American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

Lucien's leather shoe sole rubbed against the Adams eldest son's shiny forehead.

The leather rubs against the skin, producing a slight creaking sound.

"Oh, aren't you all supposed to be high and mighty people?"

He tilted his head, his blue eyes reflecting the shattered light of the crystal chandelier. "Why is everyone so afraid of death?"

Suddenly, the playful expression on his face froze.

Blue Eyes slowly scanned the entire room, from left to right, from the trembling heir to the slumped waiter, and then to the abstract painting on the wall worth eight million dollars.

Something's not right.

He said in a low voice.

Bishop Luke stood five meters away, trembling, yet his face still wore a devout smile.

But Lucien didn't look at him; he was looking at the faces of the guests.

Terrified, yes.

Fear, of course.

But there was something else, a texture he was familiar with that shouldn't be here.

"Something's not right with you."

He repeated it, raising his voice.

The sense of incongruity spread through his consciousness like ink dripping into clear water.

He closed his eyes, and the perception of the [Threshold Breaker] extended like whiskers, no longer prying at the threshold, but simply savoring the emotions.

Fear, shame, anger...

But there's still something wrong.

"Luke."

He opened his eyes and looked at the bishop.

"Something's not right with them."

Then he turned to the crowd.

"Something's not right! Something's off about you guys!"

The sensory whiskers suddenly tightened.

He roughly pulled out everyone's emotions and carefully savored them.

"What are you doing...?"

For the first time, Lucien's voice betrayed genuine confusion.

"How can you feel the same way as Zeng?"

He remembered that international student from Seres, Zeng Zhengmian.

In the forest filled with Gundam handicrafts in the God's Grace Church, Zeng Zhengmian showed more of a physiological rejection and a stiffness after the cognitive shock, as well as extreme fear and repression, when faced with extreme bloodshed and blasphemy.

At the time, Lucien thought it was a strange low threshold unique to the Seres, suppressed by asceticism in an environment lacking enhancers and hedonism.

These people sitting in the White Sand Bay Club, drinking the holy blood of baby Gundams, and eating Gundam fragments...

These people, who theoretically grew up in the same world as him and breathed the same money-driven air, have different emotional thresholds...

His score was surprisingly low, almost the same as Zeng Zhengmian's.

This is not reasonable.

The second son of the Alden family stood still, his blue eyes reflecting genuine bewilderment for the first time.

"what?"

Lucien suddenly laughed.

It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a laugh that came from discovering an interesting puzzle.

"So you guys don't do it this way."

He spoke softly, as if talking to himself.

"Hahaha, so that's how you all are!"

He got it.

What he had always overlooked—a detail that Lucien Alden would never have cared about.

Why do these small group gatherings always just involve cross-state lines, just enjoying Gundam together, just exploring the concepts of miniature black holes and white holes?

Why not use a strengthening agent?

Because they weren't doing it for pleasure at all.

"I knew it!"

Lucien walked to the long table, picked up an empty wine glass, and examined the lip prints remaining on the glass.

"It's a small group, but none of them are having fun, and they're only playing with these completely uninteresting things."

He turned around and looked at the crowd.

"So you weren't doing this for fun after all."

He said that every word was as clear as a verdict being read.

"So, you just expel people from the human race."

silence.

Only a faint humming sound came from the central air conditioning vents.

Lucien understood.

This group of people.

Adams, Rockefeller, DuPont...

They never considered outsiders as one of their own from the very beginning.

Slaves are not human beings, servants are not human beings, the middle class are not human beings, and even the new money is not human beings.

Only each other.

Therefore, they abide by a set of rules that only they follow:

A near-Puritanical lifestyle of asceticism, a family trust that has lasted for a century, an invisible network of cross-shareholdings, and a distorted morality based on the idea that "we are superior to all beings."

That's why, in this circle, even the slightest act of dereliction of duty is unacceptable.

For example, we could break the rules together to explore the scientific research of negative black holes.

For example, bring various props and then have a deep and satisfying encounter with each other.

These things, which may seem like minor matters to outsiders, can become very serious leverage.

This can also be considered an overflow of the kill line.

"Then what's there to say?"

Lucien put down his glass, a familiar frenzy rekindling in his red eyes.

"Didn't you say you didn't care?"

He raised his hand.

He pointed his index finger at the Rockefeller girl at the far end of the table.

"Fortunately, the Lord is watching over me."

Lucien smiled.

"I'll let you experience the taste of this earthly bliss."

[Breaking Threshold Demon] activated.

It's not prying, it's violently resetting.

He raised the other person's sensory threshold from that repressed, ascetic low point to the same level as himself, a level that had been reached through twenty years of chemical ecstasy, where the threshold of mind and body had become unimaginably high.

However, the process is compressed.

For an instant.

The girl didn't even have time to scream.

She arched her back suddenly, knocking over the chair and falling heavily onto the marble floor.

His limbs began to twitch uncontrollably, and bluish-purple patches appeared on his skin at a visible speed.

His eyes rolled back, white foam dribbled from the corners of his mouth, and he made intermittent, alluring sounds from his throat:

"Oh...ho...ho..."

That is not pain.

It's sensory overload.

More than twenty years of sensory stimulation were compressed into three seconds and poured into her soul.

Dopamine, endorphins, adrenaline...

All the pleasant loops exploded at the same moment.

She was still trembling.

Lucien didn't even look at her, his fingers moving.

"You come too."

It points to DuPont's second daughter.

"you."

It refers to the eldest son of the Adams family.

"you."

Pointing to Edward, who was trying to sneak away from the corner.

"You you you—"

Fingers linked together.

The sounds of snoring rose and fell.

One by one, bodies collapsed, convulsing and spasming, their faces alternating between expressions of ecstasy and despair.

Screams, gasps, and then a chorus of uncontrollable "hoohoo" sounds echoed throughout the villa, weaving together into a bizarre chorus.

Those who were once high and mighty, who regarded others as mere materials or playthings, are now lying on the ground, some curled up and twitching, others with unfocused eyes and drooling, experiencing the ultimate pleasure that they once absolutely disdained and even feared.

This joy was too pure, too violent, and it directly burned through the low-threshold defenses they relied on to maintain their dignity and humanity.

Lucien stood in the center, his blue eyes wide as he watched everything unfold.

"Hehehe, hahahaha~ How was it? How was it! Weren't you having fun!"

He was smiling, but tears were streaming down his cheeks.