Eldritch Horror Theatre

Rose of Lies... Is this the Warehouse’s idea of a bad joke?

It wasn’t a sudden craving to perform magic tricks; Fu Qian had simply activated the effect of Annalise’s Lie.

But he had to admit, it really did feel a bit like performing on stage.

There was no blooming process. The flower simply appeared out of thin air, pinched between his fingers, looking exactly like a magician’s warm-up act.

And the black Glove, the blood-red flower, the tender green stem... even the visual effects were superb.

He could only assume the Blood Clan’s showy habits had been passed down directly from their ancestors.

Even a named prop had a completely different style from those of other deities.

The budget just seemed a bit low. This Rose of Lies was a true lie—

The stem was soft and spindly, the petals thin and delicate.

Even someone like Fu Qian, who had little interest in flowers, could tell at a glance that it wasn’t a rose, but a wild rose.As a result, ”Rose of Lies”—an eerie term that would normally make one’s heart skip a beat—suddenly felt entirely too literal.

It literally just meant a fake rose... Just to save a few bucks?

If he remembered correctly, the effect could only activate if someone else accepted the flower. Weren’t they afraid of ruining the big picture to save a little on the details?

Though, theoretically, this blood-colored wild rose really was watered by divine blood.

Despite his urge to criticize it, he didn’t let that distract him from experiencing the details.

Rather than appearing out of thin air, it was more like it drew blood out of thin air.

The moment he activated it, Fu Qian realized that blood was actually surging within the Glove.

It silently siphoned away a portion of his bodily fluids while simultaneously germinating the delicate, vibrant flower in his hand.

What a pity. There was clearly no one to give it to right now, and the Warehouse didn’t seem the least bit interested.

After confirming that it hadn’t triggered any reaction, Fu Qian shook his head and gently rolled the stem between his fingers. The petals fell like rain, dissipating into nothingness before hitting the ground.

Having casually wasted a precious once-a-day opportunity, he finally stood up from his seat and walked into the depths of the Warehouse.

...

[1-013; Demon Mountain]

Despite the Warehouse’s reminder that he could clock out, Fu Qian didn’t spend much effort finding his target.

There were far too many subtle nuances to this mission, so there was no reason not to check the appearance of the Containment Object—wait, what was this?

Casually opening the small, silver-white square box, Fu Qian looked at the contents inside and fell into deep thought.

True Word Notebook?

He could only say that it did look somewhat similar, except the one he had seen hadn’t exuded such a heavy aura of death.

Indeed, at first glance, Fu Qian felt as though he were opening a coffin.

The item inside appeared to be roughly the same size as the notebook, but it had undergone a process akin to corpse decomposition, scattering into a messy heap.

Just how messy was it?

It wasn’t merely moldy, rotting pages; Fu Qian even saw crushed bones mixed within.

As for the insect casings, tree roots, and even things resembling Carrion, they made him averse to taking a second look.

All in all, the visual impression was entirely unique, as if a storybook had rotted away along with the characters inside it.

But a mere appearance like this was far from enough to surprise Fu Qian.

After all, it was a bit disgusting, but not entirely unexpected.

The reason he had this reaction was because, although it was mostly rotted away, it had still left behind a few traces of its past, enough that a few words could be recognized at a glance—

[...higher entity... primordial faith... pursuit...]

[...favored one... Herbert...]

I was wondering why the remarks this time were so generous. The Warehouse completely freeloaded them!

...

Sure enough, every anomaly had its cause. One should never overestimate the integrity of a higher entity.

After discovering the source of the special reward’s remarks, Fu Qian once again cemented a certain worldview of his.

It would have been one thing if the Warehouse had just filled in the gaps and helped him string the keywords together.

But upon closer inspection, he realized that identifying them wasn’t all that difficult; the Warehouse had quite literally just copied it word for word.

It hadn’t even copied it completely—

[Annalise is Tilanchi, Tilanchi is Annalise]

Skimming through quickly, Fu Qian’s gaze fell to the very bottom.

Compared to the rest of the contents, this line of text actually looked a bit clearer.

Usually, in situations like this, what was written would be something trivial.

But taken in at a glance, the content was incredibly impactful.

...

Who was Tilanchi?

The name was certainly unfamiliar, but once placed alongside Annalise, it became hard to ignore.

Crucially, it wasn’t just placed alongside her; it was a true equivalence.

Utilizing a chiasmus-like rhetorical device, the front and back were essentially emphasized twice, meaning an equal sign could be drawn between the two names.

It was even certified by the True Word Notebook.

The implications of this were severe.

From what he had seen so far, for a higher entity, the boundary between a true name and an honorific name wasn’t even that clear; most of the time, their effects were practically the same.

After Annalise ascended to godhood, she had seemingly preserved her original name entirely; didn’t he see how the Blood Clan still didn’t dare to address her directly even now?

Then the sentence appearing here could almost be understood to mean that a deceased higher entity could be equated to the entity corresponding to another name?

The true name of the Primordial Moon?

This was arguably the easiest conclusion to reach; after all, the opportunity for Annalise’s ascension was the consensus that she was the reincarnation of the Moon God.

It even immediately provided a motive for why this line appeared here: Annalise had wanted to confirm her relationship with the Primordial Moon.

In the previous Ancient Reminiscence, he had noticed that long before officially becoming a higher entity, she had felt quite apprehensive about this pie-in-the-sky fortune.

This mission further proved that her pursuit of certain answers had turned into an obsession so deep that she was even dreaming about it.

Though in that case, the significance of this intelligence seemed rather minor.

After all, theoretically, the Primordial Moon had died even more thoroughly; it didn’t seem to have much of a role during the Long Night.

Even if he were to go out and shout this name, there was a high probability he wouldn’t get a response.

So, in the spirit of pragmatism, other than the Primordial Moon, whose name could this possibly be?

With such a special harvest, Fu Qian naturally couldn’t be easily satisfied. He very naturally tried to squeeze out its remaining value—the Red Moon.

And a bizarre scene from the past suddenly leaped into his mind—

On the gigantic, blood-colored moon, the scars and ravines seemed to follow a wondrous pattern, carrying the aesthetic beauty of life...

It was like the torso and limbs of a massive creature, forcibly molded together under the tearing pull of gravity...

That was the scene when he had first seen the Red Moon.

And at that time, with the God of Clamor Hamadus as a shining precedent, he had judged that, just like how Hamadus was warped into a ship, some massive creature had been bound by the concept of the moon and forcibly warped into a planet.

So, it wasn’t just bound by the concept of the moon, but even by the Scarlet Moon?

And the root of that binding was right before his eyes at this very moment.