Eldritch Horror Theatre

Serana asked no further questions.

Pushing past one’s own limits was deeply draining on the mind, and clearly, even someone as tough as her could no longer stomach the relentless rudeness.

Or perhaps there was simply no need to put up with it anymore. Professor Fu’s hint—”if it grows in the painting, go dig in the painting”—had clearly sparked something in her.

After a brief hesitation, her group drew closer together toward the dome, seemingly already figuring out how to go digging inside the painting.

Fu Qian was naturally quite pleased with this.

To an exploiter, nothing was more gratifying than watching a tool reignite its fighting spirit.

And he trusted that no matter how dense Serana might be, once she grasped the line of thinking, she wouldn’t confine herself purely to digging up roots inside paintings.

Discarding common sense, treating the target as an abstract concept rather than a physical entity, and then latching onto every tangentially related element to see what happened... she had plenty to keep her busy next.

What he needed to do, on the other hand, was help keep an eye on the scale of things so she didn’t go overboard and destabilize the place.

Though that was only a minor part of his duties.As noted earlier, this was Professor Fu’s research project; Serana, despite looking like the protagonist, was merely the tool.

So far, overall progress was still minimal. Unlike Serana, who only needed to charge ahead, the lead researcher had far too much on his plate.

For instance, now that they had edged a little closer to the true nature of this dream, how to exploit it further.

Even though the sensory impression had turned abstract, the entire dream remained like a stagnant pool without any obvious point of breakthrough—Shtk!

Right in the middle of his mental critique, Fu Qian shifted his left hand and plunged it straight into his own ribs.

The motion was utterly natural, like slipping a hand into a pocket to grab something—just the wrong place.

Except Fu Qian didn’t pull anything out. Instead, he activated the Seed of Writhing and stuffed a dose of pure corrosive power inside.

...

When faced with stagnant water, one had to think about how to introduce flow.

If no trace of the Seed of Writhing could be seen, the move was to manually fashion another one and see what changed.

Basic testing methodology, really.

As for why he planted it in himself? The logic was simple enough.

Theoretically, there were only two living beings in here, and Serana was in such a fragile state that another stab might be more than she could take. Not to mention she was supposed to have one inside her already, and blindly stacking another could easily interfere with the observations.

All in all, this was the true meaning of reaching back for a surprise move.

A true academic never neglected logic, even inside a Church—wait, where was the chrysalis?

The Seed of Writhing, which had maintained a hundred percent success rate up to now, had vanished the instant he let go.

Without a sound or a trace, Fu Qian found his chest completely empty, with no invasive species to be felt.

Wasn’t this flow rate a bit too high?

Far from feeling disappointed at losing something, Fu Qian was filled with the satisfaction of a successful test.

Sure enough, there was something fishy behind the inability to spot the Seed of Writhing.

The next step was to confirm just where it had wriggled off to...

The slightly unfortunate part was that with zero perception, Extreme Hunger Infection couldn’t be triggered against a target outside his field of vision; otherwise, tracking it down would have been much easier.

Fu Qian had tried it right at the start and double-checked just now, confirming that the method really couldn’t lock onto the chrysalis. It looked like he would have to give up on shortcuts and take the theoretical route.

Which raised the question: how to go about the theoretical route? A bug meant to take root in his chest and suck on his flesh and blood had vanished outright without rhyme or reason.

Surely it wasn’t because the Church was sacred ground with a built-in purification effect that brooked no such filth?

In all honesty, if this were another faith, that possibility would be hard to rule out.

Yet as a faith guided by the Night Watchers, the great power corresponding to this Church barely manifested even in the Real World.

And right now, it had even been reduced to having three heads sprouting from its neck.

If not purification, then what else could it be?

Sweeping his gaze across the hall, Fu Qian missed no detail, not even the patterns and reliefs on the walls.

Earlier, Serana had shared that the roots of the rose vines looked as if they were growing right out of the paintings.

Do not do unto others what you would not have them do unto you.

He had reminded her that she could dig for the rose roots inside the paintings, so why couldn’t he look for his lost chrysalis in them too?

Regrettably, even after inspecting the wall murals one by one, they all turned out thoroughly orthodox, without a single insectoid element in sight.

Where else could it be, then... Fu Qian quickly recalled the layout of the Church. At a certain moment, rather than going to Serana’s side for inspiration, he turned, crossed the nave, and walked deeper into the building.

...

Here it was. The place really did have one of these.

Before long, Fu Qian came to a halt, sizing up the four stone steps in front of him.

They were far taller and narrower than usual, giving the top a looming sense of pressure over where he stood.

Especially since atop the steps sat a long table that came up to chest height.

As Fu Qian mounted the steps, he easily spotted more than one three-legged, round-bellied chalice resting on the long table, each topped with a long, narrow lid shaped like an alien’s head.

With everything in the Church currently bathed in the color of blood, the design looked decidedly eerie.

Back in the Sacred Night Capital, Fu Qian had specifically analyzed the Night Watchers’ methods regarding faith, so he had made a few observations about the layouts of churches and temples.

And the area before him represented an element present in more than half of them—communion.

Through consecration by the clergy, food was imbued with divinity.

This divinity could be ”the leftovers of a Deity,” or ”the flesh and blood of the Deity itself.”

Next came the sharing of the meal, a sacred communion to achieve Sublimation...

All in all, a very standard setup.

Moreover, the spot where such rituals were held was usually somewhat tucked away, so much so that the rose vines hadn’t even reached over here.

Hmm...

Though it wasn’t completely deserted, either.

Even though Fu Qian was ignoring Serana, she clearly couldn’t help keeping tabs on his movements.

The entire way over, a gaze had trailed right behind him.

Still, having learned her lesson earlier—and now possessing a clear goal to strive toward—Serana didn’t make a sound.

She simply used one of her pairs of eyes to watch Fu Qian stroll down the length of the table, lifting every single lid as if browsing a buffet—Clack!

Lifting one particular lid, Fu Qian stopped in his tracks and eyed the peculiarly shaped lump inside.

In a house of faith that had been sold off ages ago, there was actually food inside a communion chalice? And just like the outsiders, this food hadn’t even been stained the color of blood.

Spindle-shaped, smooth and rounded, with a celadon-like sheen.

The strange patterns across its surface were even pulsing slowly, as if breathing.