Soul Sacrifice

June 26, 1399, 9:00 PM, Wilson Town.

A bonfire had been built, and massive kegs of beer were hauled from the tavern onto the square. An intact dead cow was butchered into chunks and placed over the flames; before long, an enticing aroma permeated the entire square.

Over a hundred people gathered in the square, raising their cups in song and dance, making the small town as lively as a festival.

The stout mayor was utterly obedient to Lynch and Officer Natalie, carrying out every order to the letter. Lynch had said at eight to seize the opportunity to throw a bonfire party to create an opening, and by nine, people were already drinking and making merry.

The crises of the occult world were unknown to ordinary folk. With the crushing weight suddenly lifted from their chests, the excitement of having survived made everyone forget the tragic massacre of entire households that had just occurred.

After all, the joys and sorrows of humanity are not truly shared.

One could only wonder how the townsfolk would feel once everything was over and they realized their relief was nothing but an illusion.

“If we succeed against the occult and resolve the incident, their cattle won't die, and they won't suffer any real losses,” the female officer scoffed from the shadows of the clock tower in a tone accustomed to such things. “If we fail and the disaster erupts, they won't have any feelings left to speak of anyway. The mystery might win, but the people will never feel cheated. Sometimes it truly angers me to see these people fixated solely on their own self-interest, yet I can't really say they've done anything wrong—they're just a bit selfish and indifferent. That's why I dislike having too much contact with people involved in my missions.”

“Oh? Isn't it because having too much contact makes you lose eight conditions to the other person? Hey, hey, don't clench your fists! When we first met, you only pinned me to the ground; you never used to threaten people like this.”

Lynch felt as though he could already see his bleak and miserable future.

“To your health, Mr. Trevor! Cheers!”

“Praise your generosity, Mr. Trevor! If you hadn't lent us the money, we never would've been able to raise so many cattle.”

“It's all thanks to you, Mr. Trevor! Once we pay you back, we'll still make a hefty profit. You truly are a good man!”

By the bonfire, the townsfolk crowded around Will Trevor with wave upon wave of flattery and praise. Trevor's little mustache twitched repeatedly, his expression as strained as if he were suffering from indigestion.

“Do you think he'll really make a move?” Officer Natalie and Lynch huddled in a corner, keeping their eyes fixed on the conflicted Mr. Trevor.

“If he didn't do it, he certainly won't make a move. If he did do it by summoning a heteromorph, he might not necessarily act. But if it's as we deduced and he caused this disaster through cultist sacrifices, the likelihood of him acting is very high. I've already let it be known that the deal closes tomorrow. If he wants to sabotage the transaction, tonight is his last chance. Moreover, sacrificial effects aren't perpetual; if he wants to kill off another batch of cattle, he must act tonight. However...”

“Hm?”

“I still feel like something's off about this matter. There are questions I haven't sorted out yet; parts of it just don't add up. But according to the townsfolk, he did purchase pregnant cows and young calves several times in recent days. Normally that's standard business, but he doesn't raise cattle, which makes it strange. And as you know, in the occult world, those things aren't used for anything pleasant.”

“Yes, maternal-infant blood and the blood of the newborn are specialized materials for rituals and arcana. So we can be certain he is indeed conducting a ritual, but you're not yet sure if it's the exact ritual we suspect.”

“Right, but that's a topic for later. At least for now, we can be sure he'll definitely make a move tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because he's already on the move. Don't look at me, look at him.”

With that, the valiant female officer's face flushed crimson, steam practically billowing from her head as she snapped her gaze forward, gnashing her teeth fiercely for reasons unknown.

Young lady, that's bad for your teeth. You should get that treated.

Of course, regardless of who needed medical attention, that was a matter for later. The target they were watching—the banker Mr. Will Trevor—had already slipped away from the assembly unnoticed.

The banker tiptoed around every visible area, quickly slipping out of the illumination, and only then breathed a sigh of relief.

Those two bastards who showed up out of nowhere deserve to die. They ruined a plan we spent over a year preparing! If not for them, with the contracts in hand, the entire town's land would have fallen into my grasp. I already found the buyers, and the land purchase orders are being promoted right now. Flipping these lands will yield several times the profit! How much money have I poured into this already? If this fails, I'm bound to go bankrupt. Damn bastards, how could I let you succeed? Fortunately, there's still a chance; otherwise, I'd have suffered a catastrophic loss. Your mistake was waiting one more night. Hehehe, you'll regret this. As long as I perform the ritual one more time, everything will turn out fine.

Spitting heavily toward the bonfire, the banker hastened his steps into a jog, heading under the moonlight straight for the house of the farmer who had been beaten that afternoon. You dared to defy me in public this afternoon and tried to breach the contract to default on my loan? Fine, just you wait. I'll make you pay the price.

The farmhouse was pitch black; the whole family had gone to the bonfire party. Yet the banker didn't enter the house. Instead, he lingered by the doorway for a moment before pulling out a small box, pinching a few pinches of soil from beneath the eaves and the threshold. Finally, he stealthily rubbed away his footprints with his foot and turned toward the animal pens.

The livestock still cowered inside the pens, refusing to come out, which suited the banker's intentions perfectly. He casually collected several lumps of cow dung, plucked a few tufts of cow hair, and then bolted in terror when a sudden moo startled him.

That's enough. You're finished. I'll make you weep until you have no tears left.

Gritting his teeth in a sinister grin, the banker scurried excitedly all the way back to the basement of his country villa.

Mr. Will Trevor had never married in his life; in his eyes, money was far more charming than women. He lived alone in the villa with three servants.

The basement was dim and damp. A stench of decay and mildew mingled with blood and foul rot wafting from behind another door, enough to make anyone gag.

Yet Mr. Trevor took a deep breath, an intoxicated expression washing over his face.

This wasn't a foul stench; this was the smell of money.

The banker strode quickly to the corner of the basement, opened a heavy safe, and pulled out a stack of contracts. He stroked them greedily several times, his eyes brimming with sheer ecstasy.

This is my capital for striking it rich. With this money, I'll expand the bank into Rhine—no, into Norin! Damn it, that's all my money! None of you can stop me!

Bursting with motivation, the banker grabbed the boxes and shoved open the door that emanated the scent of blood.

Inside was a pool of blood. Dark brown blood rippled in the basin, where countless internal organs and eyeballs churned within the thick crimson liquid.

Several bovine heads hung on the wall above the pool of blood. As the banker approached, the cattle heads suddenly opened their eyes—eyes with only whites—staring at him and letting out dry, raspy roars.

“Don't blame me. For money, there is nothing that cannot be sacrificed.”

Muttering under his breath, the banker produced the materials he had just retrieved.

Soil from the eaves and threshold represented the residence; dung and hair represented the target. Well then, it was time to begin.

“I present this offering, O Great Father of Serpents. Please take away the life and soul of the sacrifice...”

As the banker murmured the prayer, the roars of the bovine heads on the wall grew increasingly shrill. The blood pool surged as though an enormous serpent's head were emerging from within, its cold, slit pupils peering into the mortal world.