Chapter 23

As the parking lot bristled with soldiers on high alert, a peculiar tower truck engraved with strange runes began to roll in.

On top of the vehicle, something was scrawled heavily in Sanskrit.

The driver’s seat swung open, and out popped my junior, yelling at the top of their lungs as they dashed over.

“Senior! I’m here!!”

“Yeah, I can hear you just fine. No need to shout.”

A small chuckle escaped me at the sight of my ever-enthusiastic junior.

With no time to spare, I had entrusted them with a few crucial tasks before leaving. Despite the tight schedule, they’d handled everything impressively well.

As the cargo bay of the truck opened, a thick stench of blood wafted through the air. Heavy footsteps approached, revealing a figure of immense size—so massive that only a tower truck could accommodate them.

Standing nearly three meters tall, this giant’s presence was imposing not just in height but also in sheer bulk. His muscles were bulging like balloons, yet his wrinkled face betrayed his advanced age.

“You’ve grown even bigger since last time, old man.”

In one hand, he wielded an enormous hammer; in the other, a large tome. Around his neck hung prayer beads. Though dressed like a monk, he had nothing to do with Buddhism.

Frankly, looking at his face, it was hard to associate him with any holy figure—especially given the large nails driven into his eyes. He’d sacrificed his vision to find his daughter.

He carried an Object known for its dangerous nature, but despite the risks, he readily accepted my request. Perhaps he felt indebted for the help I gave him in the past.

The ability of his “Book of Prescience” was straightforward: it revealed the location of nearby objects. In a confined space like this, it was perfect for finding what we needed. Of course, using it came with drawbacks, including the grotesque size increase and the nails in his eyes—side effects hinting at far worse consequences to come.

I always warned him to stop using the book if he wanted to live longer, but he never listened. Carrying Watson around didn’t exactly bolster my credibility either.

While Watson could likely solve this case instantly, I had a gut feeling not to ask for help this time. Relying on Watson might lead to catastrophic results.

From atop the towering castle walls, I surveyed the refugee camp below. Before the missile struck, we had to secure the camp and locate the butterfly-generating Object.

“Is that really the relief camp? The people are positioned like guards.”

“Exactly why it’s problematic. Breaking in will be tough.”

If we caused a commotion, reporters from places like Daily Object would swarm the area, snapping photos and writing headlines about “forced suppression” or “abuse of public authority.” We had to act quietly and swiftly.

Plan 0: Capture everyone inside the camp as quickly as possible.

Plan A: Search the camp with experts.

Plan B: Use the Book of Prescience to pinpoint the target Object.

“If Plan Zero fails, there’s nothing we can do, right?” My junior pondered aloud, flipping between the operation map and schedule.

“Why don’t we just shoot everyone? There won’t be any survivors anyway, right? Let’s just have the soldiers wipe them out!”

My junior started spouting absurd ideas again.

“Oh wait! Guns make too much noise, so reporters might come! And the soldiers don’t know all the details, huh? Hmm, what should we do?”

The Gray Reaper must have some way to suppress the butterflies, but its absence suggests either slow effects or direct intervention is required. Unfortunately, the Reaper itself has vanished.

Watching the detectives struggle without my help reinforced my belief—they couldn’t solve cases alone. This time, instead of dealing with Hungry Ghosts, they faced Butterfly Infected individuals. Though clearly non-human, proving it remained impossible, forcing us to treat them as humans. Listening to their futile discussions brought clarity: blowing everything up would solve the issue. Like with the Hungry Ghosts, touching the Butterfly Infected made them explode.

Upon entering the camp via ghosting, I discovered a Daily Object reporter lying near death, spurting blood. Nearby, Butterflies feasted on him, turning him into leather-like skin before inflating him back into human form. Their behavior seemed more intelligent and terrifying than before. When I tapped one gently, it burst like a water balloon, leaving shredded remains behind. Startled, the remaining Butterflies scattered in all directions. Time for a fun game of tag!

Far away in another corner of the camp, a scream pierced the air. Clamping my hands over my mouth, I breathed slowly. I couldn’t be found—not now. If discovered, I’d revert to butterfly form.

Soft footfalls approached cautiously.

“Huh?” I accidentally gasped, drawing attention.

Though distant earlier, the sound grew closer. A rhythmic knocking echoed, growing faster and louder until finally…

CRASH!

The container wall shattered, revealing the arm of a small Reaper. Again and again, it broke through, each crash sending shockwaves through the structure.

“AHHHHH!”

Unable to do anything but tremble, I watched as the Reaper’s golden-eyed face emerged. Its expressionless gaze felt accusatory, as if saying, “Found you!”

“NOOOO! HELP ME!”

Trapped within the walled compound, escape proved impossible. Cornered, I transformed into a butterfly and watched my body dissolve into blood splatters.

This assignment had been easy…until now. Sealing off the civilian camp with steel walls and strict surveillance felt odd. Even stranger was how quiet everything remained during my shift. While boiling noodles with the next guard after finishing patrol, an unusual noise interrupted us.

“OPEN UP! QUICKLY! THE MONSTER IS COMING! PLEASE OPEN!”

Camp residents often tried such tricks to escape, pretending illness or emergencies. Our manual dictated ignoring all noises, though this “monster” excuse was laughable.

The pounding gradually faded away.

“See? Nothing serious, right?” I said to my partner, who didn’t respond. Turning, I saw them pale-faced, pointing silently toward the gate. Through the cracks, thick streams of blood oozed relentlessly onto the ground.