Was that blasphemy? Why did I have the nagging feeling that someone was cursing me?
I'd certainly entertained some pleasant fantasies earlier. The Warehouse had finally gotten clever for once and learned to raid the enemy's home base. Maybe the second-stage objective wouldn't take much effort to accomplish after all.
But this was almost too easy.
Professor Fu had merely lowered himself to bully and harass women again, and the Primordial Signpost had been blasphemed just like that?
No wonder classic lines like "Take your filthy hands off me" showed up so often in movies and TV. Was the Warehouse saying the professor's hands were that filthy?
Of course, even if that were true, Fu Qian wouldn't take such a mixed review to heart. Besides, he often gave the Warehouse scathing reviews himself—and it seemed that one was true.
Before he could finish congratulating himself on his magnanimity, Fu Qian seemed to witness just how filthy his hands were.
Crack!
The half of that exquisite, seemingly eternal face beneath his fingertip changed in an instant.
A blinding crack tore through the graceful curve, then spread like a spiderweb as pure white stone fragments rained down.
The last thing Fu Qian saw was the entire Holy See crashing to the ground.
So, was being an outsider really that filthy to the Sea of Mind?
Things had moved so quickly that even Professor Fu couldn't help but marvel as the scene shifted.
Jokes aside, he'd naturally started thinking about why a mere touch to the chin had completed the task.
And it wasn't hard to figure out. The first thing he thought of was his citizenship.
The Warehouse had first restricted his supernatural abilities, and even after he passed through the checkpoint, it hadn't provided him with any replacements. So it