absurd deduction game.

There are five minutes left until 6 p.m.

Having finished replenishing the materials, Evan knelt before the altar, his hands pressed against the obsidian surface.

He chanted the initiation prayer of Tantric Buddhism in a low voice, the syllables ancient and difficult to pronounce, each word as if squeezed from the depths of his throat, with a viscous texture.

As the chanting began, the dark red runes on the altar came to life, pulsating like blood vessels.

The rune lines undulated slightly, as if blood flowed within them, and the altar emitted a low hum, a sound produced by the resonance of stone and magic, with a very low frequency that made one's chest feel stuffy.

He activated the rune.

The surface of the altar began to change; the originally flat obsidian surface silently developed indentations to hold ritual materials.

Faint whispers echoed around, and the temperature in the attic began to drop, a chill seeping into one's very bones.

Evan stopped chanting and opened his eyes.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his face was somewhat pale—activating the altar was quite taxing.

But his eyes burned with an almost frenzied devotion, and intense excitement had taken over his mind.

“Next are the materials.” He stood up, his voice a little hoarse, whether reminding himself or his companion, it was unclear. “Place them in their corresponding positions, no mistakes… we’re just one step away.”

Yu Xing was washing her hands in an enamel basin in the corner of the attic.

The water was cold, and a clean linen cloth was draped over the edge of the basin. He washed it very carefully, rubbing each finger one by one. A faint red stain floated on the surface of the water, which was the dirt that had gotten on the body when he moved it earlier, mixed with dust and grease.

After working for a while, Evan turned around and saw this scene, and sneered.

"You think your hands are dirty just because you helped move a few corpses?" His tone was laced with undisguised sarcasm. "You washed the blood off your hands a long time ago. Okay, I know you've never laid a hand on a human before, so stop being so dramatic."

He pointed to the northeast corner of the altar: "Help me place those human foods in their corresponding positions on the altar. Hurry up, time is running out."

Yu Xing gave a faint "Oh".

He dried his hands, draped the linen back over the basin, then picked up the food from the tray beside him—white bread, butter, jam, a few strawberries, and the jar that had been replaced with ordinary salt—and walked to the altar, his gaze sweeping over the dents that had appeared.

This was the first time he had seen what the altar looked like after it was activated.

There are three depressions in the northeast corner: a shallow circular pit with wheat ear patterns engraved on the edge; a deep square groove with ripple marks indicating liquid flow inside; and an irregular notch shaped like a bitten fruit.

Yu Xing placed the white bread into the shallow, round pit, the butter and jam into the deep, square slot, and the strawberries into the irregularly shaped notch. Finally, he poured the salt water from the kettle into a small, thumb-sized hole hidden on the side of the altar.

The liquid made a soft "gurgling" sound as it flowed in, as if it were being swallowed by something.

After doing all this, he took two steps back.

Evan had already arranged all the remaining materials.

In the southeast corner, the severed limb of the cultist lay pressed against the bottom of the depression, with dark red blood slowly seeping out and flowing along the runic grooves.

In the southwest corner, seven glass jars are placed into seven round recessed holes. The heart inside the jar trembles slightly in the preservative solution. The esoteric runes that appear on the surface resonate with the patterns on the altar, emitting a faint light.

In the northwest corner, the remains of the insectoid monster were completely stuffed into a huge, twisted depression, fitting perfectly.

All materials are in place.

The tremors at the altar became even more pronounced.

The skeletal structure beneath the obsidian countertop emitted a creaking sound, as if something was awakening.

Dust fell steadily from the attic walls, and the chill in the air intensified, with white breath visible as one breathed.

Evan raised his hand to look at his pocket watch.

Five fifty-nine.

"That bastard Fennell... she's so unreliable! Damn it, what happened to her?"

He took a deep breath, stepped back to the edge of the altar, formed a tantric mudra with his hands in front of his chest, and began to softly recite the final guiding prayer. His voice was very soft, but each syllable carried weight, as if he were knocking on an invisible door.

Yu Xing stood on the other side of the pavilion, leaning against the wall, watching quietly.

His gaze moved from the altar to Evan's face, then to the materials, and finally to the only window in the attic. It was already dark outside, the afterglow of the sunset was fading rapidly, and the deep black night was spreading from the east.

at this time.

