The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

He gradually became afraid of contact with the outside world and of being judged by others, but he still couldn't give up writing in order to make a living...

He couldn't design those ingenious, intricately plotted stories. But he also didn't think it was worth it to set aside his pride and dignity to participate in simple, popular novels.

And so, he could only maintain his increasingly distorted style, barely clinging to life...

In his despair, he developed a drinking problem.

Alcohol, hormones, and the deafening music of noisy nightclubs... Only by immersing himself in these brain-damaging substances can he temporarily forget his own creative block.

He called it a search for inspiration, but his increasingly poor mental state made it difficult for him to even maintain the most basic creative work.

Excessive alcohol consumption can visibly impair a person's intelligence, but alcoholics often fail to notice this decline in intelligence, thus creating a closed loop.

...Another night of wild drinking.

Amidst the joyful crowd, Dylan faintly caught a whiff of a unique and sweet body fragrance, indescribable, yet he felt an unprecedented sense of relaxation.

In a daze, a strand of black hair floated before his eyes... He looked back along the soft strand of hair and saw a beautiful dancer.

She wore a silk robe from the land of Atilan, a land of shifting sands. Her skin was a healthy wheat color, and her figure was graceful and slender, like a coiled water snake.

"Miss, you're standing too close..."

The dancer's body was so close to Dylan's that he could feel the warmth of her skin through the silk gauze.

Although he was not a naive newcomer and thoroughly enjoyed it all, he still politely offered a reminder.

"is it?"

The dancer didn't distance herself from Dylan because of his lack of tact; on the contrary, she moved even closer. Her moist, thin lips brushed against Dylan's ear, leaving a warm breath.

"But I feel that we can get even closer..."

"There are too many people here..."

Dylan had never been treated so warmly by a beautiful girl before. In his confusion, he inexplicably felt a longing for the distant Atilia.

Is this what foreign customs are like? It's really amazing...

"Right here." The dancer pouted slightly, a hint of reproach in her voice, seemingly quite fixated on this one point.

"OK then……"

Under the influence of alcohol and hormones, Dylan became excited and licked his lips in agreement with the dancer.

The dancer embraced Dylan with satisfaction, her smile radiant and pure.

“Enjoy the night, sir. Let us shorten the distance between us. Let us be inseparable, and become one…”

……

"Ah...where am I? It's already the second day?"

Dylan woke up, his face showing the emptiness and exhaustion of a hangover. He shook his head, clearing his head a little, then frowned.

He saw the bustling crowds around him, as well as many exhibits covered by glass cases.

Norlington Central Museum—how did I end up here? Wasn't I having a blast partying last night? Who dumped me in this academic place?

The dancer from yesterday—her delicate skin and supple waist were truly unforgettable; just reminiscing about them was intoxicating. So much so that Dylan felt a sense of unreality, as if that beautiful encounter was merely a figment of his imagination under the influence of alcohol.

But the foreign dancer's face was so real, as if etched into his mind. How could his nearly exhausted imagination have conjured up such an exquisite appearance out of thin air?

"I don't know what's wrong, but I'll go home first... My head hurts a bit, I need to go back to bed for a while."

Dylan rubbed his temples, but the dizziness from the hangover didn't lessen at all; in fact, it got even stronger.

He walked pale-faced to an exhibit, reached out to support himself on the large glass display case, and a few beads of cold sweat slid down his face.

Why do I feel like throwing up so badly? Ugh, no, this is the Central Museum of the White Cup Order 4, if I throw up here...

"Sir, the display cases for the exhibits should not be leaned against."

A funeral attendant on patrol noticed his unusual behavior and immediately stepped forward to remind him.

But Dylan was completely unable to suppress the wave of dizziness that was sweeping over him. He collapsed to his knees and began to vomit violently.

"Sorry, I'm feeling a little unwell... ugh... ugh..."

What he vomited was not food residue with the smell of alcohol, but bright red blood.

Like a gushing spring, a massive amount of blood plasma overflowed uncontrollably from his throat.

