Chapter 83: Lucky Relief (End)

On the ground lay an old wooden box, entirely black. It had eight sides, each painted with strange, bizarre patterns, which at first glance made it look like some kind of unusually shaped artifact.

But Berlin knew better.

Having received the blessing of King Paimon, he now possessed a sensitivity far beyond that of ordinary humans. With just a glance, Berlin could tell that the box on the ground was no ordinary object—it contained an ancient evil spirit that fed on souls.

His body was gripped tightly by that powerful force from a foreign realm, relentlessly being pushed toward the box. Cold sweat ran down Berlin’s forehead, and his sense of foreboding grew stronger by the second. In his mind, he prayed continuously to the great King Paimon, hoarsely begging for his master’s mercy. Finally, in a single moment, the suppressed Paimon power within him ignited like gasoline poured on fire, suddenly bursting forth.

Feeling the resistance from the end of the wooden stick, behind the cloth curtain, Rebecca’s forehead gradually broke out in cold sweat.

Berlin’s body became the battlefield of two clashing forces. Under the impact of the overwhelming power, his body, like overheated glass, began to show red scars.

At the same time, the shadow puppets on the curtain and Rebecca herself began to develop similar cracks. The difference was that Berlin had a powerful regenerative ability: as long as he could consume the plaster figurines, no matter how severe the injuries, he had nothing to worry about. But Rebecca was just a mortal; if her injuries became too severe, she would die.

Should she let go now…?

Another scar suddenly appeared on Rebecca’s forehead—long and deep, faintly revealing the bone underneath. A gush of blood surged, tinting her vision a deep red. Her survival instinct made Rebecca subconsciously want to release her grip, but just before giving up, her eyes caught a vision: Everly’s gaze, full of worry and hope, and the wax burned down on the candelabrum of the Madonna.

Before leaving, she had asked Mother Earth, and Mother Earth had promised to protect her, so she would definitely be fine… Besides, there were so many children in the auditorium waiting to be rescued. As an adult, she had to stay strong.

Just a little more… Hurry, she had to get him to open the box, quickly…

Rebecca gritted her teeth, enduring the pain and the dizziness from blood loss, and continued to manipulate the tattered shadow puppet forward—one step, two steps, three steps… With each step forward, more cracks appeared on the puppet’s body, yet it remained intact, limbs complete, and persevered with her until the very end.

Summoning the last ounce of courage and strength in her body, Rebecca forced the puppet to lower its head, clumsily kneel on the ground, and reach out with both hands to grasp one face of the wooden box. Like twisting a Rubik’s cube, she turned that side ninety degrees clockwise.

“Click.” The sound of the mechanism loosening rang out. On the nearby open ground, Berlin used his own hands to open the trap-laden box, releasing the ferocious evil spirit imprisoned inside.

At the same time, Rebecca behind the cloth curtain could no longer hold on. She spat a mouthful of blood with a “pft” and released the wooden rod controlling the puppet, collapsing to the ground along with the shattered shadow puppet.

—This shadow puppet was from Xia Nation. A few months ago, Rebecca had sold it to Everly as a prop.

It was made from human skin and required red lighting and a white cloth curtain to be used. By smearing the blood of the person to be controlled onto the puppet and calling out their name, the puppet would take on that person’s appearance.

At that moment, the puppet’s operator could indirectly control the actions of the person through the puppet.

However, it had to be used with caution: during its use, the operator, the puppet, and the controlled person were bound together by fate. Any injury that appeared on the controlled person would also appear on the puppet and the operator. Therefore, strictly speaking, this prop was not particularly practical.

However, when paired with the box Rebecca had previously sealed the evil spirit in, it produced remarkable effects.

Ever since discovering that Berlin had a tangible, bleedable, and injurable body, Everly had sensed that the prop she purchased might finally have its moment to be useful. After all, movies always have twists and turns—how could a final showdown not feature some kind of unexpected event?

On the ground, once the trap-laden box opened, a surge of black smoke, carrying the stench of dust and decayed corpses, shot out from its seams, screaming as it penetrated into Berlin’s body.

This was a medieval trap box, created specifically to curse and kill. Whoever opened it would be ensnared by the evil spirit inside, encountering all sorts of misfortune until the box’s owner could no longer endure and chose to take their own life. The evil spirit would then consume the owner’s soul and return to the box, waiting for the next person to open it.

However, perhaps because Berlin’s body was not entirely human in the strict sense, or perhaps because the Paimon power hidden within him was detected, triggering its instinct to defend its prey, the moment the evil spirit entered Berlin’s body, it immediately clashed with the Paimon power inside him.

Paimon, one of the seventy-two demons of Solomon, was certainly formidable—but bound by the oath Solomon had sworn to God before his death, he could never break free from his seal to appear directly in the human world. Meanwhile, the evil spirit in the box, having existed for centuries, had devoured countless human lives. In sheer power, it was not weaker than the partial might granted by Paimon.

