Wayne Baker refused to communicate with William Johnson. After finding Veronica Smith, he explained the situation. Next, should they go to Pluto’s house to keep looking for people, or check out the failed art student’s apartment?

“Let’s go find the painter.”

The failed art student’s name was Abel Wright, a young man with strong artistic ideals who had repeatedly failed his exams. Because he had long relied on the patronage of wealthy ladies, his youth had been squeezed dry. Without youth, there was no support; without support, there was no income. Unable to pay the rent, Abel Wright had moved from the comfortable northern district to the eastern district.

Mrs. Laina was not Abel Wright’s first patron, nor was she the best in terms of figure or looks, but Abel Wright, who was used to all sorts of tricks, said that compared to the ladies of the northern district, Mrs. Laina could be considered gentle and kind.

She was all about self-cultivation.

“Abel Wright plans to pursue art and earn a living in the eastern district. Once his health improves, he’ll fight his way back to the northern district. He’s someone who doesn’t want to endure hardship, but can endure hardship if he must...”

In the taxi, Wayne Baker tried to tactfully tell Veronica Smith about Abel Wright’s story. He sat in the front passenger seat, while Veronica Smith, the black cat, and William Johnson sat in the back.

As he spoke, Wayne Baker would occasionally glance back, puzzled by the perfunctory look on Veronica Smith’s face. She clearly wasn’t interested in this commission, yet insisted on investigating to the end. What was her reason?

The taxi stopped at the entrance of a street alley. Wayne Baker, familiar with the place, led the way to the third floor of the apartment building. The wooden floorboards creaked, and piles of household trash lined both sides of the corridor.

A rat darted by and disappeared into a crack in the wall. Everything indicated that Abel Wright’s life, like his health, had hit rock bottom.

Last time, Wayne Baker had entered via the balcony; this time, he took the stairs. Just as he was about to knock, William Johnson shoved him aside and pounded on the wooden door with his fist, as big as a clay pot.

The door opened. Abel Wright, dressed in thin clothes and wrapped in a blanket, looked confusedly at the strikingly beautiful Veronica Smith, then, intimidated by William Johnson’s dancer’s chest muscles, quickly slammed the door shut.

Too late.

William Johnson pushed the door open and entered, nearly knocking Abel Wright to the ground.

“Mr. Painter, our young lady would like to discuss a long-term sponsorship deal with you.”

Was there really such a good thing?

Abel Wright was overjoyed. With Veronica Smith’s qualities, he’d agree to sponsorship—or even do it for free.

Such a spirited young woman—just a little interaction would spark endless creative inspiration. Thinking of this, Abel Wright felt his body fill with energy.

He was back in action!

Cut to the next scene: Abel Wright was tied to a chair, a cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Wayne Baker: (＝_＝)

Such practiced torture techniques—if he’d refused last night, would this have been his fate too?

“Don’t be afraid. We’re not good people, but as long as you answer our questions honestly, not only will we not hurt you, we’ll also pay you a generous reward.”

William Johnson grinned menacingly, flexing his chest muscles: “Of course, you can refuse. The consequence is that innocent daisies will be ravaged and become as big as sunflowers.”

Abel Wright shook his head desperately—he knew nothing.

Wayne Baker rolled his eyes. Their professional skills barely matched the job. This kind of threat probably wouldn’t scare Abel Wright. He moved to Veronica Smith’s side and whispered, “What’s going on? You said you wouldn’t get me into trouble.”

Veronica Smith didn’t answer. She took a glass bottle from her handbag. Wayne Baker looked over curiously—inside were mushrooms of all colors.

Judging by the colors, these mushrooms must taste great.

Sure enough, the mushrooms were so delicious they caused hallucinations. William Johnson forcibly stuffed a mouthful into Abel Wright’s mouth. His pupils gradually lost focus, his face went blank, and he giggled foolishly.

“Who gave you the brand?”

William Johnson gripped Abel Wright’s right hand tightly. A flash of light appeared, and a black inverted triangle symbol slowly emerged on the back of Abel Wright’s hand.

This symbol represented death—it was the mark of a follower of the goddess of death.

Wayne Baker watched in surprise, a wave of heat rising in his chest. The Book of Greed, which he could see but never get a response from, expressed its desire the moment the light appeared.

It wanted it!

Chapter Five: The Book of Greed, the Spirit of Vengeance

Wayne Baker said nothing, swallowing hard to calm himself. He held his breath and focused on William Johnson’s palm. The light vanished in an instant—so fast he almost thought he’d imagined it.

When he’d heard the urban legends, Wayne Baker had a premonition that this world wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

What had just happened undoubtedly confirmed his suspicions.

This was bad. As an ordinary person, Wayne Baker sensed malice from the world. Compared to the unknown magical elements, he’d much rather everyone be as ordinary as he was.

Unless, he wasn’t ordinary either.

The Book of Greed!

At this moment, Wayne Baker wanted to open the book more than ever before.

“Who gave you the brand?”

Faced with William Johnson’s questioning, Abel Wright looked even more confused. After a moment, he seemed to remember something, but as he began to speak, the death cultist’s mark on the back of his hand suddenly changed.

Four tentacles extended from each side of the inverted triangle, writhing like a simplified black spider.

The symbol was deeply engraved into his bones and even his soul—far more than a superficial tattoo. The eight spider legs spread like poison through his veins, rapidly expanding at a speed visible to the naked eye, taking over his entire arm.