The battle was over.
For the first time since entering the orphanage, true silence filled the basement.
The shattered mirror lay scattered across the floor, the extinguished candles still releasing thin curls of smoke into the cold underground air. Broken ritual tools, blood-stained symbols, and splintered wood were spread everywhere, as if the room itself had been torn apart by the clash between two forces beyond human understanding.
Lucien leaned lightly against the wall, letting out a slow breath.
His body felt drained.
Using Wind Control at full strength had consumed nearly all of his Qi, but his expression remained calm as his mind focused on the reward that had just surfaced.
Nightmare Prayer.
The unfamiliar name lingered in his thoughts.
Lucien quietly recalled the information attached to it.
An illusion-based supernatural ability.
The moment he understood its nature, a faint smile touched his lips.
Illusions were not simple tricks.
Used poorly, they could do little more than create momentary confusion, perhaps enough to open an opponent's guard for a killing blow.
But in the hands of someone who truly understood them…
They could become terrifying.
A weapon of the mind.
A power capable of twisting perception itself.
Lucien liked abilities like this.
The upper limit was determined entirely by the one using it.
That made it far more valuable than brute force.
Behind him, Carl was still visibly shaken, his breathing uneven as he stared at the destroyed ritual chamber.
"So… is it really over?"
His voice was low, almost uncertain.
The detective let out a long breath before Lucien answered.
"It's over."
There was complete confidence in his voice.
The detective nodded immediately.
"As long as Lucien doesn't move again, it means the problem is solved."
His trust in Lucien had long since surpassed ordinary belief.
Ever since the previous case, he had seen enough to understand one thing—
If Lucien was still acting, then danger remained.
If he stopped, then the nightmare had truly ended.
"Let's get out of here," the detective said.
As he lowered his hand, his expression suddenly changed.
The talisman he had been holding crumbled into pieces.
Carl looked down at his own hand and saw the same thing.
His face instantly turned pale.
"The talisman… it broke."
Panic flashed across his face.
For a moment, the memory of the life-draining curse returned to him.
Without the protection, wouldn't they still be in danger?
Lucien's calm voice came from ahead.
"The curse was anchored between the upper floor and this basement."
He glanced toward the shattered ceiling.
"I already tore through the floor, and the caster is dead."
His tone was almost indifferent.
"What exactly are you afraid of?"
The detective let out an awkward cough, immediately recovering his composure.
Then he turned toward Carl.
"Stop standing there in a daze. Handcuff him."
Carl blinked as if waking from a dream before quickly moving toward the unconscious Luke.
The detective watched him silently.
Today had changed Carl.
Everything he thought he knew about the world had been shattered in a single night.
Fear.
Death.
Magic.
Curses.
Soul transfer.
Any ordinary person would need time to rebuild their understanding after witnessing something like this.
Still, the detective's impression of him had improved.
When things turned dangerous, Carl had followed him down without hesitation.
That alone was enough.
The detective then turned back to Lucien.
"Are you alright?"
Lucien waved his hand dismissively and handed over the revolver.
"I'm fine."
The detective accepted it, then glanced at Luke being dragged across the floor like a broken corpse.
"One thing still bothers me."
He frowned.
"He had a gun. Why didn't he use it from the beginning?"
Lucien thought for a moment before answering.
"Overconfidence."
His voice was flat.
"He thought his experience and combat skills were enough."
Seeing Lucien unarmed had only made him more careless.
To be fair, Luke's fighting ability was excellent by normal standards.
Against most people, he would have been overwhelming.
Unfortunately for him—
He had met Lucien.
By the time he realized brute force wasn't enough, half his body was already crippled.
The gun no longer mattered.
Lucien walked toward Max, who was lying unconscious near the remains of the shattered ritual.
He crouched down and carefully examined him.
Although the boy's soul had briefly left his body, the duration had been short enough to avoid permanent damage.
Still, Lucien circulated a thread of Qi through him, checking for any lingering curse marks or soul contamination.
Only after confirming everything was clean did he lift him into his arms.
He looked toward the detective.
"Take the other child."