Their battle pinned Berlin down, buying precious time for Wester, whose eyes had been injured, to react.

When Paimon’s power finally suppressed the evil spirit and Berlin regained mobility, what awaited him was the exorcist’s face, twisted and contorted by fury.

“Honestly… since that Thai sorcerer, no one has dared make me this angry… How dare you defile Rosette’s face like this? Are you ready to face my wrath?”

He ran one hand through his black hair, damp and curling from water, while the other reached behind his waist to draw a brass, gold-plated double-barreled pistol.

…

At 2:30 a.m., with the final act of repentance concluded, the exorcism ritual in the auditorium finally drew to a close.

The students, freed from their ordeal, hurriedly discarded the plaster figurines clinging to them and followed their parents out of the hall. The priests, who had been busy all night, were soon assisted by the acolytes to pack up and leave as well.

Before long, the entire auditorium was completely empty.

Wester puffed on his cigar, waiting silently. It wasn’t until nearly 3 a.m. that two figures—one old, one young—appeared under a distant streetlight.

“Finally,” he said. “Take her away.”

Seeing Old John and Everly, Wester stubbed out his cigar and casually gestured toward Rebecca beside him.

A little over two hours earlier, Everly had been celebrating New Year’s at a gas station with Old John and the old dog, Buddy, when she received a call from Wester using Rebecca’s phone. He hadn’t said much, only instructing her to come to the auditorium entrance immediately to pick up Rebecca.

The call had startled Everly badly; she feared something had happened to Rebecca. But when she arrived, she found Rebecca lying on the steps at the auditorium entrance, her head resting on Wester’s long coat, cheeks flushed, and sleeping soundly.

“…”

The usually eclectic fortune teller had today, for once, donned a formal shaman’s robe. The bulky garment jingled with all sorts of strange ornaments. Coupled with the face paint on Rebecca’s cheeks and the feathers in her hair, she truly looked like a South American shaman.

It was only upon approaching that Everly noticed the dried blood smeared across Rebecca’s face and body. The shadow puppet made of human skin, perched atop the stick in her hand, had been shattered into pieces—proof of the fierce battle she had endured.

Strangely, after carefully checking, Everly could find no injuries on Rebecca’s body.

Just as she was beginning to wonder about this, Wester suddenly raised his hand and tossed a small crystal vial toward her.

Everly caught it in one hand and examined it carefully under the streetlight. The crystal vial was only six or seven centimeters tall, slender, and contained a small amount of a translucent pale green liquid, just enough to cover the bottom—roughly two or three milliliters at most.

“This is your reward for helping this time.”

“Reward?” Everly thought. What was this? Could such a tiny, unknown droplet possibly make up for a shadow puppet worth 2,500 US dollars—or Rebecca’s life-risking efforts?

As if sensing Everly’s skepticism, Wester explained, “This is the panacea brewed by Nicholas.”

“!!!”

Everly’s casual attitude vanished instantly. She held the vial carefully and reverently.

A panacea, as the name implies, is a medicine capable of curing all wounds and diseases. Nicholas was a renowned 14th-century alchemist, famous for having created the Philosopher’s Stone, capable of turning mercury into gold. A panacea brewed by such a legendary figure was certainly no ordinary concoction.

Could Wester really be this generous?

“When I received it, the vial was already half-empty. Don’t expect this small amount to cure any serious diseases. But for repairing physical injuries, depending on their severity, three to five drops is enough.”

I see.

Although it was a shame that it couldn’t be used for illnesses, the fact that it could heal external injuries alone was already incredible. One milliliter was roughly twenty drops; the bottom of the vial held enough for at least forty or fifty drops—enough to save dozens of lives.

Everly no longer felt any regret over losing her shadow puppet. The prop had been powerful, yes, but limited—it required a prearranged setting and only worked on humanoid beings with a physical form or blood. By comparison, the panacea was far superior.

“By the way, do you know what’s going on here?”

Wester kicked the shadow behind him. Only then did Everly notice that, behind one of the pillars, a “Globe Flower” was hidden, gagged and bound tightly in ropes.

“I originally thought she was under some mental manipulation from Berlin, but it turns out that even after killing Berlin, the strange power within her persists… Truly ugly, intolerable!” Wester furrowed his brows, fury evident on his face.

Everly had rarely seen the exorcist show such visible emotion. She guessed it was because he saw in Jessica a reflection of his fiancée—someone he deeply loved whose face had been stolen. Any person in that situation would be furious.

Having just received something valuable from Wester, Everly didn’t hold back. She immediately spilled everything, telling him about the Monkey’s Paw.

“I see… So she’s still being haunted by that ghost, right?”

Everly nodded. “Most likely. I think she only agreed to serve Berlin to get rid of Edward’s ghost.”

“Heh… very well. To dare use Rosette’s face to scheme against me, I’ll make her regret it.”

The exorcist asked no further questions. He gestured to Everly to quickly take Rebecca away, then reached into the pouch at his back, drew out an object, and stepped toward the terrified girl on the ground.