"clang--"

The clock in the main building of the manor struck its first chime.

The deep, resonant, metallic chimes pierced through the walls and entered the attic, followed by a second, a third… The chimes continued unhurriedly, one after another, for a total of six chimes.

Six o'clock sharp.

As the last chime of the bell still echoed in the air, footsteps came from the direction of the attic stairs.

It's light, but clear.

Evan stopped chanting and turned to look at the top of the ladder.

Yu Xing also looked over.

The footsteps disappeared briefly, and then the shadows began to wriggle, cocooning into a human shape.

First appeared a pair of light gold high heels, the toes slightly dusty but still shiny, followed by a dark green skirt, the satin fabric gleaming with a dark sheen in the dim light.

Above that is a slender waist, elegant shoulder lines, and finally, a face that is so beautiful it's almost inhuman.

Fernail arrived right on time.

Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, the ends curling slightly like seaweed. A gentle smile graced her face as her gaze swept across the attic, finally settling on the altar and Evan.

“I wasn’t late, was I?” Fernail spoke, her voice soft yet carrying an undeniable sense of control. “Thank you for your hard work, Evan. You tried to contact me earlier, didn’t you?”

It has to be said that her appearance brought Evan a huge sigh of relief, but his resentment hadn't subsided. Evan forced a smile: "Yes, busy high priest. The ritual materials were tampered with, so I had to..."

“I know everything,” Fernail interrupted him. “You handled it very well, using the bodies of those servants to replenish the materials—a very efficient choice.”

Evan rolled his eyes at her.

She walked to the altar, her gaze sweeping over the materials one by one, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes. Then, she turned to Yu Xing, her gaze lingering on him for two seconds.

“You’ve worked hard too,” Fernail said, her tone as gentle as if she were praising a sensible child. “Go and rest now. I can handle the rest of the work by myself.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping back and forth between Aiven and Yu Xing.

"Both of you, get down to the bottom of the attic. Don't come up again without my permission."

Evan, familiar with the ritual, turned to Yu Xing and explained, "It's not that I don't trust you, but the ritual to summon my lord must be presided over by the high priest alone. This is the rule, and it's also necessary."

He turned and walked toward the ladder. Yu Xing didn't say anything and followed behind Ai Wen.

The two climbed down the ladder one after the other. As soon as they landed, Yu Xing paused and looked ahead. There were already people there.

Performers.

He appears and disappears mysteriously. After gaining Evan's trust, he could be seen anywhere in the manor. At this moment, he was leaning against the opposite wall, holding a piece of white bread in his hand.

Hearing the noise, the actor looked up.

When he saw Yu Xing, his eyes crinkled into a smile, and he handed her the remaining half of the bread in his hand.

"Want some?" he asked, his tone as natural as if he were sharing a snack. "It's a bit dry, but the taste is alright."

Yu Xing did not answer.

He didn't even look at the performers, but walked straight to the other side of the platform, stood with his back against the wall, and looked up at the entrance to the pavilion.

Evan also came over and stood next to Yu Xing. His face was a little tense, and his hands unconsciously clenched and unclenched, clearly showing that he was both looking forward to and nervous about the upcoming ceremony.

The performer didn't mind, withdrew his hand, and continued eating his bread.

The surroundings quieted down, with only the soft sound of the performer chewing bread and faint noises coming from the attic.

But the silence lasted for less than twenty seconds.

After an eerie scream, seemingly from nowhere, the change began. The wooden walls around the attic instantly became transparent. The texture of the walls remained, but the interior could be seen clearly through them—the altar, the materials, and Funel standing in front of the altar.

Then, the walls continued to blur.

The wood grain gradually disappeared, replaced by a light wall, a pale blue, slightly luminous light, forming a semi-transparent barrier that separated the interior of the attic from the outside world.

Fine, water-like ripples rippled slowly across the surface of the barrier, each ripple carrying a subtle sense of spatial distortion as it spread.

Through the light barrier, Yu Xing was able to clearly see the scene inside.

Fennell stood in the center of the altar, a dark green ceremonial staff that had appeared in her hand at some point. It was not long, about half a person's height, and the staff was made of some kind of bone-like material, with fine scale-like patterns on the surface.

