Chapter 82: The Village
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation
Miles was reclining on the bed, an air of indifference surrounding him. Next to him, River had regained some composure after her terrifying experience, but remnants of fear still lingered in her eyes.
“That man who just pointed a gun at you?” Miles began, ensuring he captured every detail for River. “He’s a recent addition to the ghost tamers in Spear City. His main job is to address and resolve paranormal disturbances. Your encounter with him wasn’t personal.”
River’s voice rose, a mixture of frustration and fear. “Personal or not, he could have killed me! How can you be so calm about this?”
Miles looked at her with a reassuring gaze. “He wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. His theatrics with the gun were meant to get a reaction out of me, not you. Despite the facade he puts on, he would have been well aware someone was in the bathroom showering. He aimed the gun at you to unnerve me, not to threaten you directly. He’s a manipulator and will soon be an adversary of mine.”
Swallowing hard, River hesitated, “With things getting this risky, perhaps we should consider relocating?”
Miles scoffed lightly. “And go where? Spear City is completely under the control of this man. Leaving the city might be an option for you, but not for me.”
A steely glint appeared in Miles’s eyes. “After today’s events, I’m even more determined to confront him in the future and seize his role. The real challenge, however, is joining their organization. One needs a strategy to hinder the revival of vengeful spirits. If I tried joining without one, it would be equivalent to walking into a death trap. I’ll never forget the gruesome way Right met his demise.”
River’s voice trembled with concern. “But, will you be okay?”
Pausing for a moment, Miles finally replied, “I can’t be certain. But for now, it’s best if you keep your distance from me. I need to rest.”
Their conversation concluded, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
The following day, Miles was interrupted from his thoughts by a delivered package. It contained items he had purchased online. Inspecting the contents, his focus was suddenly drawn to the human skin parchment lying nearby that began to reveal new texts.
“I need to visit the village tomorrow. With Enlight lurking around, it’s no doubt risky. Yet, my will to live pushes me to gamble and honor my agreement with Sun. But another question nags at me: Do I place my trust in individuals or rely on this mysterious parchment that once led me out of that school? By leveraging the power of the headless ghost contained in the ornate golden box, coupled with this parchment for my negotiations, it’s possible for my plans to work and discover a road to safety.”
A smirk played on Miles’s lips after reading the context, “I’ll resort to you only when absolutely necessary. At this point, I wouldn’t even trust the slightest detail on you.”
Miles eagerly examined the ancient-looking piece of parchment crafted from human skin, hoping it would reveal a clue or some kind of forewarning. But, to his frustration, the parchment offered nothing new. It stubbornly persisted in its usual enigmatic and misleading manner. As he filled his gun with bullets, preparing for whatever lay ahead, he was about to tuck the parchment away when suddenly a fresh line manifested: “Another failed transaction.”
Balancing the gun in his hand, he felt its significance. It was loaded with 30 specialized bullets, with each magazine containing ten rounds. The weapon had cost him a small fortune, a whopping three million. That meant every time he pulled the trigger, he was literally firing a hundred thousand away. The mere thought caused a cringe, thinking about the amount of money being used up with each shot.
“Maybe the fear it induces in others is worth more than the bullets themselves,” he mused.
Time passed swiftly, and three days seemed like a mere moment.
At the crack of dawn on the predetermined date, Miles was behind the wheel of a lavish car, a prize he had acquired in a bet with Master Catch. He navigated the almost vacant highway, with the car’s GPS directing him towards Yellow Hill Village.
He had scoured the internet for information about this village. What he found was that it was steeped in history, dating back to ancient dynasties. Although it had once been a bustling tourist hotspot, the village had lost its allure over the years due to multiple factors, including a lack of proper transport facilities and economic challenges. When it came to any paranormal events linked to the village, Miles couldn’t unearth any comprehensive records. He suspected that some archives might exist, but they eluded his access. Nonetheless, he wasn’t overly perturbed, figuring that meaningful details would be minimal since no one had ever deciphered the village’s enigmas.
“As we approach the village boundary, you’ll turn around and head back,” Miles ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. “Unless I contact you to retrieve me, don’t dial my number. I can’t afford any distractions, especially from a phone, when I’m in the middle of a supernatural investigation.”
River, clearly anxious, quickly responded, “I promise, I won’t.”
“Good,” Miles acknowledged.
The ambiance in the car grew heavy with silence.
After veering off the main highway and traversing a more constricted lane for around a quarter of an hour, a quaint village nestled against the backdrop of looming mountains came into view.
Verifying their location with his GPS, Miles confirmed their arrival at Yellow Hill Village. He pulled up at the entrance, leaving the engine humming, and handed the vehicle’s keys to River.
“If I don’t make it back within a month, assume the worst. The car’s yours. Once I grab my essentials from the trunk, you should leave without delay. Don’t ever get the impulse to revisit this place out of curiosity. I can’t guarantee your safety or what you might encounter. Always steer clear of this vicinity.”
With a determined expression, he stepped out of the car with the small amount of gears at his disposal – his belongings consisted of a custom-made body bag weighing a good few pounds, a stash of emergency provisions, and several sets of clothes.
