“You think no one noticed the commotion last night?” The Bloody Beast squatted on the chair, cackling strangely. “Thanks to you, I really got my fill of action…”

“The item?”

The man reached out anxiously. “Did you get it back?”

A blood-soaked plastic bag was tossed into his arms. “Returned to its rightful owner, but…”

At first, the man was overjoyed, but the moment he took the bag, his expression changed. He tore it open frantically and cradled the black iron box, opening it with utmost care.

But inside, it was completely empty.

“The item?!”

He screamed, “Where’s the source matter? Where did all the source matter I’ve been collecting for so long go?”

Staring at the Beast before him, his gaze turned vicious.

“Was it you?”

“Nearly a thousand people’s worth of source matter—do you really think I could absorb all that?” Beast scratched at the mottled white hair peeking out from behind its mask and retorted, “If I had that ability, I’d already be one of the High Lords. Why would I be at your beck and call? It was already empty when I got it.

Instead of threatening me, you’d better think about how you’re going to explain this to the High Lords—because you used the sacred artifact for personal gain, and now the source matter accumulated over twelve years of grazing is gone…”

“You got a cut too!”

The man lost control and roared, glaring at him. “If this blows up, don’t think you’ll get off easy!”

Beast said nothing, just silently rubbed its fingers together, the iron nails clinking sharply, until the man finally looked away.

“It was your own subordinate’s betrayal that let the sacred artifact fall into someone else’s hands. I retrieved the artifact for the High Lords, so I have merit. Even if I made mistakes, it’s not enough to warrant ‘absolute punishment.’” Beast said coldly, “If I were you, I’d be thinking of a way to fix this right now.

So it’s lost—just get it back before the High Lords find out, isn’t that enough?”

“Easy for you to say!” The man shot him an angry glare. “You think it’s that simple?”

“Aren’t those old men and women about to die anyway? Might as well make use of the trash… At least that way you can recover some of the loss.” Beast said offhandedly, “As for that thousand people’s worth of source matter, it won’t just vanish into thin air. Whether it’s used for advancement, prolonging life, or resold, it’ll take time.”

A few minutes later, a gloomy voice echoed in the secret chamber.

“Find out! Who else has touched this box?!”

Chapter 6: The Crow and the Stigmata

“Ah… I can’t go on like this…”

Henry Parker sat in the garden, clothes disheveled, face pale. Thinking of everything he’d been through these past two days, he couldn’t help but look up to the sky and wail, tears streaming down his face.

This wasn’t just the brink of bankruptcy anymore. First, he’d been caught going to a host club interview and lost his reputation overnight, then inexplicably stumbled upon a corpse, then got dragged into some bizarre government agency at gunpoint, and finally suffered a blow to his spirit…

Inside and out, from his mind to his wallet, he could no longer bear such a bitter, painful life.

Especially that record in the book just now—every time Henry Parker read it, he wanted to die, but his family was so poor he couldn’t even afford a rope, and the gas had been cut off for half a year.

No way to die, no way to live.

“Might as well just die already!”

He threw his notebook aside in impotent rage, tears streaming like a panda. After his tantrum and his tears, he obediently picked the notebook back up, wiped the dirt off, and sighed as he continued to stare blankly at the barren garden.

It’ll pass, Henry Parker, it’ll pass… Maybe after a while, you’ll forget all about this.

He prayed silently, then started worrying about how to earn his next living expenses.

“If you could really think like that, it’d be nice. But if you count the time, those guys should be targeting you by now…”

He heard a strange voice beside him, sounding like a woman—husky yet alluring, with a hint of indescribable mockery. She said, “Hey kid, you’re about to die.”

“You’re the one who’s about to die!”

Henry Parker snapped back, glaring over his shoulder—then froze.

There was no one beside him.

This was his backyard; no one ever came here, let alone chatted with him out of nowhere.

But who was speaking?

He saw a crow lazily preening its wings on the fence.

“Don’t just stand there, yes, I’m talking to you.”

As he stared in confusion, the crow spoke calmly, “It’s the crow talking to you, that’s right, and you’re not dreaming.”

As she spoke, she even seemed to burp.

“You can talk?”

Henry Parker was stunned, then quickly grew alert. “Wait, what the hell are you?”

The crow chuckled softly, her tone both aggrieved and teasing. “Wow, back when you stared at me every day without blinking, you called me your little darling, and now I’m a ‘thing’?”

“Y-you… you’re that damn book?!”

Henry Parker realized, flipping open the notebook. On the title page… the silhouette of the crow had vanished without a trace, as if it had truly come to life and flown out from the pages.