Chapter 175: Outbreak of Conflict

Charles hurried to the clown’s side, observing the creature whose true face was buried beneath layers of greasepaint. With a blink of anticipation, he asked, "How do you perform, Mr. Clown?"

"Do not be impatient. I shall reveal to you and the audience the most beautiful world within each of your hearts. After all, what one yearns for most is unique, and the vision of a perfect world differs for everyone, does it not?"

A smile that never faded clung to the clown’s lips, his cheerful voice ringing in the ears of the audience and Charles alike.

"That makes sense. Then let us begin; I can hardly wait." Charles nodded with a solemn expression, appearing to fully endorse the clown’s philosophy.

Yet, inwardly, he had already begun to recite the prayers of the Lady of the Night, shielding his soul against potential mental corruption by anchoring it to the Tree of the Night Sky—a relic that, though stripped of its creator Wang Yu, still functioned through the mechanisms left behind in his wake.

"Very well, then pray, witness our Utopia."

The clown flickered his wrist, and a cascade of petals fell from above. They were mere scraps of colored paper, yet under the influence of illusion, they appeared to the audience as genuine blossoms, even carrying a faint, lingering fragrance.

Then, panels rose upon the stage, forming a backdrop akin to the green screens used for special effects in the world of Earth.

"Magic crystal plates...?" Though Charles maintained a look of eager expectation, his peripheral vision and psychic perception had long since registered the rising boards.

A clever technique. Background panels embedded with magic crystals were indeed sufficient to weave a convincing hallucination for these common folk.

"It is an honor to invite such a handsome young man. May I ask your name? I shall prepare a unique gift just for you."

The clown glanced at the audience, who were already lost in their own fantasies, utterly entranced, before turning back to Charles with a sincere and earnest inquiry.

"Ah, my name is Shuguin Welsbach." Charles looked at the clown with eyes equally innocent.

"Very well, Mr. Shuguin. Do you often feel that life is unfair? Do you feel exhausted while struggling to make ends meet? Do you feel envy and jealousy when you see the beautiful lives of those who shine so brightly?"

The clown’s voice was soft and slow, possessing a relaxing power that seemed designed to lower one's defenses under the guise of such concerned questioning.

"Is this why they chose the Wall District for their performance? No wonder it often incites riots. I suppose they found the right place; the residents here suffer greatly, and it is natural for them to be swayed by such words, especially when bolstered by illusions..."

Charles listened to the clown’s seductive guidance with a guileless expression, timely revealing a look of bitterness, tears welling in his eyes as if the clown’s words had truly evoked the memory of a tragic and miserable life.

In reality, this fellow’s birth was among the most privileged in the Royal City; he had no such tragic history to speak of.

Just as Charles prepared to offer a response to play along, the clown continued without pause.

"Think, if there were such a kingdom, would you be willing to fight for it? Would you be willing to give your life for it? Would you be willing to become our kin?"

"No oppression, equality for all, where everyone enjoys a unique life, and the fruits of labor are distributed according to need. The strong shall strive for the weak, and the wealthy shall share their riches with the poor."

"And this is only the beginning. As this nation gradually perfects itself, we shall progress together, grow stronger together, and the entire kingdom shall become more powerful and more beautiful."

"Magic research will advance further, economic development will surpass all existing kingdoms, and culture will accumulate in an environment of harmony and time, rivaling or even exceeding the ancient realms of elves and dragons."

"When the entire nation possesses such great and unimaginable power, it will be able to provide every citizen with the life they desire."

"Mr. Shuguin, are you willing to do this? Will you contribute to our beautiful 'Utopia'?"

"Look, how unfair Alastair’s rule is to you! Look at those who live outside this district, look at those who possess better lives—do you not feel that this is profoundly unjust!"

"You should stand up, shout out your dissatisfaction, your indignation! Start with the simplest thing: overthrow the constraints they place upon you..."

The clown’s tone shifted—from the deep affection of describing his vision to the fervor of looking toward the future, and then to the heart-wrenching sorrow for the tragic life he had fabricated for Charles. His emotions were fluid, skillfully guiding his listener toward the path of "rebellion."

"Hmm, I think what you say..." Charles looked at the clown, appearing deeply convinced, though in his heart he cared little. He was no longer the idealistic child he once was; would he believe this?

He intended to catch the clown off guard. He would feign agreement, only to interject with, "But I disagree!" to startle him, then decide whether to blast him with a Great Fireball or attempt control based on his reaction.

"I..." Charles opened his mouth to say he disagreed, but the words would not come. He managed only the first syllable, and the rest remained trapped in his throat.

"What is this?! Something is preventing me from refusing? No, my body is not restricted. Is it me?"

"My soul refuses to utter the refusal. A part of my consciousness is urging me to accept this Utopia. Damn it, what is happening? Why is this so? Where is the mental pollution filtering effect of the prayer network?"

Shock spread through Charles’s mind. Something was compelling him not to refuse. Did this power come from his soul? His subconscious? What was going on?

"Is there something troubling you, Mr. Shuguin, that makes you unwilling to contribute to our Utopia? That is not good. This is what all people yearn for; you shouldn't go against it, should you? This is also your chance, as an intruder bearing malice, to seek atonement."

The clown leaned in and whispered into Charles’s ear. His tone remained light, but the implication left Charles startled. Had this fellow known all along that he was posing as a resident of the Wall District?

He did not panic, however. Wang Yu and Edward were both here; even if his own state was compromised, his two teammates were reliable.

Seeing Charles’s hesitation to agree, the clown produced a long sword as if by sleight of hand. It appeared instantly in his grasp, gleaming with a cold light as he brandished it.

