I have a Tantric panel

After entering the painting.

The first thing that came up was a familiar smell of rust.

That was a lingering smell that drifted over the capital, mixed with coal smoke and furnace ash.

But it needs to be stronger and more pungent.

An answer came to mind.

factory.

Only steel manufacturing plants have this smell.

Soon, Shane was able to see his surroundings clearly.

The iron wall is covered with mottled rust marks.

The chimney, long since silent, stands quietly in the dim, slanting sunlight.

Inside the open workshop doors, rows of machines squatted side by side, like sleeping steel behemoths.

Right.

However, this factory seems to have been abandoned for a long time.

Xia En calmed herself down and silently memorized the surrounding scenery.

It might be useful for solving the case.

Suddenly, a sound came from the shadows of the factory.

—It was the sound of footsteps.

Someone is coming.

Before Xia En could hide, several hooded men in black robes walked onto the open space.

"How are the ceremony preparations going?"

"That's what the leader asked."

The man in black robes beside him bowed respectfully: "Only one last step remains."

"Speed ​​up, the Crimson Lord is watching us."

"Yes, emcee."

Xia En was prepared to be discovered.

However, these suspicious-looking men in black robes seemed not to see him at all, showing no reaction whatsoever.

"This time, am I just an observer?"

Xia En analyzed it in his mind.

The circumstances surrounding the inclusion of elements in each painting are not entirely the same.

Sometimes it's personal experience.

Sometimes, however, we can only stand from the perspective of a third party and witness how things unfold.

Lord of Crimson, Master of Ceremonies, Ceremony...

These words all point to one answer—

Secret gathering!

In fact, they don't even worship one of the nine pillar gods currently in existence.

Suppressing his thoughts, Xia En continued to play the role of an audience member.

He followed the men in black robes into the abandoned factory.

On the tin floor, there were various bottles and jars, as well as some special materials whose names I couldn't identify.

Fortunately, the emcee cooperated and began counting:

"Black salt, wormwood oil, crushed moth wings, knots woven from sage and wormwood, wreaths made from cypress branches woven from cemetery cypress trees..."

"Very good, all the auxiliary materials are ready, only the last main material is missing."

As they were speaking, two men in black robes walked in carrying a burlap sack.

Untie the sack.

One of them was a man who had fallen into a coma.

His clothes were tattered and he was extremely thin.

The smell of cheap alcohol wafted from him.

This is a homeless man.

Since the empire entered the industrial age, such figures have been a common sight on the streets.

They were left behind by the relentless march of time, forgotten in the streets and alleys, and even becoming a small footnote to this era became a luxury.

The same is true.

No one cares whether these homeless people live or die.

In Scotland Yard's files, their disappearances are not even considered a case.

And now, this unfortunate homeless man is about to become the protagonist of a ceremony.

With a soft "hiss" sound.

The black-robed master of ceremonies used a small silver knife to slit the artery in the man's neck.

Blood immediately gushed out like a fountain, flowing into the patterns that had already been drawn on the ground.

Six figures in black robes stood at the six apexes of the ritual platform, all gazing at the master of ceremonies in the center, while chanting in a strange tone:

"Dominus Puniceus (The Crimson Overlord)..."

"I cut this pomegranate open, letting its juice flow into your Holy Grail..."

The first sentence was in Latin, but the rest was in Albion.

Something was trembling in the air.

The blood in my feet began to boil, bubbling and gurgling.

The man who fell to the ground began to convulse violently, reminiscent of fish on a chopping board.

However, the ceremony did not proceed smoothly.

Suddenly, in an instant.

The black-robed emcee stopped speaking and abruptly turned his head to look in Xia En's direction.

"Who? Who's there?"

Xia En's heart skipped a beat.

You finally saw me?

But Xia En soon realized that although the black-robed man's gaze seemed to be on him, he was actually looking at a very distant place.

A bold conjecture came to mind:

He wasn't looking at me, but at the painter who created the painting.

By this time, Xia En had a vague idea of ​​the whole story.

The victim, the painter, may have "seen" what was happening in the abandoned factory through methods behind the curtain.

And just as he was recording this scene.

The man in black robes noticed his observation.

To prevent the ritual from being leaked, these people retaliated through spiritual tracking, which led to the painter's suicide at home.

Those bloody handprints were meant to cover up the truth on the canvas.

Shaun's conjecture was confirmed in the next moment.

The master of ceremonies took out a very simple willow twig doll from his bosom, bit his fingertip, and dripped his blood onto the doll.

chi chi...

The blood dripped down, but it made a sound like strong acid corroding.

"Crimson Lord, summon your hounds and bring punishment upon the voyeurs."

The doll cracked open with a "poof".

A dark red, viscous shadow crawled out from under the black-robed man's feet and pounced toward Xia En.

The shape of the shadows resembled that of skinned hunting dogs.

Only when I sensed this moment did I feel a sharp, piercing sense of danger.

Xia En's lips twitched.

Am I an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire?

He reacted quickly; with a slight thought, the guiding lantern appeared in his hand.

This lantern gave him the ability to step out of the painting at any time.

But is quitting like this really enough?

Their gazes met the pupils of the Blood Shadow Hounds.

It was murky, cruel, and indifferent.

For some reason, Xia En felt enraged—as if his dignity had been offended.

A voice inside me is saying:

"You dare to hunt me?"

"You think you can let me escape too?"

Thinking this, Xia En saw the phantom of a pure white candle in his mind.

In the candlelight, a dragon with a crown of flames on its head and a body of pure white gold, shining like a radiant dragon amidst fire and light, was silently watching him.

It is 【司昼】.

All the unusual psychological states now have an answer.

This [Crimson Lord] may have been an enemy of [Day Master].

The black-robed man's secret technique angered a wisp of spirit belonging to [Si Zhou] residing in Xia En's mind.

So, what we need to do now is very simple.

"Let there be fire."

Similar to the situation in his previous dream, Shane reached out his hand, and the platinum candlelight came forth, colliding violently with the shadows.

Light is the nemesis of shadow.

Where the radiance shines, the Bloodhounds melt away like ice and snow.

After engulfing the hunting dogs, the candlelight continued its relentless advance, clinging to the blood-red patterns and burning along them until it ignited the hem of the black-robed man's robe.

"No...no!!"

Why is [Si Zhou's] gaze fixed here?

The master of ceremonies' questions were swallowed up by the sea of ​​fire.

Followed by.

The entire space shattered.

The panel appears.

You have witnessed a gathering of a secret society!

Passion: 1 (5% → 19%)

[Resonance: 0 (10%→20%)]

[Art: 2 (88%→89%)]

Your actions have been approved by "Daylight Bearer," and the flame of truth has been replenished.

[Remaining candlelight: 50%]