Chapter 7

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“How’s everything coming along? Brad.”

The bright lights of the tavern illuminated the black-robed man’s figure, but failed to dispel the shadow lingering beneath his hooded face.

“It’s all set. They didn’t notice a thing,” Brad Solaris, seated opposite the black-robed man, wiped his glass with a handkerchief and then fetched a bottle of strong liquor from behind the bar, pouring it directly into the glass and downing it in one gulp.

The tavern was deserted except for the two of them. The air felt tense and heavy. Neither spoke first; after a long silence, the leader of the Heishuidang, Brad, broke the quiet:

“Sir ‘Shadow’, I have great sincerity in this transaction. This is the last piece of the puzzle. I can’t wait any longer… cough, cough, cough…”

Brad suddenly bent over, covering his mouth and coughing violently, as if he were about to cough up his lungs. Just as he recovered, the black-robed man finally spoke:

“As long as everything follows the ritual as recorded, there will be no problems,” said the black-robed person.

“This is the third time.” Brad placed the wine glass on the counter, the bottom of the glass hitting the wooden surface with a dull thud. “First my son, then my brother, and now my nephew. After tomorrow, I won’t have any relatives left, Mr. Shadow! Are you sure all of this is part of the ritual?”

“The focus isn’t on kinship, but emotion, Brad.” The black-robed man, known as Shadow, tapped his fingers lightly on the counter surface, his voice deep. “Your lack of emotional connection to their deaths is why the replication ritual failed.”

“We spent half a year cultivating your feelings towards your nephew, so that when he dies, you will have a clearer sense of revenge, Brad.”

Brad clenched the glass tightly, veins bulging on his aged face. He stared intently at the shadow on the man’s face, as if trying to discern something.

Brad was known for his ruthless nature, but he was also meticulous. To carve out a position in this chaotic region, he would sell anything, including familial ties and friendships.

If there was something that could drive him to lose his sanity and seek vengeance recklessly after losing it, it would be his own life and wealth.

No.

There was also the black-robed man sitting in front of him, who had taken away most of his savings and claimed to offer power beyond the norm. This eerie man was truly terrifying.

If this failed again, he swore that no matter what lay beneath the black robe, he would fill it with bullets and burn it down.

“Do you want to kill me?” the black-robed man chuckled lightly. “For this money? If you put it all in the donation box, even the Extraordinary Persons in the Church wouldn’t give you a second glance.”

The black-robed man reached up and slowly pulled off his hood. The warm light from the gas lamps illuminated his face, revealing fleshy growths that seemed to pulsate like living organisms.

These growths wriggled across his skin, resembling tiny tentacles flailing wildly, as if trying to tear through his face and escape.

This horrifying sight, completely inexplicable by normal means, shocked Brad once again. The silent growths seemed to emit sharp cries, causing Brad’s mind to lag.

This was definitely someone with special abilities.

If he followed what the man said and completed the “Revenge” ritual, he too could possess divine power…

Brad slowly released his grip on the glass, gradually calming down.

Dong —

Suddenly, the sound of something falling outside made Brad’s body twitch slightly. The black-robed man quickly pulled his hood back up and turned his head toward the street—his fist clenched in anger, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Your subordinates?” the black-robed man asked Brad angrily.

“Impossible, I sent everyone away,” Brad replied, but his thoughts were scattered, still reeling from the emotional upheaval. Looking at his glass, he continued, “It might be someone from Pompeii reporting in.”

“I’ll go check it out.” The black-robed man glanced at Brad, knowing he wouldn’t react for some time, and walked straight out the door.

Ding ling ling —

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He pushed open the glass-wooden door of the tavern, causing the door panels and a bell to ring out. He peered outside, scanning the area, but saw no one on the dark street and no pedestrians on the road.

The quiet street had the sounds of mice or insects scurrying by, and occasionally, the snoring from the neighboring building could be heard. Everything was as calm as usual.

With his back facing the tavern’s entrance, he no longer maintained his composure inside and instead fell to the ground in a disheveled manner. From within his robe, he pulled out a semi-transparent test tube with his left hand, while his right hand plunged directly into his throat.

“Ugh—!”

Under his fingers’ manipulation, his stomach seemed to be stimulated, twitching and convulsing.

Then, he swung his fist, pounding relentlessly against his own stomach, spewing a mouthful of black blood along with a fleshy, wriggling tentacle.

“Pata-pata—”

The tentacle writhed on the ground like a stranded fish, but the black-robed person quickly reached out, pinched the flesh-colored tentacle, and stuffed it into the bottle.

Through the light yellow semi-transparent test tube, one could see the tentacle only occupying a small portion of the bottle, seemingly having vanished partially.

“Damn… It failed again…” The shadow on the black-robed person’s face had faded, revealing a gaunt middle-aged man with pale skin, looking like skin and bones. His facial skin had sagged, drooping like that of a hundred-year-old man.

Veins of blue-white pulsed on his face, and his hair had long since fallen out, leaving behind only a cluster of black-red egg-like growths, resembling parasitic eggs, about the size of a fist. He looked neither human nor ghostly.

The black-robed person staggered to his feet, his right hand pressing against his forehead, as if battling a severe headache.

Once he regained his senses, he scanned the empty street with a malevolent gaze, put away the test tube, muttered a curse, and returned to the tavern.

He donned his hood, lowered his head, and sat back down at his seat. He wiped the black blood from the corner of his mouth and, as if nothing had happened, asked:

“How’s it going, Brad?”

Bleary-eyed Brad froze upon hearing the question. After a moment, he seemed to remember something and replied dazedly, “…It’s settled… They didn’t notice a thing.”

The conversation repeated itself, but unlike last time, the black-robed person did not provoke Brad further. Instead, he engaged in a guiding dialogue, prompting Brad to recount the plan once more.

“Ding-ding—”

As the conversation progressed and the black-robed man’s mind began to drift, he heard the sound of the tavern’s glass-wooden door being pushed open.

“Who is it?”

The black-robed man swiftly turned his head toward the door, but before he could fully face the direction, without any chance for explanation, a bullet accompanied by the sound of gunfire whizzed toward his chest.

“Bang—!”

The intense pain sent him sprawling to the ground, his body curling up like a shrimp. He suddenly looked toward the window and saw the beautiful red-haired girl with a pale expression, holding a revolver, standing in the black cloak.

Why her?!

Brad, upon hearing the gunshot, jolted but remained rooted to the spot, unmoving.

The one who came was Xia’er.

To ensure she didn’t miss her target, she aimed for the largest area of the torso.

After striking the black-robed person down, she quickly turned the gun toward Brad’s direction, aiming rapidly at Brand, who showed no reaction, and fired.

“Bang—”

The bullet, trailing smoke, left the barrel. The originally aimed-for chest shot deviated slightly and whizzed into Brad’s throat.

“Pu-chi—”

A large amount of blood mixed with bubbles spurted from his throat. His eyes, which had been gradually focusing, scattered again. He clutched his throat and slowly slumped down beside the bar.

At this moment, Xia’er felt no relaxation. With three bullets remaining, she quickly switched hands, holding the revolver with her left hand against her temple, and drew a dagger with her right, cautiously moving toward the black-robed person.

To avoid failure, she reserved the last bullet for herself—to ensure she could die smoothly.