonsense, but the mind beneath his mask was clearly racing.

The painstaking person is not failed by heaven. Finally, at a certain moment, an answer struck him.

"I was almost misled by you! Being in the Apocalypse Branch doesn't necessarily mean you're a brute who plays with flesh and blood. You were walking the psychic path from the start, which is why you can handle such mental influences so effortlessly?"

"How is that possible!"

It was obvious Weilon hadn't arrived at this explanation easily—he looked as if he were on the verge of an aneurysm. Unfortunately, Fu Qian unappreciatively denied it at the speed of light.

"I've always just closed my eyes and dumped all my points into strength."

Following this second denial, their surroundings remained as stable as before.

"Impossible!"

Given his prior experience, the shock Weilon received this time was somewhat lessened.

Amid his sheer disbelief, the corners of the Weeping Mask's eyes suddenly cracked. The fractures extended downward, dripping like abstract tears.

In fact, they really were dripping.

The corners of the eyes were only the beginning. In the blink of an eye, the entire mask was pulled by forces from different directions. It slowly tore and deformed, seeping into the texture of his entire body as if a patch of black and white had been smeared across his skin.

The face beneath the mask was finally revealed, and it was clearly not human.

It formed an inverted triangle, featuring sharp teeth, a pointed snout, and pale gold eyes. The striped ridges and furrows across it were a hundred times more weathered than those on his body.

Stared at by those eyes, Fu Qian felt his heart instantly fill with pure sorrow.

This negative emotion surged so fiercely it felt capable of crushing all dopamine.

Even the purest of legendary pessimists could feel no worse than this.

Heaving a profound sigh of sorrow, Fu Qian didn't spend an ounce of strength resisting it; instead, he fully savored the sensation.

As stated long ago, Mental Resistance was never a shield to avoid impacts, but the ability to face them head-on.

Last time in Dunis, he had been submerged by boundless Ecstasy and had expended a great deal of effort to calm it.

Now the other extreme had arrived—how could he justify fleeing from it?

Self-tempering! After hot tempering, there was always cold tempering!

...

"Now then... Professor Fu!"

Weilon's voice drifted through the silence, hoarse and even carrying a hint of a tremble.

It seemed that after fully activating the Weeping Mask and merging it into the current Void of Causal Origin, its effects did not distinguish between friend and foe.

This wasn't surprising. After all, the reason things were hard to control precisely was usually because they were too powerful.

The fact that even the initiator, Weilon, was reacting this way proved the point perfectly.

"I think... right now, you must have some words for someone."

As if suppressing endless sorrow, Weilon clapped his hands once more.

Creak!

A door in the corner swung open in response.

A figure walked in. Dressed in black and appearing to be in his thirties, his face brimmed with a scholarly air.

Fu Qian recognized him at a glance: it was the Half-Step Demigod of the Linghui Courtyard, Brother Yi'an.

Of course, at this very moment, he looked like a young talent in every way, completely insulated from anything resembling a group orgy.

If a character like this wanted to seduce a love-struck mortal girl, he genuinely wouldn't need to employ any supernatural methods.

And if he always maintained this academic elite demeanor, it was no wonder Demigod Weilon grieved for him so deeply.

"Professor Fu, it's been a while."

Walking over to the two with confident, unhurried steps, Yi'an didn't display red eyes or make accusations with tears of blood. Instead, he sat down gracefully, not even forgetting to nod at Weilon in greeting.

"Yi... 'an..."

The latter, however, wasn't quite as composed. Like a bladder swollen to its absolute limit taking another punch, his speech was already slurring.

Fu Qian could even feel the surrounding scene beginning to destabilize.

"Control yourself a little, or Naya will be dragged in to chat with us in a bit."

He voiced the reminder quite naturally.

"You know the consequences of a woman watching a tragic drama."

Heh... heh...

His laughter ringing with indignation and grief, Weilon jerked his head to look at Fu Qian, his voice suddenly growing stern.

"I admit... you are quite extraordinary, Professor Fu... to be able to go this far even under the mask's suppression. But now... look at him directly and let me see what you have to say!"

Following his words, Yi'an's smile also faded slightly as he turned to look over.

However, after holding his gaze for a few seconds, the scene of the man before him being crushed to pieces by his own hands surfaced in Fu Qian's mind.

Like a rewinding videotape, the fragments quickly gathered together piece by piece, ultimately forming a heavily cracked Yi'an. This image overlapped with the figure before him, resembling a shattered work of art that could never be restored.

As the murderer, the sorrow in Fu Qian's heart surged several times over in response. An emotion named repentance even emerged—

Was he too ruthless? Everyone had their own way of life, and all the participants had been willing—No!

Fu Qian outright rejected the thought in even less time than it took to appear, without leaving behind a single ripple.

This bunch from Linghui really did have some interesting methods on the mental plane.

It was just a pity that the more they overthought things, the more they failed to comprehend the realm of a true man.

"Heh... Yi'an."

In the next moment, under two intensely oppressive gazes, Fu Qian let out a long sigh and slapped the table hard.

"Do you know your crime?"

...

As soon as these words were spoken, Demigod Weilon clearly suffered a violent mental shock, quite unable to accept this turn of events.

And Yi'an, covered entirely in bloody wounds, also looked momentarily stupefied.

"What crime have I committed?"

"What crime have you committed?"

Fu Qian sneered.

"What's the sentence for organizing a mass orgy, especially with that many people? Don't tell me you didn't check the relevant laws and regulations before you started this?"

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