"Wow, Randy sure moves fast."
Steve gazed at the system panel, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Five hundred faith points already? The Order of Saint George name really works. But a hundred thousand believers… that's no small number. I'll probably have to conquer everything nearby."
As for the reward, it was definitely something good.
"Alright, I don't have to worry about that side's progress anymore."
Steve closed the panel and looked ahead.
There, the silhouette of a modern city shrouded in grey mist was already clearly visible.
It wasn't the medieval style of Western fantasy; it looked more like a modern metropolis on Earth, only the entire city was wrapped in a thin grey fog, with no sunlight in sight.
"So this is a city in the Paranormal Universe…"
To avoid alerting the enemy, Steve didn't simply fly in.
Buzz!
A ripple of space flashed; his figure slipped into the void, activating spatial concealment.
Steve landed soundlessly on a street at the city's edge.
Walking along the street, he felt a little dazed.
Around him bustled crowds in suits, on phones, hurrying along.
A milk-tea shop had a queue by the roadside; couples strolled hand in hand, and a mall screen played some celebrity's advert.
Everything looked perfectly normal.
So normal he almost thought he'd returned to Earth before his transmigration.
"Prosperous on the surface, but undercurrents churn beneath."
Steve strolled along the pavement. No one could see him, yet he could clearly sense the city's anomalies.
Under the sweep of his fourth-rank mental power, this false peace was as thin as paper.
Take the balding uncle waiting at the lights: seemingly checking his watch in impatience, but Steve could feel his shadow was far too dark, twisting against the light now and then—clearly haunted.
Or the alley ahead: it looked like a solid wall, yet to Steve it reeked of blood and rule fluctuations.
He also noticed these mortals' spirits were frail, half-dead.
"Humans barely cling to life under the rules, maintaining a façade of order."
Steve narrowed his eyes.
"Then let me see how many big fish this calm city hides…"
Like a ghost he drifted through the crowd, eyes keen, searching for prey.
Hidden in the void, Steve wandered aimlessly along the bustling streets.
Around him humans carried on—commuting, attending school, quarrelling, laughing.
It surprised him; with Weirdness rampant there should be an official body keeping order, otherwise the city would have collapsed long ago.
"Still, those so-called handlers are well hidden."
While pondering, he turned into a quiet, secluded alley.
The moment he stepped in, a biting chill hit him like walking into a freezer in midsummer.
Steve paused.
"Strong fluctuation…"
He looked around: empty alley, a few rusted bins, graffiti-covered walls, not even a stray cat.
"Strange. I clearly sense intense Weirdness, so why can't I see the source?"
Puzzled, he cancelled spatial concealment, revealed himself, and strode deeper.
Even after exiting the far end of the alley, the cold sensation of being watched and followed still clung to his back like a stubborn plaster.
"It followed me? Yet won't show itself?"
Without turning, Steve linked his mind directly to the Command Center.
"I sense a special Weird fluctuation tailing me since I entered the alley. I've left, but the feeling remains. Analyze at once why it hasn't appeared."
Almost instantly, several red analyses flickered across his retina.
[Rule not met: per paranormal archives, most apparitions or kills require specific triggers. This entity may have locked onto you as target, but you haven't performed the trigger action (e.g., looking back, speaking, touching an item).]
[Formless kill: cannot rule out that its nature is formless, attacking via invisible field or curse.]
[Blind-spot: Commander, try changing viewing angle, especially behind you.]
Steve read the report and nodded slightly.
"Since you've followed me all this way without showing up, I'll give you a chance."
He curled a cold smile, halted, and spun around.
The turn made him pause.
On the once-empty street, precisely fifty metres behind, a figure now stood.
A woman in a bright crimson dress, hair dishevelled, face pressed to the ground, limbs twisted grotesquely as though she'd been tossed from a high building and shattered.
[Think Tank – Urgent Analysis:
"Appears on look-back? Looks like turning or shifting gaze is one of its manifestation rules."
"Director, note its exact position—fifty metres. Be alert: its killing rule may relate to distance."]
Steve studied the Red-Clothed Abnormality for a while.
No movement.
Pedestrians walked straight through her as if she were air.
"Interesting."
Standing in the middle of the street, he watched the crimson-clad woman lying fifty metres away while the Think Tank's analyses scrolled across his mind.
"Now that you're here, let's see what kind of thing you are."
Without hesitation, Steve directed his Zombie body and stepped toward the red figure.
Fifty metres.
Thirty.
Ten.
The closer he came, the denser the chill.
At last he stood before the Red-Clothed Abnormality.
He looked down at her.
An extremely thin body; the scarlet dress clung soaked, as if steeped in blood.
Face pressed to the ground, black hair splayed, features hidden, only death-pale wrists showing.
He stared for a while, even crouched for a closer look.
No reaction.
She lay like a long-dead corpse; the eerie pressure he'd felt even blurred at close range.
"No attack? No trigger action?"
Steve frowned.
He straightened, glanced away: a shuttered convenience store to the left, old apartment blocks to the right.
Confirming no change, he looked down again, ready to keep studying the Red-Clothed Abnormality at his feet.