Eldritch Horror Theatre

True to the two gatekeepers’ word, the local customs here were certainly unique.

The youngster carried himself with undeniable presence. Fu Qian didn’t press him further, simply watching the small, stiff-backed figure walk away.

Even the child’s clothes were entirely serious—plain yet solemn.

The only pity was that they bore no recognizable Emblem or anything similar that might give Fu Qian a better grasp of this ”Solitary King.”

Not that he had gained nothing. While the copper Handbell had been ringing, Fu Qian noticed a crisscrossing mark carved into the palm holding it.

Though scaled down to fit the small palm, the mark was nonetheless a brilliant, piercing red.

Did that mean every single person here was a winner from the group interviews?

With that theory in mind, Fu Qian looked around once more, finding the atmosphere suddenly much livelier.

More importantly, that crisscrossing mark was distinctly different from his own, strongly suggesting they were unique identification codes.

As a result, disguising oneself as someone else would be quite difficult. That was a good thing. Let’s see who would dare try to impersonate him, Ariel.With a cold scoff, Fu Qian clasped his hands behind his back and strode forward, rounding the street corner and heading off into the distance.

Although this area wasn’t on his mental map, this had to be the right direction.

His pace was unhurried yet firm, as if he were strolling through a long-yearned-for sanctuary.

The so-called direction of his destination was actually quite simple.

Without a clear pilgrimage site to head toward, his immediate goal was straightforward: return to where the dream began—the site of his interview.

That didn’t necessarily mean he expected to find clues about the Solitary King there.

He simply reasoned that someone else might expect him to go there looking for clues.

To put it less abstractly: given his thoroughly conspicuous performance earlier, the odds of running into an ambush were much higher there than anywhere else.

...

So what was the actual origin of this place?

His footsteps never slowed, and neither did his curiosity.

From the very beginning, he had suspected from various signs that this place might share a similar nature to Akons.

Aside from himself, the other members of the group were all lost souls who had strayed deep into the Mind World.

Now, having cut down his many competitors and pierced the illusory barrier to reach the Great Court, that theory was firmer than ever.

On the one hand, the existence of such an overlapping structure cast serious doubt on whether this town was real at all.

On the other hand, while the place before him was no longer a dead city, Fu Qian could see it definitely wasn’t functioning normally either.

He had passed dozens of people along the way, some wandering alone, others in small groups of two or three. They all shared one thing in common: not a single one was engaged in any actual work or social production.

Quite a few of them carried themselves with the same imposing presence as the youngster he had met earlier.

But regardless of their presence, everyone seemed entirely immersed in some transcendent state of mind. None of them showed even the slightest hint of a working-class demeanor.

Fu Qian had even spotted commercial storefronts along the street, but their operating model was clearly wholesale looting—they were dilapidated and thoroughly trashed.

While this bolstered his earlier theories, it also raised a glaring question: where did this place and all these people actually come from?

He had walked a long way before finally spotting a trace of anything familiar, proving just how massive this town really was.

Given the population density he had observed, a quick mental calculation yielded a staggering total headcount.

Were they all lost souls in the Mind World?

Wasn’t that scale a bit absurd? Did that many people really enjoy exploring their inner worlds?

Perhaps that could be explained by years of gradual accumulation. But where did this Great Court come from?

According to what he knew, the entities serving as the barrier—like Akons—had all fallen into the depths of the Mind World during the Long Night, their very natures twisting due to their devout faith.

Leaving aside the fact that he had never heard the title ”Solitary King” before—even if he was just ignorant—these buildings didn’t seem right either.

Though he had earlier judged them to be classical in style, compared to Akons, they honestly looked much too modern. They lacked any real sense of historical age.

Given how physically idle the citizens were, it couldn’t be that the Solitary King had personally expanded the town to reward his subjects, could it?

Or perhaps, unlike Akons, this place was simply much younger and hadn’t been born out of the Long Night at all?

That was a rather startling thought.

Even if he couldn’t make a definitive judgment yet—and the theory sounded somewhat absurd—there was one conclusion he could draw. Regardless of the exact truth, the Solitary King was highly active compared to deities like the God of Insight and Wisdom.

”Look!”

As if to immediately validate that praise, a figure suddenly blocked his path, shoving an arm directly in front of his face.

”Look at what?”

Though the stranger’s tone was far from polite, Fu Qian didn’t force his way past. He stopped and asked back with genuine curiosity.

”Do you see the King? This is His red.”

The stranger kept their arm raised, their voice pitched with feverish excitement.

”I see it.”

Fu Qian nodded, glancing at the palm that was practically shoved up against his nose.

...

There was an Imprint on the palm as well, piercingly red, once again suggesting that everyone here was a victor from the interview groups.

But that wasn’t the only red Fu Qian saw.

Although the person clearly had the skeletal frame of a full-grown adult, their flesh was abnormally withered—they looked barely better than a walking corpse.

And the reason for this condition was right there in plain sight: leeches.

They might have been a special breed, but they were unmistakably leeches.

In fact, the arm was so close to his nose that he could smell their pungent, metallic stench.

The stranger wore a blindingly white, oversized robe. On the exposed hand and forearm alone, there were dozens of leeches clinging stubbornly to the sallow, wax-like skin.

Every single one of them was at least the length of a middle finger. Unlike the person’s withered flesh, the leeches were so gorged they looked ready to burst, their bodies stretched until they were semi-transparent.

At a glance, the blood surging within them seemed to glow and reflect off one another.

So even though everyone here was a follower of the Solitary King, did their religious philosophies vary this wildly?

The youngster from earlier had insisted the hour hadn’t yet arrived, but this person was taking a much more imaginative approach—using these leeches to physically manifest His great radiance?

And it wasn’t just a metaphor. As the bloody glow pulsed, Fu Qian could actually feel a certain presence permeating the air and washing over his own body.

Glancing down, Fu Qian saw that a patch of skin on the back of his hand was growing unusually active compared to the rest of him. It was even squirming slightly.