Chapter Twenty-Four: The Room of Painted Faces

Lying on one of the rare soft beds this world had to offer, Qi Chen reclined peacefully after a simple meal, his eyes closed as though he were asleep.

Suddenly, he snapped his eyes open and sat bolt upright. With his keen night vision, he never turned on lights at home. Now, remaining motionless, he let the flood of events from the brief daylight hours drift through his mind.

So much had happened in just one day: first, the bizarre and sudden incident of the Confession Guillotine, then, for the first time in his life, a battle with another strange walker. It was all worth reviewing and analyzing.

Thanks to the wealth of information the gentle soul had imparted to him earlier, he at least knew where to begin unraveling it all.

“Compared to the Blood-Red High Heels at Hongfeng Tower, the Confession Guillotine is clearly a different beast,” he mused. “The core difference lies in the sheer disparity of their mental intensity. The stronger the mind, the greater the reach and impact of their powers.

“But both seem to be governed by some kind of rule-bound force.”

He recalled the inescapability of the Blood-Red High Heels once worn, and the indestructibility of the Confession Guillotine’s rope. Not even the mighty Overlord’s strength could overcome either.

“It seems the most fundamental thing when facing these anomalies is exactly what the gentle soul said: you have to discern the conditions that trigger their powers.”

He etched this insight firmly into his heart and decided not to overthink for now—better to wait until tomorrow, when the gentle soul would explain more about these anomalies in detail.

For now, only one thing concerned him: what exactly was that room festooned with masks that he saw in his dream?

One thing was certain: his ability to wield the power of the anomaly—the Overlord—was intimately tied to that ethereal room, for the Overlord’s mask was but one among many there.

And it was the only mask whose visage was clear, rather than blurred as if pixelated.

“Could it be that each mask holds a different power, and the clear-faced ones are those I can use?” Qi Chen made a bold conjecture, drawing on all the novels, comics, and history he’d consumed.

But this raised a persistent problem, one that had troubled him greatly: when it came to controlling anomalous power, he and the gentle soul were worlds apart.

It wasn’t about using the power, but the ability to control his own anomaly. From what Qi Chen could see, the gentle soul could wield his own anomaly, “Warmth,” with perfect ease, as though it were an extension of himself. In contrast, for Qi Chen, getting the Overlord to act involved no small amount of luck and superstition.

He’d finally found a method—consciously reaching for the Overlord’s mask in the mask room with his mind to summon it—but even then, he could not fully control the Overlord once it appeared.

In truth, the Overlord seemed to act more to protect Qi Chen’s life than to follow his actual commands.

“Does he think I’m unworthy?” Qi Chen recalled the Overlord’s attitude each time it manifested—at first, it was purely to save his life, and though there seemed to be some shift since then, it was clear he still hadn’t earned its full recognition.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

If he couldn’t wield the Overlord’s power at will, could he even call himself a qualified anomaly walker?

“The key must lie in that room,” he thought. Steeling his mind, he tried to imagine that peculiar house. Though a passive sort by nature, he felt it best to take the initiative when it came to his own survival.

His current goal was to be able to enter the mask room at will, rather than struggling for ages as he did during the Confession Guillotine ordeal before finally calling forth the Overlord.

Who could say if he’d be so lucky next time?

Free from any outside disturbance, Qi Chen immersed himself completely in his consciousness. This time, everything went smoothly, and he saw the house with perfect clarity, his whole being growing weightless in the blink of an eye.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the mask room.

“How marvelous…” He could sense that his body was now mere consciousness, and the awe welled up from deep within.

But more astonishing was the room itself—a blinding white background, stretching beyond sight, with masks of wildly differing designs and colors hanging from its pristine walls.

He could see so much more clearly now than he had in his dream, though nearly all the masks were shrouded in a swirling mist, obscuring their features.

Suddenly, an inexplicable summons echoed through his mind, guiding his consciousness toward a certain spot.

“Overlord?” Following the mysterious call, Qi Chen’s ethereal form sped through the room to its destination. There, upon a wall, the one mask not veiled in mist gazed steadily at him.

As their eyes met, Qi Chen sensed a stronger connection with the Overlord than ever before. A thought sprang up within him.

He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and firmly grasped the black-and-white mask with its faintly sorrowful expression.

He wanted to see if he could don the Overlord’s mask right here in this room.

But no matter how hard he pulled, the mask would not budge, as if rooted in the wall. Suddenly, a thunderous roar exploded in his ears, and a powerful force repelled his hands.

With a thud, Qi Chen was thrown to the floor.

A peal of mocking laughter rang out. Following the sound, he saw another mask on the wall.

Like the others, this mask was shrouded in mist, but the haze was much lighter, allowing Qi Chen to make out that it was predominantly white.

“Ignorant fool, did you think brute force alone would grant you the Overlord’s power?” The white mask’s disdain was unconcealed, and, hanging high on the wall, it spoke down to him from above.

Qi Chen was taken aback—mocked by someone inside his own mind! Yet more than anything, he was amazed.

The Overlord had communicated with him before, but only in simple impulses, not words. This white mask, however, spoke outright.

He opened his mouth to ask something, but a sudden surge of rejection swept over his consciousness, and the whole room receded in an instant. Only the white mask’s final words echoed in his ears:

“If you want power, prove yourself!”