The last image Dylan had in his consciousness was a slender, long arm emerging from his mouth.

Like tender sprouts unfurling, like vibrant flower buds bursting into bloom, like cicadas shedding their molts in early summer—its beauty is beyond description…

The dancer's pure white silk robe was now stained crimson, but she didn't care.

Her delicate feet, adorned with silver bells, tread on the sticky pool of blood, like a solo dancer isolated on a stage.

"Welcome to all those attending the Plum Blossom Festival, to the feast of my Lord."

Sayens bowed to everyone around him, seemingly as a salute before a dance.

"All action teams, prepare! Target spotted near 'Red Cup'! Near booth B07!"

The funeral maid who had come to inquire about Dylan's condition naturally noticed the strange change before her eyes.

She quickly contacted the other hunters involved in the security operation, then drew her pistol and was about to shoot at Sayens, who was still bowing...

But the pool of blood spreading beneath the dancer's feet suddenly rose up like sharp thorns, piercing through the chest of the funeral attendant, lifting her high into the air and slamming her back into the pool of blood.

【Blood Manipulation】, a second-tier superior secret technique of the Crimson Cup Cult. It can condense living blood plasma into various forms, with the highest strength approaching that of steel.

"Too slow, little nun. You shouldn't have attempted to attack after immediately contacting others."

Sayens stroked his neck, his expression one of strange ecstasy.

“The other nun was much more decisive than you. In the blink of an eye, before I could even react, she plunged two knives into my carotid artery and my heart respectively… Such exquisite pain, I’m afraid it will take me many years to fully savor it.”

"An evil offspring has infiltrated! Quick, run!"

Upon witnessing this bloody scene, those around screamed and began to flee frantically in all directions.

"Run, run faster, children. Keep your vitality..."

The pool of blood beneath Sayens' feet spread rapidly along the ground, like a deep red shadow looming over him. Those who weren't fast enough fell into it, merging into a pool of blood and bones.

"Bang!" The hunters who received the message arrived one after another and began to unleash their firepower on Sains.

The hunting prayer inscription on the steel-core bullet flashed with a bluish light after striking her body, causing intense burning. But the deep red blood around the dancer was like a layered cocoon, enveloping her entire body.

Heda was able to assassinate Sayens so easily because she was completely unprepared. Caught off guard by an overwhelming and sudden attack, she was unable to mount an effective counterattack.

But once Sayens is fully prepared... she will show everyone what a "high priest" truly is.

-

Chapter Nineteen: The Chief Hunter

Sayens's slender figure was shrouded in layers of cocoon-like blood plasma, like a deep red flower in full bloom.

“My dear guests, release your desires, embrace me, and let us become one with you in this cup, a part of this endless feast…”

Sayens began his wild solo dance.

The dripping blood, like a veil, partially obscured her graceful figure. Her body was as soft as cloud, yet as agile as a butterfly.

"Embedding the stakes to stop the further spread of [Blood Control] sOUsUo:艾□玖ˉ《棱、★№◇§「俉￡)△-si."

Alvin stood with his hands behind his back, coldly watching Sayins dance wildly. His imposing figure stood firm like a towering wall, unmoved even as the pool of blood threatened to engulf him.

"boom!"

Several unorthodox hunters, armed with specially made crossbows, pulled the triggers from their sniping positions on the second floor. The silver spiked arrows tore through the air with a sharp, piercing sound.

The stake pierced the blood pool, its body glowing red-hot, causing the surrounding blood plasma to boil violently.

The blood pool truly stopped spreading, as if it had been nailed to the marble floor.

“Even with only a half-priest, it is still so difficult to defend against... After all, this is a suicide attack.”

Alvin's expression was solemn, his gaze fixed on Sayins.

Even though the Hunters had sensed Saines's presence the moment she appeared, she still caused considerable casualties... but this was a close-quarters operation against the High Priest, and casualties were inevitable.

This is an acceptable price to pay.

“Activate the museum’s [Suppressed Consciousness] and [Deconstructing Creatures] rituals... and then wait for 'him' to come.”