"Still unwilling? If you persist, I shall have to find someone else." The clown’s tone remained cheerful, but the intent behind his words was murderous.

"Still can't move. Something other than mental pollution is affecting my spirit, preventing me from moving or speaking in opposition. This Utopia circus truly has some tricks."

Charles could still think clearly, but something deep within his "heart" was influencing him, forbidding him from refusing.

"Forget it, let's pick someone else. You, the handsome young man who would destroy our great Utopia, please stop causing us trouble."

The clown seemed to lose patience, his long sword sweeping violently toward the neck of Charles, who remained bound by an unseen force.

The blade moved with terrifying speed, a blur of motion accompanied by a sharp hiss as it cut through the air. The keen edge was a heartbeat away from Charles’s fragile throat.

In the instant before the blade struck, Charles’s eyes suddenly shifted, as if a different person had taken hold. A sharp gaze locked onto the sword’s arc, and his internal magic vortex spun at maximum velocity, driving a spell model to completion in a heartbeat: Third-tier spell, Turn to Quagmire.

Charles’s form collapsed instantly, his entire body replaced by earth elements, dissolving into a pool of mud. This defensive spell, used to bypass physical attacks, was deployed by "Charles" with sudden precision; the sword could inflict no damage upon him in this state.

But faster than his spell was the crimson blade that erupted from beneath the stage. A long sword shattered the floorboards and collided violently with the clown’s vicious strike. Even had Charles failed to react, the blow would not have landed.

Sparks flew, and a notch appeared in the clown’s sword, the metal body vibrating incessantly. The sudden blade dissolved into crimson liquid, retreating back into the hole it had emerged from. A faint scent of blood permeated the stage; that sword had been forged of blood...

"Hmm?" Why did I blank out just now? That shouldn't happen. Charles, having restored his physical form not far away, felt a wave of dizziness. The events of the split-second crisis were blurred in his memory. This was impossible; he should never have been dazed in such a situation.

"It seems your companions also intend to obstruct us. Utopia shall not be hindered. It appears I must leave you all here today."

The clown glanced at Charles, then at the hole where the blood-blade had retreated, finally fixing his gaze on Edward and Wang Yu, who had risen on the stage. From Wang Yu’s fingertip, a crimson thread of blood extended into the gaps of the audience seating; the sword that had intercepted the clown’s attack was his doing.

"Don't just stand there, Charles. I'll handle the others with you; Wang Yu, go solve this fellow who seems to have mental influence capabilities."

Edward’s voice reached the dazed Charles. From Edward’s perspective, Charles had simply been controlled by the clown in some unknown way, and Wang Yu had intervened to block the strike.

Wang Yu, aware of the existence of "One," understood exactly what had happened: "One" had taken over Charles’s body at the critical moment.

Because "One" could not let Charles know of its existence, every time it took control, it left Charles in a daze—a side effect of "One" influencing Charles’s soul.

"Coming." Charles shook off his stupor. A tarot card depicting a star appeared in his hand; with a flick, he vanished and reappeared beside Edward.

Below the stage, a horde of beasts—the same ones from the performance—began to emerge. Their paper-mache bodies, now imbued with some unknown power, stepped from the back of the stage, snarling and drooling, their ferocious intent fully manifest.

"Illusions combined with some sort of magical skeleton, manageable enough. The trick is to finish this quickly while protecting the audience." Lightning flickered in Charles’s hand, flames dancing within the charge.

"No worries, I’ll shield you as well." Edward said, his latent ability "Bulwark," awakened during his formal knighthood, fully activated under the influence of his surging battle qi.

A translucent barrier enveloped everyone, including the hallucinating audience. Compared to the Steel Sun Knight secret arts, the range of Edward’s autonomously awakened latent ability was already incomparable.

"First time seeing this latent ability of yours. It’s a defensive type? Is the strength sufficient? My spells have quite a bit of kick."

"No problem. As long as I stand, this barrier will never break."

He drew his shield from his back and slammed it into the ground beside him. Battle qi surged upward, linking himself, the shield, and the barrier into a single entity.

"I leave that clown to you, Wang Yu."

Charles hurled his mixture of lightning and fireballs into the charging pack of "beasts." The violent explosion tore the creatures asunder, their magical skeletons shattering and their paper shells turning to ash.

The shockwaves of the blast and the high-speed debris from the shattered ground were caught steadily by Edward’s barrier, not harming a single resident in the audience.

Nodding, Wang Yu leaped down. His psychic power communicated with the Weaver’s Grimoire. Internally, the displacement spell prepared by Aivya for Wang Yu—who could no longer perform mid-air maneuvers like double jumps due to the loss of his wizard powers—was instantly activated: Second-tier spell, Storm Step.

Storms gathered, erupting into a powerful thrust behind Wang Yu, causing his figure to hover momentarily in the air before darting forward. With the aid of wind elements, he arrived instantly above the stage where the clown stood.

His hand darted to the holster at his waist, drawing the Furnace’s Fury. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger repeatedly. The alchemy revolver’s cylinder spun at high speed, unleashing six standard rounds in near-simultaneity, flying toward the clown below.

The clown below revealed his signature smile, his body twisting violently in a grotesque, contorted posture to evade the incoming projectiles. Judging by the direction and posture of his movements, the fellow had anticipated Wang Yu’s aim; his flexible evasive angles were nothing short of perfect.

With a gaze of profound stillness, Wang Yu flicked his other hand—adorned with the blood-biting ring—upward in a clean, decisive motion, sending ripples of aura surging outward.

The stage erupted; a multitude of jagged, razor-sharp blades forged from crimson gore surged from the earth where the jester stood, sealing off every path of escape.