Chapter 72: Showdown
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation
“You truly believed a simple question would make me spill my secrets?” Writing declared with a stern edge to his voice. “Under no circumstances would I ever divulge details about my clients. It’s an unspoken yet paramount rule in our profession.”
“Rules are meant to be rewritten,” Miles countered.
“Yet those who dare break them often find themselves facing grave repercussions,” Writing shot back.
Miles briefly looked down at a ticking countdown on his phone, then raised an eyebrow, “What makes you so certain you won’t regret crossing paths with me? If you refuse to talk, that’s your choice. But I can always seek answers from others.” His eyes darted to the remaining figures in the room.
“Anyone here care to share who sent you after Ethan and me? Speak now, and perhaps I’ll grant you freedom. Remember, I have only one ticket out. Choose your next words wisely.”
Yet, the group of well-dressed men remained eerily silent as if they were bound by an oath of silence.
“All of us have sworn to confidentiality,” Writing began, trying to maintain his composure. “Pressuring us for intel will get you nowhere. Your powers, they’re extraordinary. But ever since you’ve taken on the mantle of a ghost tamer, you should be aware that you’re on borrowed time. Let’s negotiate. I’ll abandon this venture, and we can leave it all in the past. What do you say?” He paused, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and trepidation. He recognized that Miles was a formidable adversary.
Despite his youthful appearance, Miles had an aura of latent danger akin to a young wolf draped in sheep’s fur. A first glimpse might suggest he’s benign, but once provoked, his true ferocity could be unleashed.
Miles chuckled sarcastically, “You ambush me, gravely wound my associate, pin him down like a spectacle, contemplate abducting my loved ones and threaten my assets. When we finally confront each other, you opt for aggression and confinement. And now, you expect us to sweep it all under the rug?”
“Do I look that naive to you?”
“If you wish to remain tight-lipped to my earlier question, so be it. Ethan and I will unearth the truth. But first, let’s settle once and for all who truly holds the reins here.”
Finishing his statement, he turned his gaze to the living room’s light fixtures.
Suddenly, a subtle buzzing resonated throughout, and in a fleeting moment, the room’s bright illumination transformed into an unsettling, deep red glow. The crimson ambiance seemed to consume not only the living room but the entirety of the visible world.
A chilling hush enveloped the room, punctuated by the palpable presence of the supernatural.
Rising slowly from his seat, Miles asked in a voice dripping with menace, “Who should I begin with?”
Seeing the world awash in red, Ethan, previously pinned helplessly to the floor, exhibited sheer terror on his face.
The invocation of the ghost domain was something Ethan hadn’t anticipated. Miles was pulling out all the stops.
“Writing, for your own sake, I suggest you work with Miles,” Ethan began, his tone laced with a dire warning. “I assure you, his wrath is unparalleled, especially when backed by his ethereal spirits. You see, his ghost is invincible.”
Ethan’s words, though appearing as advice, served to bolster Miles’s position.
Their good cop, bad cop strategy seemed to be working like a charm.
While under Miles’s ability, the choice of escaping from this haunted realm fell entirely on the young man. Ordinary people would be rendered powerless here.
“A ghost that can’t be defeated?” Writing responded with a mocking chuckle, “I don’t believe in unbeatable powers. Every human has a weakness.”
Suddenly, with a swift movement, a pistol appeared in Writing’s hand and loud bangs echoed in the room.
Three shots were discharged in quick succession, targeting Miles – one precisely aimed at his forehead and the others at his chest. Given how close they were, there was no way those bullets could miss their mark.
A heavy sound resonated as a body crumpled to the floor, blood rapidly spreading around the fallen figure.
“Is it over?”
Writing’s eyes focused intently on the lifeless body, his expression guarded. But before he could fully process the situation, a flash of red consumed his vision.
The fallen, bloody figure morphed into one of Writing’s own subordinates.
There was no sign of Miles.
“Boss, what… what’s happening? Why’s Zhao Gang down? He was with us just seconds ago,” a bewildered associate stuttered, eyes darting towards another comrade for answers.
But that comrade, to his horror, had transformed into the very image of Miles.
Miles’s smile was chilling. Innocent on the surface, yet it held a hint of lurking dread.
“You’re next in line,” Miles pronounced, moving swiftly to clutch the associate by the neck, throwing him forward before another gunshot rang out.
Miles’s body once again fell lifeless. However, upon closer inspection, the figure that now lay dead was yet another of Writing’s men.
In mere moments, Writing had, unknowingly, killed three of his own.
A mask of stoic indifference veiled Writing’s face as he coldly declared, “Come out and face me if you dare.”
Bang!
But this time, instead of the bullet shooting forward, a shining bullet had descended from the ceiling and grazed Writing’s own forehead. This bullet was distinctive, crafted from pure gold, gleaming in the ambient light.