The detective immediately moved toward Daniel, who was still unconscious in the corner.
Together, the three of them finally left the basement.
The aftermath was handled quietly.
Officially, the police classified the orphanage incident as a cult-related kidnapping and homicide case.
Lucien strongly suspected the detective had actually told the truth.
The problem was simple.
No one would believe it.
Unless someone experienced the supernatural firsthand, stories of curses and soul rituals were easily dismissed as madness.
Max and Daniel survived physically unharmed.
The deeper wounds, however, were psychological.
Kate survived as well.
Though her injuries had been severe, timely treatment saved her life.
Lucien visited the hospital several times over the following days.
Each visit left him with mixed feelings.
Kate's husband was dead.
The grief in her eyes was impossible to ignore.
But Lucien knew the truth was not so simple.
Lina alone could not have completely manipulated a grown man.
John's own choices had played a role.
In other words—
The marriage had already been weaker than it appeared.
Still, Lucien chose not to shatter the image Kate held of the dead.
Some truths served no purpose except causing pain.
Instead, he gave her a calming talisman to help stabilize her emotions and prevent excessive grief from affecting her recovery.
Slowly, things improved.
Max became deeply attached to his mother, rarely leaving her side.
Daniel changed even more.
The once emotional and reactive boy became quiet.
Withdrawn.
Older than his years.
One day, as Lucien was leaving after a hospital visit, Daniel stopped him.
Lucien expected anger.
Instead, the boy lowered his head.
"I'm sorry."
His voice trembled slightly.
"For everything I said before."
Then he looked up.
"Thank you for saving my family."
Lucien said nothing for a moment, then simply gave a small nod.
The gratitude in the boy's eyes was genuine.
Later, after Kate was discharged, she offered Lucien a large check and invited him to dinner as thanks.
He refused both.
Taking money from a grieving widow and her children was something he had no interest in.
Some debts were better left unclaimed.
Several days later, the detective returned.
This time, he brought answers.
He sat across from Lucien in the antique shop, a cup of tea in hand.
"I went to Louisiana," he said.
"I investigated the house that once belonged to Abigail."
His expression was grave.
"The locals told me the story."
According to the old records, the house had once belonged to a wealthy white family with two children—a brother and sister.
The family had employed a black couple as caretakers.
Then one night, during a banquet, the parents discovered the couple secretly teaching voodoo to one of their children in the attic.
Enraged, and pushed by the guests around them, they had the couple hanged.
After that, strange things began happening in the house.
Eventually, the husband murdered his wife before taking his own life.
The town had always believed it was a ghost story.
A haunting.
But now the truth was obvious.
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The soul transfer happened that night."
The detective nodded grimly.
"Yes."
"The child who was hanged was never the servant."
His voice lowered.
"It was their own child."
The room fell silent.
The detective exhaled.
"The father must have discovered the truth later."
The horror of realizing his own child had died by his hand likely drove him into madness.
Lucien took a slow sip of tea.
The detective continued.
"But one thing still confuses me."
He frowned.
"If they already had new bodies, why risk another transfer?"
Lucien answered calmly.
"Greed."
One word.
That was all it took.
Their magic had improved.
Their confidence had grown.
So had their ambition.
Abigail had used her position at the orphanage to identify the perfect targets.
A stable family.
Children.
Wealth.
An inheritance worth stealing.
Lina was merely the opening move.
She was sent to destroy the family from within, exploiting her twisted obsession.
Once the parents were dead and the children isolated, the sorcerers would take their bodies and inherit everything.
A perfect plan.
Cold.
Efficient.
Almost flawless.
Then the detective suddenly froze.
His face changed.
"Wait…"
He looked at Lucien in shock.
"Max and Daniel are siblings."
The implication hit him immediately.
Lucien's expression remained cold.
"The ritual and decades of soul corruption have already twisted their minds."
He set down his teacup.
"The sibling bond isn't a restraint to people like them."
His voice turned colder.
"If anything…"
"It excites them more."
The detective sat in silence for a long moment.
Then he finally muttered,
"Monsters."
Lucien said nothing.
But inwardly—
He agreed.