Alvin gave his subordinates one last instruction, then left the scene without looking back. He seemed to think there was no need to watch any longer.

Two large-scale ceremonies of the second category unfolded in succession within the museum. Obscure and ineffable prayers, shimmering with faint light, emerged from beneath the marble floor, locking onto Sains's blood cocoon.

"The classical style of the second type of ceremony must have been prepared when the museum was first built..."

Fran, hidden in the shadows of a second-floor pillar, observed the ever-changing battle from her elevated position. Her gaze was calm and detached, devoid of any desire to intervene... for there was no need.

Sains will die soon.

The Hunter and the White Cup set a trap for Sayens, and she gladly accepted. Those who laid the snare knew she would die if she stepped in, and she herself… knew it all too well.

Vivian looked at the two who were now calmly watching the lively scene and was a little confused.

It's understandable that Dr. Fran did nothing, since she wasn't part of the Hunters or White Cups. Besides, her personality is unpredictable, so it wouldn't be surprising if she did something.

But why are you just watching, Sister Heda?

In Vivian's memory, based on Haida's usual habits... she should have already rushed to the front line to prepare for some close contact between the folding knife and the cultists.

But right now, she simply stood next to Fran, choosing a good vantage point to observe the battle, without taking any action.

Could it be that she caught some strange mental illness from Dr. Fran...?

"Um, aren't we going to help?"

Vivian asked somewhat uncertainly.

"Need not."

Heda and Fran answered Vivian's question in unison.

Fran smiled and tilted her head, seemingly surprised by their synchronized movements. Then she obediently spread her hands, gesturing for Haida to explain.

"Superintendent Alvin has left, which means the 'Chief Hunter' will be arriving soon... He doesn't like being disturbed while hunting."

Although she was explaining the reason to Vivian, Heda's gaze never left the dancing Sayens.

She was waiting, waiting for someone to arrive.

……

[Suppress Consciousness] can weaken the self-awareness of the creature within the ritual, causing the subject to fall into a state of mental exhaustion.

If the ritual continues long enough, the person in the ritual will completely lose their subjective intention to act, becoming a puppet with only life.

The "Deconstructing Life" technique can gradually break down the life form of an object, causing it to gradually revert to the most basic elements that make up life... a handful of calcium powder, or a wisp of carbon ash.

Under the influence of the two large-scale white cup rituals, the pool of blood and six nails around Sain began to shrink continuously, as if it had been boiled, leaving behind a ground covered in black scorch marks.

The tragic blood flowers quickly withered and died, turning into pillars made of congealed blood scabs.

Sayens tore open the congealed blood flower, the blood, still carrying the vitality of life, swirling around her. But this blood-made curtain shattered instantly under the bombardment of steel-core bullets, piercing through her body along with it.

She just laughed freely and unrestrainedly, completely unconcerned about the dozens of black bullet holes in her body.

With his hands placed on his navel, Sayens made a single stroke with his glossy fingernails, slicing the skin along the navel line to expose the bright red flesh beneath.

Blood vessels and veins intertwine and crisscross, like swarming insects, or like some kind of active prayer.

The two large-scale ceremonies within the museum immediately began to deteriorate, their effectiveness greatly diminished. Even binding Sayens could no longer be achieved…

“It’s a ritual! Sayens has inscribed a ritual beneath her skin. No, it should be said… she is a moving ritual!”

A white cup debunker noticed something unusual about Sayens.

But the red cup prayer, which was made entirely of flesh and blood, was too obscure for him to know the specific name of the ritual.

Moreover, the ritual she inscribed on her own flesh and blood held a higher status in mysticism, so much so that the effect of the White Cup II ritual on her diminished dramatically.

"Distinguished guests, let us witness His coming together and receive God's grace!"

The ritual inscribed on Sayens' body blocked all attacks aimed at her, whether arcane or bullet-based. Even those unaware of her presence could sense an overwhelming aura... subtle, vast, and imbued with an unfathomable majesty.

The museum ceiling began to be soaked with sticky bloodstains, as if blood rained down at any moment.

"What on earth is this..."