Facing an Ancient God for a Year
Chapter 1253 - 1251: Where There’s a Volunteer, There’s a Way

Chapter 1253: Chapter 1251: Where There’s a Volunteer, There’s a Way

This kind of high-level tactic, "feinting east while striking west," is certainly not the spontaneous handiwork of the "Horse."

After some interaction, Fu Qian felt he had gained a considerable understanding of the Celestial Sphere Sect’s modus operandi.

In summary, it could be described as "upright but ruthless."

Just like the commandments they upheld, within what they deemed reasonable limits, their methods were cold and unrelenting, but once the line was crossed, they displayed commendable restraint, never violating their principles.

Throughout this journey, as a new experimental case who piqued their curiosity, he had sequentially been exposed to nightmares, diseases, pollution, and finally, allowed himself to be bitten by a Bloodsucking Parasite linked to the contamination.

It was glaringly obvious that this was the extent of their limits.

Fu Qian didn’t doubt that Reginald could resolve the issue before them, but he could envision with utter clarity what the Sect’s follow-up reactions would be once this matter concluded.

Judging from Amila and her companion’s demeanor, it was likely that as soon as they left this place, the observational program triggered by his "uniqueness" would resolutely be terminated as an ineffective experiment.

Apart from some follow-up visits to assess if hospitalization in a psychiatric facility was necessary, it was highly probable they’d invest no further resources into him.

The World Within the Painting might even be treated as nothing more than an ordinary collective dreamscape.

And before squeezing everything possible from the Sect, Fu Qian would never allow such a thing to happen.

Hence, he needed to provide them with a "successful" result to continue securing funding—no, to push for increased research investment.

So just as Little Horse lunged toward him, Fu Qian immediately yanked it over with a Thread of Concern.

The outcome was quite satisfactory—Fu Qian confirmed that his movements were flawless and untraceable to the two administrative personnel.

The only issue was that the sticky, slimy mess on his body had instantly destroyed Brother Anke’s expensive outfit.

Hopefully, this mess wouldn’t linger once they left here.

...

As if!

A sudden change occurred. Not only did Reginald feel a sense of abandonment, but Amila, overseeing from the sidelines, was also aghast as she watched Fu Qian stagger, clearly rattled by the impact.

Was its target all along Anke?

It turned out to be far more cunning than expected, feigning an attack on Reginald only to launch a sneak assault at the last moment.

But it still wore a mask, didn’t it? Could it have been... because of the bite?

Yet, there were no visible, tangible changes.

Within this torrent of thoughts, Amila decisively abandoned maintaining the barrier and instead cast a healing radiance toward Reginald, aiding his rapid recovery.

"Strange."

The latter advanced tacitly, though refraining from acting immediately, instead scrutinizing the affected volunteer from head to toe.

Moments ago, Little Horse had leaped directly out of its original body and was now an unholy mess stuck firmly on Anke.

Its head had entirely disintegrated, and its rear half revealed an unformed, slim, elongated structure.

"I had assumed it wanted to switch hosts for escape, but from the looks of it, not only are there no signs of invasion, it even seems to be faintly trying to flee. What’s going on?"

Reginald’s hands, holding the Lead Flame, gradually relaxed, his face filled with puzzlement.

Isn’t the answer obvious? While this thing isn’t particularly smart, its sense of danger far exceeds yours by an unimaginable margin.

Immobile and trapped, Fu Qian clearly heard these words and immediately thought to himself.

The reason this thing wasn’t behaving viciously was simple—it didn’t dare.

From the very start of their contact, Fu Qian had noticed something: while he could classify them to some extent, the people of the Celestial Sphere Sect showed a curious insensitivity toward concepts like rankings.

Despite multiple tests along the way—from concealing his aura to gradually releasing it, even creating deliberate fluctuations—

Neither Amila nor Reginald showed any reaction.

His Second Phase status was like a presence entirely undetectable by their system.

In contrast, the Nightmare Creation before him seemed far more attuned.

After being forcibly dragged over, his latent Second Phase aura, which he hadn’t entirely suppressed, had unmistakably been sensed by it.

In an instant, this thing lost all prior bravado, instinctively recoiling.

Why hadn’t it successfully escaped?

Leaving was never going to be that easy. From the first moment of contact, Fu Qian had sprouted numerous fine tendrils within the area it covered, anchoring the pollution securely in place.

Thus, at this very moment, Fu Qian appeared to have grown half a horse onto his upper torso, with the latter writhing and struggling desperately, a grotesque and horrifying sight.

"I’ve noticed as much, but shouldn’t we save him first?"

Amila’s voice broke in at this point, agreeing with Reginald’s assessment but also urging action, clearly unable to endure the grotesque scene any longer.

"I’m fine. Did you discover anything this time?"

Standing steadily at last, Fu Qian’s first instinct was to reassure them while inquiring about observation results.

...

Have you gone too far in playing the role of a volunteer?

Just when she was about to console him with something along the lines of "don’t worry," Amila heard this question and felt her worldview upended yet again.

Not fearing death was one thing, but could someone remain completely unfazed even with such a monstrosity plastered over their face?

And their first response was to ask if there were any new findings?

"Are they on the verge of dying? Hurry up!"

Before she could voice her astonishment, the volunteer urged the two of them once again.

"About a minute or so."

It seemed this statement jogged Reginald’s memory, prompting him to glance at Brain Fork Brother’s mangled remains.

Despite being nearly unrecognizable, Brain Fork Brother had slightly opened his eyes, radiating an indescribable tranquility.

The creature leaving his body seemed to have offered him some sort of release, though it was accompanied by a rapid decline in his life force.

As a dream-sharer, his death would inevitably terminate their operation as well.

"That’s sufficient. There’s no need to leave time for action—everything is under control."

"If contamination doesn’t emerge, it won’t follow me outside. And if, at the very last moment, it invades, there’s no need to panic. I’m already with all of you, and it can be dealt with immediately."

The volunteer’s voice remained calm as he analyzed the situation and asked more questions.

"To achieve optimal results, should I remove the mask now?"

"... No. The mask prevents it from perceiving you. At this point, removing it wouldn’t make a difference."

Reginald, equally shaken, bit back a response.

"Though, judging by current indications, it really doesn’t seem like anything’s happeni—"

The next moment, his words were cut short by an intense, piercing chill.

The once-misty vapor in the room abruptly crystallized into frost.

"Ah, I see. I understand now."

The volunteer’s voice rang out almost simultaneously, as though struck with sudden enlightenment.

"You were always here..."

"Even in the deepest of nights, you’ve protected me all along..."

As he spoke, an ethereal, dreamlike glow resembling Frostburn began to envelop his body, casting him in the image of a Saint.