Miles had journeyed to this remote location with a clear purpose in mind; it certainly wasn’t a leisure trip.
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable roar of high-performance engines. Turning, he saw a convoy of five sleek luxury sports cars racing down the rustic road, an unusually abundant sight for such a secluded area.
As the cars slowed, the window of the lead car rolled down to reveal Page smirking from beneath the visible remnants of an injury on his forehead. “Miles,” he jeered, “I didn’t expect you’d have the guts to venture here solo. Do you genuinely believe you can manage this supernatural disturbance on your own?”
Not one to back down, Miles shot back, “I don’t engage in banter with dimwits,” his eyes keenly observing several members of the Cockroach Club alighting from the vehicles. Their appearance at this precise moment made it evident they had been shadowing him for some distance.
Fuming, Page snapped, “Still running your mouth, are we? You thought shooting me and walking away would be the end of it?”
With an unbothered smirk, Miles replied, “Are you still clinging to that old vendetta? I seem to recall a certain Cockroach advising members of your club to rise above pettiness and old scores. So I shot you a few times – it comes with the territory. Everyone in our line has taken a bullet or two. If it’s the hospital bill that’s bothering you, consider it covered.”
Page looked like he might explode, but before he could get another word in, Stretch, another of the club’s members, intervened, “Enough, Page. We’re here for a reason. Move your cars. We’ll deal with our issues with Miles once the task at hand is complete.”
Not to be silenced, Page added with a sneer, “Stay arrogant, Miles. After this event, we’ll have the knowledge you’ve been seeking, and you’ll be left in the dark. Honestly, I should be thanking you. Without your interference, we might never have discovered such invaluable intel.”
Miles countered, “Perhaps Cockroach already had this information but didn’t deem it necessary to share with you. Isn’t it strange that an outsider like me would know of it, yet the head of your esteemed club is oblivious? Maybe he’s just stringing you along.”
Ending the verbal spar, Page offered a veiled threat, “We’ll meet inside the village,” his gaze piercing.
The group of high-end cars revved their engines and sped away, the dust from the road forming a temporary veil.
Watching them go, Miles mused aloud, “Five luxury cars, indicating the presence of five ghost tamers. They sure flaunt their wealth. Each of them rolling in such opulence suggests they’ve reaped quite the benefits in their chosen profession. Yet, to me, they’re merely pawns. The greater their number, the better. My initial worry was a lack of manpower to address the supernatural event.”
Having gathered his equipment from the trunk, Miles turned to River, his expression resolute. “Time to move,” he declared.
The car gracefully executed a U-turn on the narrow road, its tires crunching softly against the gravel. Behind the wheel, River glanced over at Miles, her expressive eyes clouded with unease. “Miles, you aren’t diving into something way over your head, are you?”
“When you’re contending with restless spirits, safety is a luxury no one can truly promise. And I’m certainly not immune to the risks,” Miles admitted, adjusting the strap of his bag as he readied himself for the challenges ahead.
River’s voice wavered with a mix of hope and concern, “I have faith in you, Miles. You always find a way.”
He shot her a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a trace of uncertainty, “Your faith might be misplaced. Even I’m not entirely confident about this one.” Lifting his hand in a brief farewell gesture, he added, “Stay safe.”
Without indulging in prolonged goodbyes, Miles set his sights on the village, making his way with determination.
As soon as he was out of sight, River wasted no time, driving away swiftly, eager to distance herself from the area with its eerie legends.
Gazing around him, Miles contemplated the surroundings. “For a place rumored to be haunted, it seems pretty ordinary,” he mused. Neatly cultivated fields stretched out on either side of the path, and the occasional farm animal ambled about. The houses he passed appeared well-maintained, showing no outward signs of neglect or abandonment. It looked like any other village, perhaps quieter, with most of its younger inhabitants having migrated to urban areas in search of better opportunities.
Deep within the village, a line of sleek luxury cars stood parked. From them, a group of about five or six individuals emerged, their eyes scanning the village landscape, a mixture of anticipation and skepticism evident in their expressions.
“This doesn’t give off haunted vibes,” Stretch remarked, visibly perplexed. “Feels more like we’re here for a retreat.”
Page, leaning against one of the cars, countered, “Remember, Sun’s intel mentioned some unusual activities here. Not all spirits are hostile. Some may be benign, hardly making their presence felt. But that doesn’t make the reports any less true.”
Another member of the group piped up, “It’s not always about the scare factor. Sometimes, the most dangerous spirits are the least conspicuous. If there are stories of supernatural occurrences, we can bet there’s truth to them.”
“One thing’s for sure,” another declared, “We weren’t lured here on a wild goose chase. If anyone’s having second thoughts, you’re free to leave.”
“We’re in this together,” another affirmed, determination evident in his tone. “Our goal is to unravel this mystery and negotiate our terms with Sun. My time is running short, and I refuse to just stand by, waiting for my inevitable end.”
United in their cause, the group began strategizing their next moves, ready to face whatever lay ahead.