Eldritch Horror Theatre

Now this was the intuition of a professional.

The mission summary was reasonably detailed, confirming his past experience once again: more exploration yielded more information.

And Fu Qian, who had spent the entire journey tirelessly conducting his ”research,” had not let the rewards of that hard work go to waste.

Listening carefully and nodding in deep satisfaction, he even found an excuse for the Warehouse’s stingy behavior—there was no point in explaining things to someone without a thirst for knowledge anyway.

[Pollutes everything within sight, including what cannot be seen.]

Take this description of Mr. Rick’s corrupting nature after his ”evolution,” for instance.

This slightly bizarre logic would have left anyone completely baffled—unless they were a dedicated researcher like him.

But combined with his first experience at the hospital, it made perfect sense.

...

He had been puzzled back then. The way those people had blocked his path was pointless, and he couldn’t even confirm if their actions were connected to his presence.After all, while he was in the Blood Crusade State, they theoretically shouldn’t have been able to observe him, much less have their behavior influenced by him.

Yet that stress-like reaction had still occurred.

In fact, it was exactly this unreasonableness that had prompted him to borrow the Night Watchers’ hands to execute Rick.

Looking back now, that move had been absolutely necessary.

Compared to the infected, Rick, as the source spreading the corruption, might have gained a Transcendent Tier boost, but his range of observation—or perception—was ultimately limited.

As long as he stayed out of Rick’s ”sight,” he could avoid being corrupted.

And that was exactly what he had done the entire time.

But there was one option he hadn’t taken: using his stealth abilities to sneak right up to Mr. Rick for a point-blank headshot to eliminate the threat.

Judging by the mission summary now, that seemingly obvious strategy would have been instant death.

Entering Rick’s observation range while evading observation—such an abstract concept would still get him corrupted. This was the so-called ”what cannot be seen.”

Touch it and it stains, don’t touch it and it still reeks.

Truly fitting for the chemical reaction sparked by the blasphemous power layered over the Dragon of Apoptosis.

...

The other crucial detail in the mission summary was undoubtedly the title ”Blasphemy Monarch.”

The Warehouse hadn’t disappointed. Its final sentence had finally validated his guess about the true mastermind.

These Cosmic Deities were indeed a miserable and restless bunch.

Mr. Rick was undoubtedly this old acquaintance’s Covenanter.

And true to its blasphemous authority, even duping its own Covenanter was done silently and imperceptibly. According to the summary, it seemed Rick himself didn’t even remember when he had become a minion.

At the same time, the Blasphemy Monarch’s luck was clearly quite good.

Such a minor pawn had actually helped It stumble upon a treasure by pure accident.

It was obvious that without Fu Qian’s interference, Huo would have inevitably fallen into Its hands.

So did this count as ruining a higher entity’s stroke of luck?

It was only logical for the other party to strike back and try to screw him over.

Of course, just like last time, he had borrowed the power of the gospel to reject the gesture.

His reason for hitting Huo with the Gospel Shockwave was simple: to scramble the mush inside its brain and force its so-called ”sense of self” to violently churn. Whether it could spot something wrong within that chaos was entirely up to its own comprehension.

As it turned out, Huo hadn’t let him down. On its deathbed, it achieved complete enlightenment and died with absolute clarity.

This also proved that the vision at the end wasn’t some fortuitous encounter, but rather the Blasphemy Monarch’s contingency plan to spin a disaster into a victory.

Had he actually followed the vision’s guidance, his fate wouldn’t have been much better than Huo’s.

Now that was a true final ripple.

Amid his musings, Fu Qian locked onto his special reward.

[Name: Typhoid Terror]

[Type: Special Item]

[A pale, withered, curled-up statue. Its bizarre shape incites more fear in the human heart than a bare skeleton. Typhoid is not hard to ward off, but it often heralds the onset of old age.

Lock onto a target and activate it, and an all-penetrating Death Shadow will shroud their will for fifty-nine minutes.

The target will sense an icy attack locked onto them from an infinite height, ready to crash down and bring death at any moment.

It cannot be evaded or dispelled by any means. Any such attempts will only feed this perception and prolong the duration. After fifty-nine hours, the Meteor of Fate will truly descend from the sky.

Ineffective against targets under the age of fifty-nine.]

[Remark: A giant dragon is inherently a beast of immense power, making its aging all the more unbearable to witness.]

Brother Huo’s dying will?

It certainly sounded like it from the description, but wasn’t this effect a bit of a sick joke?

Silently examining the loot in his hand, Fu Qian’s expression turned odd.

It was a weighty statue, roughly half the size of his palm.

Just as described, it was pale and withered, offering no warmth to the touch—capturing quite a bit of the Dragon of Apoptosis’s essence.

Except, compared to that entity’s dying posture, this statue actually looked even more twisted and deformed.

The long tail, the claws, and even the tattered wings were interlocked at bizarre angles, as if the body had been violently kneaded together.

And that seemingly familiar head was embedded right in the center of the mess.

Its eyes were open a bit wider than a mere slit, but what flickered within them was a lifeless, ashen decay.

So Brother Huo really had a grudge against the number fifty-nine?

Unbothered by its ominous implications, Fu Qian toyed with the deformed statue and found it surprisingly comfortable to hold.

Though the mention of a Meteor of Fate stirred the imagination, the practical feasibility of actually using this thing seemed rather questionable.

The age restriction was one thing, but fifty-nine hours? It was rare for him to even spend that long on a single mission.

In comparison, it seemed like a pretty good option for scaring people back in reality.

After all, the fact that it couldn’t be dispelled—and that trying to do so would only extend its duration—was downright wicked.

Even so, compared to the grueling effort he had put in, this reward still felt a bit light.

He had risked being misled by the Blasphemy Monarch, after all. If he had been even slightly less professional, he might have planted a hidden peril for his future progression.

However, considering the Warehouse classified the item as number 2, it made some sense—the risk posed by the Blasphemy Monarch wasn’t reflected in the mission’s completion.

Meaning, the hidden peril was a problem for the future, completely separate from the mission’s actual rating.

[Today’s work is complete. You may now leave the Warehouse. Weekly work progress: 2/4]

Amid his sudden empathy for capitalists, the notification to clock out chimed promptly.

Done and dusted.

Tossing the statue onto the desk in front of him, Fu Qian stretched lazily. He didn’t rush to put his mask back on and return to his business; instead, he activated the Imprint on his wrist.

After a night’s rest and a morning workout, his condition had largely recovered. With a top-tier volunteer like Eldest Miss Wen around anyway, he figured he might as well go check up on Young Master Qin and the others first.