Eldritch Horror Theatre

The Clown had appeared here for one reason: to stall for time.

The Angel of Death was in the middle of a critical maneuver and needed him to run interference.

It was easy to draw this conclusion from the Clown’s declaration. The sheer utilitarianism of the act cast a rather lamentable shadow over their long-awaited reunion.

But judging actions not intent, Fu Qian still deeply appreciated the exchange. He launched into the next topic without hesitation.

It was hardly surprising. For Brother A Wei, this was standard operating procedure.

Their earlier Q&A act had seemed theatrical, but at its core, it had been a genuine exchange of ideas.

The Clown’s shared intel also made one thing clear: A Wei was no ordinary Angel of Death.

It was hard to say whether his rank was simply a notch higher, or if his own infusion of The Deep back then had just been that effective.

Compared to the Black Doctor, the Lord, or even Akasha—demigods who could only passively grasp at opportunities amid the turning tides of an era—A Wei operated on an entirely different level.

Not only could he perceive the opportunities meant for others, but he could even tamper with them, luring youngsters astray to unwittingly do his bidding. Didn’t that sound familiar?Fu Qian immediately thought of the Reaper Familiars in Shangjing.

Led by Laurie, the Greed Worms had fancied themselves the masterminds, running around recruiting young prodigies into their pyramid scheme to consume carrion.

Little did they know, someone else had been standing behind them the whole time, bleeding them dry from the shadows.

Someone who enjoyed all the benefits while shouldering none of the responsibility.

The damage transfer that the Greed Worms feared most couldn’t touch A Wei in the slightest.

If he hadn’t grown overconfident and exposed himself back then, pinning him down would have been incredibly difficult.

A quick comparison made it obvious: wasn’t the current situation strikingly similar?

Brother A Wei was clearly well-versed in the art of staying true to one’s original aspiration.

Only this time, his victims of exploitation were the Natives of the Unseen Hill.

That brought up a minor question, though. Why would he deliberately lower his status to organize a separate little team?

Hiding in the shadows and reaping the rewards was an addictive habit. Given A Wei’s personality, Fu Qian knew he wouldn’t do something so superfluous without a good reason.

Combine that with the Clown’s bizarre behavior just now—including but not limited to sprawling out in the open, neither attacking nor fleeing upon seeing him, and possessing absolutely zero regard for operational secrecy...

Sure, it fit the Clown’s style perfectly, but his intent to stall for time was still far too obvious.

That seemed to answer the earlier question. A Wei stepping into the light to form this team probably wasn’t to streamline his plans, but to serve as an extra firewall against potential threats.

...

Wasn’t this sense of paranoia a bit excessive? Was it from the trauma Fu Qian had caused?

Pondering this silently, Fu Qian even indulged in a brief moment of self-reflection.

It would be narcissistic to assume A Wei had done this solely to guard against him, but honestly, that was probably a major factor.

After all, A Wei had ended up in this place entirely thanks to him. Worrying that his nemesis might pop out of the woodwork at any moment was just human nature.

The Clown’s mindset was another fascinating piece of the puzzle. He clearly knew exactly what A Wei was thinking, yet cheerfully waltzed in to serve as cannon fodder anyway.

It was perfectly absurd.

As expected, every meeting in life was driven by a profound twist of fate.

”Don’t say I didn’t warn you, your time is running out.”

Despite having his true motives laid bare, the Clown had continued chatting enthusiastically, and it seemed he intended to keep going.

Facing Fu Qian’s response in that moment, the Clown seemed to empathize with some of that lamentable nature of life.

And as he actually settled back down, he didn’t forget to toss out a friendly reminder.

”How much?”

Fu Qian remained as natural as nature itself. He didn’t deliberately dodge the topic or feign indifference.

”I’m not sure. But this lake is a vital node. After a certain point, it won’t even need to cover the entire city for the eternal night to be completed.”

The Clown’s response remained uninhibited, gesturing forward as he outlined the grand scheme of things.

”I agree to a certain extent.”

Fu Qian gave a slight nod, his gaze falling on the increasingly translucent water of the lake.

As they chatted, the visible range of the Ash Descent had already expanded to cover all of Sage Lake, and some unusual sights emerged along with it—like the human silhouettes beneath the water.

That was right. Though hazy, they could still be made out. It was the exact same scene he had witnessed in the massive cauldron earlier.

Layer by layer, one by one, humanoid figures covered in gray lay sleeping peacefully within, like the last dying embers of a world.

The lake water wasn’t just turning transparent; the worlds on either side of the door seemed to be overlapping in a peculiar manner.

”It does seem like time is running short—so, do you know who’s crying?”

While expressing agreement with the Clown’s statement, Fu Qian didn’t bat an eye as he steered right back to the original topic.

...

”You really are persistent. Why are you so sure I know?”

Fu Qian’s behavior looked somewhat lackadaisical. Fortunately, the Clown wasn’t the type to worry on someone else’s behalf either, and in the next moment, he enthusiastically picked up the conversation.

”Because you’ve done a phenomenal job stalling,”

Fu Qian offered a word of praise.

”Regardless of the specific methods, the end result is that you perfectly stalled for time right up until now, and haven’t even taken a scratch yourself. You’d be hard-pressed to find a second person in the entire Unseen Hill who could pull that off.”

It was no idle flattery. Why had the Clown been so generous with sharing, practically selling out all the organization’s secrets, yet no one had come to stop him?

Perhaps the Angel of Death being busy was a factor. But everyone here had been around the block; they never just looked at the surface.

The core reason the Clown could do this so blatantly was because this was his way of stalling him.

Exactly. Trading information for time.

The Clown’s actions looked absurd, but his logic had actually been crystal clear the whole time.

From his various past displays, that group must have known that trying to stop him with sheer force would be rather difficult.

Ultimately entrusted with this heavy responsibility, the Clown had chosen to complete his task in this format: I will tell you my plan, and use the time you spend listening to execute it.

If you weighed the options and decided it was worth it, you would naturally sit down quietly and listen.

It all came down to whether the person involved agreed that sharpening the axe does not delay chopping wood.

”Since time is so critical right now, I figure even if you didn’t know, His Excellency the Angel of Death would do his best to tell you, just so you could share it with me.”

Fu Qian, evidently a strong proponent of the axe-sharpening theory, smiled as he added his reasoning, even dragging A Wei into it.

Even if he couldn’t assume the Clown knew everything, he could just trouble the Angel of Death to personally transmit the information over.

This act of selling the very rope that would be used to hang oneself was, admittedly, something to look forward to.

”I don’t know her name... but theoretically, everyone should call her Mother.”

As it turned out, after staring at him for a moment, the Clown actually gave an answer.