The Impoverished Gang

At the dining table covered with a tablecloth, Cyril took out a pocket knife and sliced his palm, then smeared the blood onto the tablecloth, which was covered in eerie oil paintings.

The blood of a Beyonder, rich in spirituality, was an excellent material and a fine pigment; he intended to use his own blood to alter the painting.

He had already grasped the corresponding knowledge the moment he gazed at the images on the cloth; it wasn't difficult, at least not for him, feeling almost like an innate instinct.

However, Cyril felt this wasn't an instinct, but rather a projection of the incomplete authority belonging to the High-Dimensional Overseer manifesting within him.

Ever since becoming a Beyonder, he could vaguely sense that empty status completing itself at an extremely slow pace, which was why he had been able to use the Apprentice's Door Opening to escape the world within the painting; he already possessed a sliver of the authority of dimensions and illusions.

As his blood drained away, Cyril felt a chill rising in his body, accompanied by dizziness from the loss of blood.

"Damn it, why make the painting so big? Don't you know that less is more? I'm about to be bled dry."

Cyril grumbled as he withdrew his hand, pulled a vial of pale green potion from his pocket, applied some to the wound on his palm, and downed the rest.

This was a healing potion from the fat apothecary at the Eye of Wisdom's gathering; although his conversational skills left something to be desired, his potion-making was truly top-notch.

As the potion was consumed, the pallor on Cyril's face gradually faded, replaced by a hint of ruddiness.

Having tended to his wounds, he finally looked at the tablecloth he had modified.

The bright red blood traced twisted lines and mysterious symbols on the cloth, binding the distorted faces in the original image like chains; he had sealed this "painting."

What remained was to find a way to extract the power belonging to the High-Dimensional Overseer from the painting to further complete himself.

But he didn't know how to do it; he had no way to extract the power from the painting, nor could he dispel or purify the parts that didn't belong to the High-Dimensional Overseer.

After all, this was a trap and a cage prepared for him by the High-Dimensional Overseer, not a supply drop sent by a friend, so it certainly wouldn't give him the chance to recycle waste.

"It seems I have no choice but to ask Adam for help."

As the painting on the tablecloth was sealed, Owen, who had been standing by the dining table in a daze, suddenly snapped back to reality and collapsed limply to the ground.

Although the world inside the painting on the tablecloth held no direct physical danger, the malice and curses within were difficult for an ordinary person to endure.

"I... careful... run..."

Owen lay on the floor, the lingering terror still visible in his eyes, as he stuttered out a few words.

After a moment of hesitation, Cyril crouched down, took out a healing potion, poured it into Owen's mouth, and helped him sit against the wall.

Although he felt the healing potion wouldn't have much effect—since it was meant for physical injuries—it could at least provide some psychological comfort.

Hmm... perhaps it could also prevent him from dying suddenly from a racing heart or shock.

Collecting his thoughts, he patted Owen on the shoulder and said, "I've dealt with the danger. You rest for a while; the healing potion takes time to work. I'm going upstairs to take a look."

"Wait... take... this..."

Owen raised his hand weakly, gesturing for him to take his gun.

Cyril didn't refuse; he did indeed need a suitable weapon.

He rolled up the tablecloth from the dining table and placed it beside Owen, then circled the first floor once more to ensure there were no hidden dangers before heading up the stairs to the second floor.

The empty corridor and the tightly closed doors, lacking the moans from the surrounding rooms and the pungent smell of essential oils in the air, were exactly the same as the second floor he had seen in the world within the painting.

"A coincidence? No, there are no coincidences in the Beyonder world."

"Was that painting on the tablecloth only there after being sent into the barrier, or can the contents of the painting change according to the environment?"

Muttering to himself, he gathered his focus and pressed his palm against the wall to the side.

In the next second, a blurry, intangible, deep blue door appeared on the wall, and his figure passed silently through it into the room next door.

As soon as he entered the room, a pungent stench of sweat mixed with the smell of fermenting food wafted over, making him squint his eyes.