The head of the staff is shaped like a pair of outstretched butterfly wings, with dark red gemstones inlaid on the wings, arranged in an eye pattern.

She closed her eyes, gripped the ceremonial staff with both hands, and placed the tip of the staff against the center of the altar.

With a slight movement of his lips, he began to recite.

The sound was very soft, almost inaudible through the light barrier, but one could sense the rhythm—an ancient, distorted, and blasphemous rhythm, each syllable like a tearing apart of the latitude and longitude lines of space.

As she chanted, the red light on the altar surged.

Like blood rushing to the skin, it brightened layer by layer, wave by wave, and the dark red runes turned bright red, like freshly flowed blood.

Red light spilled from the surface of the altar, flowing along the recessed grooves and staining all the materials with a scarlet hue.

The material softens, collapses, and flows like a candle when heated.

All materials, regardless of their original form or material, transformed into scarlet blood within seconds, seeping into the black stone surface and being completely absorbed by the altar.

A huge, complex blood-red array appeared on the surface of the altar.

The array was made up of countless fine rune lines, with a twisted pattern at the center that resembled the internal organs of some kind of creature. The array slowly rotated on the surface of the altar, emitting a strong energy fluctuation with each rotation.

The fluctuations spread like ripples.

The first lap passed through the light barrier, brushing past the three people on the platform.

Evan's body trembled, and a look of wild joy appeared on his face. He formed a mudra with his hands in front of his chest and whispered a word of praise.

The performer stopped chewing, looked up at the scene inside the light barrier, his eyes sparkling with interest. Yu Xing narrowed his eyes slightly—he could sense that the fluctuation contained a pure and intense pollution.

The second wave of fluctuations spreads even further.

Passing through the walls, through the corridors, through the entire manor.

The plants in the manor began to wither; it was a rapid, eerie decay. Leaves turned yellow and black within seconds, then crumbled into powder. Flowers withered, and petals melted into a viscous liquid that dripped to the ground.

The third wave of energy surged out of the manor and spread towards the town.

Wherever it passed, the air became viscous, the light dimmed, and the temperature plummeted.

One by one, the gaslights on the street went out, their wicks rotting away. Fine cracks appeared on the walls of the houses, the plaster peeled off, revealing the blackened bricks underneath.

The altar, having absorbed all the materials, began to sink.

The altar itself did not move, but the space around it began to distort and stretch, like a thin film being pulled toward an abyss. The scene inside the light wall began to blur, and Fennell's figure became hazy, while the blood-red array on the altar became clearer and more dazzling.

Finally, there was light, a filthy, intense light mixed with countless colors, like light forced out by crushing and squeezing together rotten entrails, pus, mold, and rust.

The light burst forth from the center of the altar, radiating outwards in all directions like an explosion.

The intense light penetrated the light barrier, the wall, and all obstacles.

The entire attic shattered inch by inch in the intense light, like a mirror being smashed, breaking into countless fragments. Planks, beams, tiles, dust... all the materials that made up the attic disintegrated and vanished into nothingness in the intense light.

After the fragments dispersed, a desolate ruin was revealed.

The land was scorched black, with broken stone pillars, tilted ruins, and scattered rubble and bones. The sky was dark red, without sun or moon, only swirling, murky clouds.

The phantom of the ruins overlaps with the real scene of the manor, like two semi-transparent slides stacked together. You can see the walls and corridors of the manor, as well as the scorched earth and broken stone pillars.

The scenes of the two worlds intertwine, permeate, and merge, blurring the boundaries between them.

This indicates that the ancient gods of the distant past truly touched the human world.

The altar stands at the center of this overlapping space.

It is no longer an obsidian and bone structure, but has become a living altar made of flesh and bones.

As Fernail stood on the altar, she seemed to become part of the writhing flesh and blood.

The butterfly wings on the tip of the dark green ceremonial staff in her hand were fully spread out, and eyes opened on each wing, densely packed, all staring at the center of the altar.

She opened her eyes.

The desolate ruins were reflected in the emerald green compound eyes.

“The anchor point…” Fernail said softly, her voice carrying an almost manic calm, “The anchor point has arrived.”

She spread her five fingers and slowly clenched them towards the vortex of flesh and blood at the center of the altar.

“Come,” she said, “Gods.”

"Descending here." (End of Chapter)