Chapter 1737: Bitter Fruit (25)

So that was it. It sounded like he didn't actually hold much of a grudge against Excellency Akons.

After Brother Downcast finished recounting his life in the Transcendent Tier, Fu Qian finally understood why the man's mental state was in such shambles.

Compared to other people's fear of the dark, he had clearly experienced far more—he had even witnessed the horrific ends of his own kind firsthand.

Even though the sword lacked any terrifying corruptions—and actually gave off a holy aura, as he had mentioned—it made perfect sense that psychological trauma kept him from ever wanting to wield it again.

Besides, Brother Downcast really ought to be grateful. Sitting across from something like this for so long... had it been anything remotely more sinister, he would have sprouted a few extra body parts by now at the very least.

"Sorry for the trouble. Looks like I should have come earlier."

Offering a casual word of comfort to the agitated interviewee, Fu Qian simply reached out, grabbed the sword, and began inspecting it.

Uh...

The man's anger instantly froze. Clearly, the gesture had still provoked the sword's original owner.

Yet, after a moment of hesitating over what to say, Brother Downcast ultimately made no move to stop him.

"Do whatever you want. I'm finally free of it, anyway—"

The next moment, all the strength seemed to leave his body, and he slumped back into his seat.

But that relief didn't last a second. He sprang right back up, staring toward the window.

Even the heavy curtains couldn't hold it back. Threads of light poured in through every possible gap, washing out the lamp on the table until its flame looked as dim as a dying ember.

Day had broken.

...

Talk about dramatic.

Naturally, Fu Qian had noticed the change outside even faster.

Not that he had sensed anything in advance and timed his reach for the sword just to create some illusion of destiny.

Just like when the darkness had fallen, its disappearance came without the slightest warning.

As for whether his grip on the sword had actually triggered the dawn—a true sign of destiny—Fu Qian highly doubted the two events were directly related.

The sword was indeed no ordinary weapon. The moment he grasped the hilt, a singular sensation flooded his mind: indestructibility.

The Rank of the power contained within it was noticeably higher than that of the Weaver's Limb Tip he had given away.

But that was all. Fu Qian didn't feel any deeper resonance with it; it was nothing more than a formidable weapon.

In fact, that was probably why Brother Downcast and his colleagues had been able to use it normally.

Had it possessed even a sliver of sentience or any peculiar side effects, ordinary people like them would have been instantly reduced to sword thralls. Brother Downcast certainly wouldn't have been in any shape to generously hand it over.

Simply put, the dawn breaking was a pure coincidence.

"If it's truly your sword, so be it... Are you going to kill me?"

While Fu Qian was quietly making his objective assessments, the other man obviously didn't know what he was experiencing. Add in the visually shocking cup sitting on the table, and Brother Downcast couldn't help but connect the anomaly outside to the man in front of him.

Having finally regained his voice, Brother Downcast wore a look of relieved self-mockery.

"What do you think?"

His response, however, was laced with an even more obvious sense of mockery.

Too lazy to waste another word on him, Fu Qian gestured toward the door and stood up.

Brother Downcast didn't utter a single syllable as Fu Qian walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.

It was obvious the man had realized what Fu Qian's final gesture meant. If he had really wanted to kill him for the sword, would he have bothered waiting this long?

Especially since the flimsy door offered absolutely zero protection, yet Fu Qian had still patiently knocked on it three times.

...

Patience really does pay off.

Not only had he scored a divine weapon, but he had also gotten its complete backstory.

Having taken his prompt leave, Fu Qian was thoroughly satisfied with the trip.

Everyone knew that if you wanted to sell something for a high price, quality was only one factor. A good story was far more important.

Now, it seemed he could take the sword and have a nice, long chat with Dorian.

That was the true value of this haul, actually.

The sword was powerful, yes, but Fu Qian had never treated this like some game where he needed to collect gear to defeat a demon king.

His line of work had never been that idyllic or straightforward.

The moment he realized Brother Downcast had something like this in his room, Fu Qian's sole intention was to treat it as a special collectible.

Just like the Doll in his hand.

The Old Lady's reaction upon seeing his face had been incredibly bizarre.

Never one for blind optimism, Fu Qian couldn't just casually dismiss her reaction as Dorian's impromptu dream creation, as he had joked earlier.

What if the Old Lady really had seen him before?

She had forgotten now, acting as if they had never crossed paths. But was she the only exception?

What about Madam Sarah? Or Brother Downcast, whom he had just left behind? What about Dorian? If he returned to them a while later, what kind of scene would he find, and how would they react?

He was confident he would find some answers to that question once he saw the doctor later.

But before then, Fu Qian didn't mind making a few extra preparations.

Such as collecting a few transcendent souvenirs from the places he had already visited.

Fu Qian was curious to see if this would alter his circumstances, or perhaps act as a special Anchor Point.

He lifted Hilaria's doll—which he had been carrying this whole time—to inspect it. After confirming it was undamaged, he shifted it into the same hand holding the sword.

Shhhhk...

His freed hand moved nimbly, yanking three coagulated blood clots off his body and tossing them away. Finally, Fu Qian struck a pose, a sword in one hand and the Doll in the other.

Covered in bloodstains as he was, he looked every bit the part of an evil priest.

...

The sky had completely brightened.

Although he had no one to lead the way this time, remembering places he had already visited was far too easy for Fu Qian.

As he walked down the sunlit streets, he found them just as deserted as before, yet he could sense a restless energy brewing within the buildings.

The urge to go out for a stroll at dawn seemed to be an instinct engraved in human DNA.

Besides, given the abrupt end to the night, he doubted the Old Lady who had left earlier would have had much of a chance to continue her search.

And so, his first night had passed without him coming face-to-face with the unspeakable "it."

Knock, knock!

Without bothering to keep a low profile, Fu Qian made good time hurrying back to the original Clinic.

Unsurprisingly, its front door was locked tight. After all, judging from what he had heard along the way, the doctor's business was currently dead in the water.

Maintaining the same politeness he had shown all night, Fu Qian raised his hand and knocked.

There was no verbal response, but distinct footsteps approached the door. A moment later, a pair of eyes peered out through the frosted glass.

"You—that is a well-made doll."

Almost instantly, the man's gaze locked onto Hilaria's doll.