Cyril suppressed the nausea churning in his stomach, scanned the room quickly, and then pressed against the wall behind him, using Door Opening to leave this very fragrant room.

"Cough, cough~"

He coughed as he walked away from the room; it was simply too pungent.

In the empty corridor, Cyril hesitated as he looked at the remaining rooms; if they were all like the one he just entered, he would surely vomit if he went in a few more times.

After struggling for a few seconds, he arrived at a door, reached out to grab the handle, turned his wrist gently, and pulled the door open.

This time he didn't choose to walk through the wall, but instead used the door, intending to observe from the threshold.

Inside the room was a row of communal bunks, with messy daily necessities on the floor and clothes, shoes, and socks piled by the beds.

He then opened the remaining doors one by one; they were all communal dormitories, some messy and some tidy, but all showed clear signs of life, indicating that many people lived here, yet he hadn't seen a single soul from start to finish.

"They couldn't all have gone to work the night shift, could they? Do the gangs in Backlund have proper jobs?"

He muttered softly and headed up the stairs to the third floor.

With clean walls, wooden floors, gas wall lamps that were always lit, and a faint scent of perfume, Cyril guessed that this floor belonged to the higher-ups of the Blood Axe Gang, and that the person in question was a woman.

"The difference in living conditions is too great. With such harsh exploitation, aren't they afraid the underlings will revolt?"

As he spoke, he fell silent; this was a world with Beyonder powers. If the leader of the Blood Axe Gang was a Beyonder, he or she would have the complete ability to exploit their subordinates without fearing a revolt.

"Inertial thinking is dangerous. To organize a gang for a long time in the Beyonder world, one cannot rely solely on ordinary people."

Sighing softly, he pulled a charm from his coat pocket, gripped it in his hand, and simultaneously disengaged the safety on his pistol.

Since the Blood Axe Gang likely had Beyonders, he needed to be careful; after all, an Apprentice had zero combat capability.

Click~

In the quiet corridor, the wooden floorboards beneath Cyril's feet suddenly snapped, emitting a crisp sound.

He stood where he was with an expressionless face, though he was cursing incessantly in his heart:

What kind of shoddy flooring is this? For a gang leader, couldn't they have used better materials when renovating?

He stood there vigilantly for quite a while, but there was no movement from the surrounding rooms from start to finish; it seemed that, just like the floor below, there was no one on this level either.

This situation did not make him relax; instead, he became even more alert. This was definitely not normal.

Click... click...

Cyril walked forward cautiously, every step snapping the wooden floorboards beneath his feet and producing a clicking sound.

He reached out to touch the wall beside him, and from the point of contact, cracks spread out like spiderwebs, causing the wall plaster to crumble and peel away.

Clearly, this was no longer a matter of poor-quality flooring; rather, they had been tainted by some kind of power, and the entire third floor had rotted away.

Cyril hurriedly stopped in his tracks to examine himself, and only after confirming that nothing was wrong with his own body did he heave a sigh of relief.

I can't rely on my Apprentice abilities to go everywhere from now on. Sometimes danger comes silently, and by the time you notice it, it might already be too late.

It's a good thing the potion ingredients Owen needs are already accounted for. When you're out and about, it's truly inconvenient not to have a Seer around.

Muttering a few words to himself, he arrived before a room door and gave it a light push, causing the entire door panel to detach from the frame and fall backward.

With a slap, the door panel shattered into pieces, and the floor beneath it also cracked into spiderweb-like fissures, kicking up a cloud of dust into the air.

His gaze swept across the room quickly, and then he turned and left without lingering.

He had just heard a creaking sound from beneath his feet; the floorboards here seemed unable to bear any more weight, and if he kept moving around, he estimated the entire floor would collapse.

Besides, there was no need to continue exploring. The entire third floor had rotted away, so it was impossible to find anything of value, and if he accidentally triggered the danger that caused this anomaly, it would be a loss that outweighed the gain.