Chapter 2259: Chapter 2254: Rusted Weapons

"So, you really haven’t considered the consequences of failure?"

The Witch, like the others, continued moving under the moonlight, stepping deeper into the dreamscape.

Yet, in this scene, the Interlocutor, who originally seemed determined to remain calm, finally couldn’t maintain his composure.

Nevertheless, despite his incredulous retort, perhaps intimidated by the two behind him, he didn’t stop walking.

Indeed, just like before, he had clearly taken Fu Qian’s analysis of the gravity of their situation seriously.

"Of course we’ve considered it. I thought you’d be eagerly anticipating that scene."

Such a question obviously didn’t require the Pontiff’s answer. Fu Qian immediately grinned and chatted with his old friend.

The consequences of failure would certainly not be pleasant.

While he might be fine, the Witch is undoubtedly the target of the prisoners’ scheming, and it can’t be ruled out that the Dark Moon in the corridor is bait they set out.

In such a case, if truly trapped in the dreamscape unable to escape, the Dark Moon Cult Leader might be forced to become a pillar of the Nightmare Corridor, with a significant chance of having to work here henceforth.

Moreover, don’t think the Interlocutor’s question is foolish. The prisoners behind him likely have the same curiosity: What is the Witch’s threshold?

In such a direct confrontation, figuring out some crucial cards is incredibly necessary.

Believing that they have some doubts about whether the Witch is truly unstoppable, considering the unpleasant experience of being trapped here as prisoners.

And if the opponents are mentally indecisive, it clearly opens up more opportunities for exploitation.

"Of course, I’m looking forward to it... Am I sure I’m the one opening the door?"

Even though seasoned in setbacks, the Interlocutor still seemed unwilling to be completely subdued, and with gritted teeth, he stated that he indeed enjoyed the spectacle.

Not only that, but in the next moment, he even took action, stopping in his tracks to pose the two dignitaries with a choice.

Oh? This door indeed grows more distinctive.

Fu Qian, who stopped as well, looked at yet another door belonging to His Excellency Alarakir and couldn’t help but sigh.

...

The deeper realm under the shroud of moonlight seemed far more surreal and enchanting than the layer above.

At first glance, the layout appeared the same, but the rust-stained white cloth drapes gave the sensation of a flimsy paper villa.

As they walked down the never-ending path, a closer examination revealed that behind the white cloth, there was no further support.

Of course, this was far more than a visually void sensation.

By the time the Interlocutor was questioning, the previously mentioned mixed melodies had sharply become clearer.

So clear that they could be seen directly with the eyes—

Above, what clearly were dirty rust stains, now exuded intense malice, not only spreading into different shapes but even extending beyond the drapes.

Ding!

With a crisp sound, Fu Qian effortlessly flicked away an incoming attack that aimed at his face.

Indeed, a weapon had appeared.

Visible was a substantial sword blade, its rust-stained spots matched the patterns on the white cloth.

Though the instant it was flicked away, these things suddenly dissipated, reverting to the dense fog.

And the rust stains on the corresponding white cloth trembled momentarily.

This easily reminded one of the legendary shadow puppetry.

The weapon, like Sister Ox-head before, originated from and returned to the mist.

This entire process was projected by those rust stains.

Though fragile upon contact, the power was considerably formidable.

Fu Qian’s Spiritual Acumen Finger was mightily impressive but felt akin to flicking a mountain, even leaving a trace of rust on his finger.

And just like on the white cloth, the trace was also moving, not merely a simple crack, but evoking the aura of shadow puppetry.

For instance, even when the weapon shattered, the trajectory of the rust color operated as if a long blade had struck him—then, the damage manifested.

...

Remarkable.

No wounds on the surface, yet Fu Qian can clearly sense the internal destruction in his finger and palm, as if a sharp instrument indeed swept through.

Of course, for him, it wasn’t too severe an injury.

However, the issue here was that the long blade wasn’t just striking once.

The rust trace on the hand continued evolving, the attacks unceasing—meanwhile, the white cloth extravagantly heralded more attacks progressively appearing through the mist.

At any moment, it was like three hundred warriors stood ahead, bursting forth with every type of weapon.

And this is why the gate appeared increasingly distinctive, the rust stains extending over the reddish-brown door with sword-slashes and axe-cuts pristine.

Alarming battle scars visibly expanding with abstract efficiency.

Moonlight reflecting, the essence of slaughter instantly filled the entire corridor—ding!

However, Fu Qian’s second Spiritual Acumen Finger seemed slightly diminished in clarity in that moment.

The cause lay in the spear that pierced through this time, its speed noticeably reduced.

Regarding why it slowed, Fu Qian could easily observe that the moonlight reflected on the white cloth seemed to become purer, almost tangible.

Under a faint bluish hue, it shone brilliantly like silver—or snow.

Strolling in a snowy night, the rust stains on the white cloth appeared ever sinister, while movements visibly slowed, like feet struggling to emerge from a snowdrift.

Clearly, this was why the attacks dulled, with the sluggishness intensifying.

"Continue."

And as a slew of weapons crept with the speed of a snail, vainly attempting to attack, the Witch beside them uttered a concise command, her voice unwavering.

...

Who else but the mighty Pontiff.

It truly was not disappointing, a true emblem of the Dark Moon, promptly adapting ingeniously in a blink.

The moonlight, initially symbolic of the mission, subtly utilized by the Witch.

Imbuing power, freezing those peculiar war marks in place.

Though the method initially seemed surreal, as if a mere hint of color constrained the assault, upon scrutiny, it appeared entirely logical—

Don’t forget the Pontiff himself is an artistic connoisseur. This artistically flavored confrontation, casually handled, is by no means surprising.

"Heh... Should I thank you for the trust?"

Though the artistic nuances behind it remained perplexing, clearly, the Interlocutor comprehended the domineering aspect thoroughly.

The weapons distinctly targeted, never aiming for him.

Chuckling in a low tone, the Interlocutor genuinely responded to the call, stepping forth to open yet another door.

"Or should we both be grateful?"

But at the moment the door opened, another voice unexpectedly echoed from behind, speaking alongside him.

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