“Using gold bullets? You’re certainly well-prepared,” Miles commented, slowly emerging from a neighboring room, “But you’re unlucky enough to have encountered me today.”
Miles’s expression was eerily composed, an aura of supernatural menace radiating from him.
Reflexively, Writing raised his gun to aim.
Yet, he hesitated, the trigger left untouched.
“Why the pause? You still have three bullets and three more men. One for each. You might just outdo yourself. Perhaps you’re hoping for a prize?” Miles taunted, lips curled in a sly grin.
“Is this just an illusion?” Writing surmised, his face deepening into a contemplative frown. “You aren’t truly here; your genuine form is concealed somewhere within this space. The talent to cast vivid hallucinations is commendable, yet not indomitable,” he asserted. “While your capabilities are undeniably exceptional, they also have inherent vulnerabilities. If I maintain my calm and rationality, you won’t be able to harm anyone. Your power is in getting others to act on your illusions.”
Miles smirked, “So confident in your deductions? What if I’ve already fooled you?”
Before Writing could answer, there was a commotion among his henchmen. “Boss! Something’s wrong with him!” one shouted, pointing frantically.
The man Miles had casually pushed just moments ago was now grotesquely embedded into the wall. His body appeared to be forcibly merged, with half of him stuck inside the solid structure. The man’s body jerked violently, blood gushed from his mouth, and his eyes whitened, indicating the intense pain and impending doom.
Writing’s eyes widened in shock because he understood this wasn’t a mere illusion.
Feigning sorrow, Miles commented, “I sincerely apologize. I merely gave him a slight nudge. Who would’ve thought he’d react so… dramatically? I genuinely wasn’t aware that typical humans could be so delicate. I promise to exert more caution in the future.”
Refocusing, Miles continued, “Now, resuming our conversation, who exactly employed you for this task?”
Panicking, one of the henchmen blurted, “We’re just the middlemen! Only the boss is privy to the details of who hired us!”
The henchman eyed Miles with trepidation, realizing this youngster was a greater threat than Ethan. The casual manner in which Miles doled out pain was horrifying. It was as if they were insignificant to him, reminiscent of a scientist experimenting on defenseless creatures.
Nodding, Miles retorted, pointing at Writing, “As I deduced. You’re the real prize here. That’s the reason I kept you alive this long. Not only to gauge your reaction against someone like me, a ghost tamer, but primarily to gather crucial information. Isn’t it high time you opened up?”
His eyes locked onto Writing with an intense, probing stare. “In case you opt for silence, let me remind you, Summit is also privy to this operation’s details. I may not have grilled him yet, but if you’d rather face death, I won’t delay further. I imagine you must be eager to transition to whatever awaits you next.”
As formidable as he was known to be, Writing felt cornered.
The scope and unpredictability of Miles’s powers were staggering.
Maybe, just maybe, he should reconsider his previous assertions.
Indeed, with his ghostly techniques and erratic behavior, Miles seemed more ghost than human.
“I’m merely the one to carry out the order, not the planner. We perform the tasks assigned to us without prying into the identity of our clients. However, I can confirm that our instructions came from someone within Ethan’s club. They handed over every detail we needed,” Writing admitted, pausing momentarily to take a steadying breath.
The weight of the situation pressed upon him, making the guy realize that he might not survive this encounter if he didn’t divulge some useful information.
“From my own club?” Ethan’s face contorted in confusion and surprise upon this revelation.
Miles’s eyes sharpened, “Members of that club are known ghost tamers. Are you suggesting someone from within the group has marked Ethan?”
“Not quite,” Writing began cautiously. “While a large portion of the club comprises ghost tamers, it also hosts a select group of elite local business magnates. These individuals occasionally splurge on ghost tamers to handle supernatural disturbances or even retain them for personal protection. Yet, the list of those affluent enough to afford these services and simultaneously have a fascination with the supernatural is quite short.”
“How much did they promise for executing this assignment?” Miles queried, tone unwavering.
“Fifty million dollars,” Writing replied promptly.
Miles arched an eyebrow, mildly astonished. “That’s quite the amount.”
Considering that a lone ghost fetches a hundred million dollars in the market, yet the fee to engage Writing’s services was set at fifty million, there appeared to be a significant discrepancy in value.
Ethan was potentially losing out on whatever deal he cut with the potential buyer he arranged. The possibility of intermediaries exploiting the situation and pocketing a significant share seemed likely.
“Is this project aimed at devising a strategy for ghost tamers to avoid dying from their ghost’s awakening? You’ve got a limited window here so you better speak,” Miles continued, voice steely. “Forty seconds, to be precise. Out of the three of you, the one who provides the most value walks out alive. Just remember, I’m in control, and any resistance is futile.”
Miles sensed his time in the ghost domain dwindling.
The clock was ticking, and he needed answers — fast.