Eldritch Horror Theatre

When Fu Qian mentioned discomfort, he obviously wasn’t referring to the injuries on Simon’s body.

While the visual impact of the suspected post-Transformation ”discarded piece” was staggering, it was far less troublesome to deal with than before.

Simon looked battered on the surface, but he hadn’t taken much actual damage; his physical reactions indicated nothing more than routine occupational wear and tear.

The only reason he brought it up was that the man appeared to be ”sick.”

The eyes staring back at him were as cold as ever, yet now tainted with a cloudy, bloodshot hue.

It was as if he had been infected by something.

To be honest, this was a bit strange.

Given their previous joint operations, it was entirely normal for unclean things to lurk in the Nightmare. Logically speaking, however, Simon shouldn’t have been the first one affected.

In both strength and willpower, he was clearly vastly superior to Amira and the others.

Why?...

Fu Qian always preferred to ask questions when he already had the answer. At this very moment, he felt he had vaguely guessed the price of the Taboo Commandment wielded by the Hunters.

Their overly keen Insight into filth likely stemmed from the fact that they themselves acted as litmus paper.

This specific Star Law hadn’t made the blessed ones impervious to harm; instead, it had turned the Hunters into an incredibly susceptible demographic.

That was likely one of the reasons Simon had appeared downstairs so early. Staying close enough to the source was the most effective way to collect the infection.

It truly was taboo. He had wondered about it earlier—even something like the Spear of Fatal Death was, frankly speaking, just an exaggerated means of slaughter. That alone shouldn’t have barred them from joining the Sanctuary.

If that was the case, it made perfect sense why both Hunters he’d encountered shared the same demeanor.

Through endless cycles of infection and healing, their willpower might remain firm, but their humanity had to be suffering severe erosion.

”You’re the one who looks a bit sick.”

It was gratifying to see that he still retained some semblance of self. In response to Fu Qian’s concern, Simon had retorted with a classic ”you’re the one who’s sick.”

”Well said. If I don’t go to hell, who will?”

Unfortunately for Simon, he received an even more unexpected response in return.

Fu Qian raised his head toward the sky and let out a deep, dramatic sigh.

”To deliver all living beings, the Nightmare must be emptied. If I do not walk the lost path, how can I call myself a shepherd?”

...

Even Simon was silent for a while.

”The moment the sun comes out is the most painful moment, right?”

However, Fu Qian wasn’t about to let him off the hook. He looked down at the man, his face brimming with profound pity.

...

Simon still didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it either.

”Is it because the Stars fade away in that moment?”

Fu Qian was very satisfied with this reaction and continued.

”This phrasing is a bit imprecise. After all, strictly speaking, the sun is also one of the Stars. I’ve studied a bit of your dogma.”

”But seeing as most people prefer to ponder at night, the overly dazzling sun is still considered a bit imbalanced, right?”

As time passed, the sun had indeed become a bit glaring. Fu Qian finally withdrew his gaze.

”So at the critical moment it rises, the filth in the air becomes glaringly clear, and the pollution accumulates in your body at an unprecedented rate? I can easily imagine how unpleasant that must feel.”

”To every Hunter, this is the most sacred boon bestowed by the Stars.”

Faced with his relentless questions, Simon finally responded, his tone as resolute and cold as ever.

Excellent!

Tone was irrelevant. That single answer undoubtedly confirmed so much.

So much so that Fu Qian didn’t even bother refuting Simon’s claim.

To sacrifice oneself to maintain the purity of faith—not everyone had such an opportunity, especially not one that felt so divinely ordained.

”Understandable. It looks like you’ll have many opportunities to experience this boon today.”

Without pressing any further, Fu Qian ended the conversation with shocking efficiency and continued moving forward.

”If you ever wish to share more, you are always welcome at my Church.”

...

The remains of the ”discarded piece” on the ground had almost entirely lost their vitality.

However, the moment Fu Qian approached, it still struggled desperately to get away.

The three people behind him naturally took in this exceedingly oppressive sight.

So much so that they made no move to stop him. They just watched his burly back out of the corners of their eyes as he walked step by step toward the Church’s Spire.

...

The Plaza in front of the Church was finally a bit livelier.

Even Fu Qian’s arrival caused a small commotion.

On the contrary, looking at the dozen or so figures sitting and standing around, Fu Qian felt deeply satisfied.

Morning exercise might be a good habit, but the sudden influx of people between his departure and his return was a bit too efficient.

And then there was the thing that had rushed out just now.

As time passed, the Resplendent Tyrant’s tearing of this illusory world was still intensifying.

It was obvious that the hosts of the Nightmare had received this urging.

They had learned to race against time. While resisting this tearing, they manifested the original intention of this Nightmare with the utmost efficiency.

Next, he only needed to return to the Church and wait for his visitors.

Illusory rifts were still constantly surfacing around him. As Fu Qian walked, the shape of the wings that had once been displayed on the roof of the Winslow Mansion was dragged out once again.

The audience, too terrified to look directly at his true form, found themselves naturally drawn to this spectacle. They stared in bedazzled awe—save for one.

Fu Qian stopped by the bench where pigeons were fed. The Old Lady who had once provided the pea breakfast was still in the same posture, sitting in the exact same position.

She hadn’t even finished feeding the peas in her hands, and the pigeons from earlier had long since vanished to who-knows-where.

”There are too many people and it seems to have scared them away. If you’re interested, you can come sit in my Church.”

Fu Qian reminded her casually.

...

Without making a sound, the Old Lady raised her head for the first time and looked over.

With thin lips and a high-bridged nose, her two hollow eye sockets were surrounded by a dense web of tiny scars.

Judging from their shape, they looked quite a bit like they had been pecked out by sharp beaks.

After taking just a single glance, Fu Qian didn’t say anything more and continued forward, pushing open the doors to the Small Chapel once again.

Chants and moans, much stronger than before, instantly hit him in the face, mixed with a scorching heat.

Unbothered, Fu Qian strolled as if walking through a quiet courtyard, dodging the bodily fluids that periodically dripped from overhead. He made his way straight to the pulpit and sat down upon it with an air of casual elegance.

The constantly forming and shattering rifts also spread all the way to the Sacred Emblem behind him, bringing a desolate sense of blasphemy.

And this scene was undoubtedly witnessed by the countless pairs of eyes gazing in from outside the doors.

Beneath their stiff, terrified gazes, a hunched figure slowly ascended the front steps, one footfall at a time.

Guided by the special sounds, the Old Lady’s path inside was obviously not difficult.

Of course, after arriving at the destination, it was somewhat noisy.

Quiet.

After waiting for the Old Lady to grope her way to an upright chair and sit down, Fu Qian locked onto the ceiling and unleashed a Gospel Shockwave.

Numerous naked bodies instantly acted as if they had been electrocuted, trembling madly for a burst.

The chanting and heavy panting came to an abrupt halt.