Reincarnated In a Cthulhu World And Everyone Is Obsessed With Me - Chapter 42

Chapter 42: The Collar – Developing an Aesthetic of Wilderness and Cruelty.

“Sir, please allow me to keep your mask for the time being.”

Xia Mingyu’s expression was bland, but his tone carried a hint of amused mockery, as if he had already guessed Sea Amber’s command from behind the monitors.

“Then, what about the collar? Does that need to be taken off as well?”

He deliberately referred to the high-risk mental suppressor as a decorative “collar,” masking his volatile mood with a facade of ignorant innocence. He slightly tilted his head back. Around his white, elegant neck, the dark silver ring possessed a tension that far exceeded its functional purpose. It was a beauty that remained arrogant even when its edge was restrained—a presence so bold it was almost impossible to look at directly.

The young woman holding the mask stuttered, “N-no… Sir, please come in.”

Xia Mingyu chuckled softly, his voice a slow, melodic drawl. “Oh, is that so? What a shame.”

He reached up and tugged at the suppressor, adjusting its position over his Adam’s apple. The slight sensation of the foreign object served as a constant reminder: he was currently a dangerous time bomb. The torrential flood crashing within his mental landscape threatened to destroy everything.

Evil fluctuations from the Northern Base, delirium, inner demons, nightmares, skyrocketing mental pollution, and uncontrollable mental power… everything was racing toward derailment. To be honest, Xia Mingyu hated the feeling of losing control. But more than that, he hated being powerless to change the situation. Staying at Gustav’s nest with Archer would do nothing but bring trouble to others. Driven by the mindset of “seizing any possible opportunity,” he braced himself and entered the arena.

…

Xia Mingyu was guided to the front row of the spectator seats. The crowd was deafening, and his mental vision was a chaotic mess of noise—adding insult to injury. For his own sake, he closed his mental vision, returning his world to a pitch-black sea of silence.

He was not in a good state. Having just stepped back from the brink of death induced by delirium, he looked pale and fragile. Yet, habit and upbringing kept his posture upright and his pace steady. No one could tell he was currently enduring the agonies of hellfire.

As he took his seat, the people around him fell silent for a few seconds before resuming their chatter. Many stole glances at him—a fresh face in the Ruin. However, seeing his Shadow Guild combat uniform, no one dared to approach him.

If Xia Mingyu could see, he would notice the array of bizarre tattoos and jewelry on the people around him—marks of worship for the Evil Gods. Humanity was sinking into a state of decadent despair, yet simultaneously entertaining itself by trivializing the heavy horrors. People joked about “Nyarlathotep Whiskey” or tattooed the symbols of the “Brotherhood of the Green Flame” across their backs. Even the name of M’naghal, the sovereign of the Hounds of Tindalos, was being tossed around as the latest trendy topic.

On stage, a Sentinel with a newly modified mechanical body was running dry, struggling to keep his head from being bitten off by a scythe-handed monster.

“Bloody flesh is all the same; it’s the style of the slaughter that’s one in a million,” a spectator remarked.

This was the creed of the Arena: discovering the aesthetics of wilderness and cruelty. The audience cared less about the result and more about the process—unique style, peak charisma, and irreplaceable flair. This was why “Killer Queen” Selena was so popular; she turned every slaughter into a blood-pumping waltz.

…

“Hey, beauty, are you from the Shadow Guild?”

A man waved a hand in front of Xia Mingyu’s face. “Truly blind?”

Xia Mingyu realized someone was speaking to him. So, this uniform belongs to the Shadow Guild? His mood soured further. He had no desire to be associated with them.

The man wore gold-rimmed sunglasses and a loud, floral shirt, covered in jingling jewelry. He leaned back and grinned. “Don’t frown, beauty. If I looked like you, I’d wake up smiling every morning.”

Xia Mingyu ignored the “beauty” comment and the guild affiliation. “What is it?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the man said, observing him. “Most people here are gamblers, looking to flip their lives on a match—either by betting or becoming the bet. You don’t look interested in the stage; you’re observing the crowd. You want to be the bet.”

Xia Mingyu raised a brow. “And in your opinion, am I worth betting on?”

The man gave a low, suggestive whistle. “Of course. Even if you just stood on that stage and cried, people would pay to watch.”

Xia Mingyu was amused, but a surge of blood rushed to his throat. He turned aside, coughing into his hand. When he pulled his hand away, he could feel the thick, metallic wetness. Blood, as expected.

The man looked at him with pity and handed him a silk handkerchief. “Wipe yourself. Though, honestly, a beauty coughing up blood on stage is quite a striking sight.”

“Thank you,” Xia Mingyu took it. His eyes fell on the suppressor around his neck, but he said nothing more.

On stage, the previous Sentinel’s life had been snuffed out. No one cheered; no one even bothered to boo. Then, the spotlights converged on a single entrance. A slender figure stood there, a signature serpentine whip coiling behind her, a venomous snake mental body slithering around her waist.

The man beside Xia Mingyu brightened. “Selena…”

The arena erupted. The roar for the “Killer Queen” was loud enough to lift the roof. Xia Mingyu’s brow furrowed from the increasing pain. His sanity, already a jumbled mess, was now teetering on the edge.

Selena stepped onto the stage, her voice echoing through the hall. “I’m in the mood for something different today. I wonder… are you all willing to play along?”

The high-decibel screams of “Yes!” made Xia Mingyu’s eardrums ache.