Gift of the Evil God!

Boom! The explosion hit. Karen did not know how it happened. Shielded behind multiple thick barriers, he could not see outside. Still, he felt the shockwave. It was not overwhelmingly terrifying, as the layers of dark barriers before him melted away to absorb the brunt of the force—armor shattering, walls dissolving, feathers falling away. Yet in the wake of the shockwave, Karen felt the world spin. It was as though he had been tossed into the air inside a metal can, accompanied by a rapid succession of clanging and banging. Finally, everything fell silent. "Ah..." A faint groan escaped Karen's throat. The bruises scattered across his body hardly mattered, but his head had struck something twice, leaving his mind dizzy. Fortunately, thanks to his daily practice of the Spear of Punishment during his time at Allen Manor, he had grown accustomed to the feeling of his head being battered, allowing him to recover swiftly. Opening his eyes, he found that he had been thrown clear of the tram and was lying on the street outside. Looking down, he saw the young girl safe in his arms, though crushed potato chips were scattered all over the ground, and barbecue sauce was smeared across both of them. Good thing he was wearing cheap clothes today. Bracing himself on his arms, he sat up. The little girl's eyes went wide, as though only now registering the fright, before she burst into tears. Karen had no time to comfort her; he had to find Alfred. The tram lay derailed on its side, black smoke billowing from flames licking at the front end—and Alfred had headed to the front right before the explosion occurred. As Karen made his way forward, he passed numerous injured people wailing on the ground, as well as others lying motionless in pools of blood, impossible to tell if dead or unconscious. Karen began searching carefully, shouting as he went: "Alfred! Alfred!" Just then, a familiar vehicle pulled into view ahead. The rear doors swung open, and two men jumped out carrying a gurney on their shoulders. From the driver's seat emerged a bald, middle-aged man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, while a woman in a red knit sweater stepped down from the other side. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, "Hurry up! Look for bodies that look wealthy and thoroughly dead—we're bringing those back to the parlor first!" "Yes, ma'am!" "Understood, ma'am!" Pike and Dinkum immediately began rifling through the people lying on the ground. Driven by the pressures of making a living, instances where a funeral parlor's hearse arrived at an accident before the police and fire trucks were by no means unique to Rojia City. "This one! This one!" Pike shouted. "Over here, come here!" Dinkum ran over, and together they lifted a body. The person had sustained extensive burns, both arms dangling limply as they picked him up. Karen rushed forward and blocked the gurney. Yes, it was Alfred! Even though most of his clothes were charred and his face was blackened from the fire, Karen could still recognize him. "Take him to the hos—" Karen started to shout for them to take him to the hospital, but hesitated. Should someone in Alfred's condition even be brought to a regular hospital? Could doctors treat him the same way they would an ordinary person? How was an injured aberrant demon supposed to be treated? "Sir, are you his family? We're from the Pavaro Family Funeral Parlor. Please accept our condolences, and rest assured we will provide you with... Huh, it's you?" Pike recognized Karen. He then glanced down at the man on the gurney, who also looked somewhat familiar. "Take him to the hospital," Karen said. Karen made up his mind. Whatever the case, getting him to a hospital first was the safest choice. He remembered Alfred once joking about Ms. Molly, saying she had barely any human parts left and was practically a pure aberrant demon. In other words, a good portion of Alfred was still human. "He looks dead, sir," Pike pointed out. "He's still alive!" Karen said with absolute certainty. "Right now, take him to the nearest hospital immediately. I'll pay!" As Karen spoke, he patted his own pockets, then immediately searched Alfred's, only to find that the wallet and the cash inside had long since burned away. "I'll pay for it, I take full responsibility! Take him to the hospital right now!" Karen pointed at the proprietress standing behind them and shouted. The proprietress pursed her lips. Clearly, she had no desire to turn this into a simple ambulance run. Having arrived so early, they could have easily secured at least one proper funeral job to take home. At that moment, the bald owner, Pavaro himself, walked over. He reached out and pressed his fingers against Alfred's neck, checking for a pulse. A strange look crossed his face. He turned to his two assistants and instructed, "Take him to the hospital and see if they can save him." "Yes, Boss!" "Right away, Boss!" The proprietress muttered under her breath, seemingly venting her dissatisfaction with her husband, but the man simply glanced back at her and said: "He's a priest." The woman went quiet, her expression shifting to one of excitement. "We can take point coupons as payment?" Alfred was quickly loaded into the hearse. As Pike moved to shut the rear doors, Karen stepped up and asked to ride along. Pike agreed. Pavaro took the wheel, while his wife sat in the passenger seat. As for Pike and Dinkum, they were told to remain behind and keep searching for "clients." The hearse started up and turned down a side alley, skirting the traffic jam caused by the explosion, and sped toward the nearest hospital. Along the way, the proprietress turned around in her seat to look back at Karen. "Young man, who is he to you?" "He's my boss." It was fortunate that Pike and Dinkum were not in the vehicle; otherwise, they might have remembered Alfred addressing Karen as "Young Master" the other day. Then again, those two scatterbrained assistants-turned-obsessive God's Servants might just as easily have overlooked that detail. "Do you know if your boss carries bills other than riels?" "You mean lubi? Yes, he does." "Not lubi..." "We have other foreign currencies at home." "Not foreign currency..." Seeing that she could get nothing useful out of Karen, the proprietress gave up. Pavaro, while driving, asked, "You weren't on the tram when the explosion happened?" "I was on the platform buying griddle cakes for my boss. He said he was hungry." "Then you got lucky." Pavaro glanced at the large smear of sauce remaining on Karen's clothes. Alfred's injuries were severe. He had been far too close to the epicenter of the blast, leaving him no time to mount any defense. This had nothing to do with skill. If even the greatest swordsman carelessly had his head chopped off, no amount of mastery would grant him the chance to display his technique. Alfred's abilities leaned toward control and charm; physical resilience was not his forte. Typically, those who adhered to the Earth faith or came from family faith systems that emphasized physical conditioning fared much better in situations like this. They arrived at the hospital. Pavaro stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to the back. Karen helped him lift the gurney. "Step back a little. Don't push—just keep it steady." "Right, got it." The gurney was lowered to the ground. Medical staff rushed over immediately and began emergency procedures. Karen was told to go to the payment counter first. As he finished filling out the forms, Pavaro appeared behind him, took two thousand riels from his wallet, and set the bills on the counter. "Thank you." Karen meant the gratitude with all his heart. Pavaro chuckled dryly. "Let's hope they can pull him through. Well, I'm heading back to the scene to pick up clients." After a brief pause, Pavaro took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Karen. "Don't worry, I'll pay you back for the transport and the advance right away." "That's not it. If you run short on cash, contact me." With that, Pavaro cast a disdainful glance at the sign above the payment counter. "The hospitals in York City are all bloodsuckers raised by capitalists." Having uttered his curse, Pavaro turned and walked out. Receipt in hand after paying the fee, Karen walked over to the hospital payphone and dialed his home number. "Woof!" "Put Purr on the phone." "Woof!" "Where's Xili?" "Woof!" "Neither of them is home? You're the only one there?" "Woof!" "Alfred was injured and is hospitalized at Kangyue Hospital. Go search Alfred's bedroom and see if you can find some cash. When Xili gets back, have her bring it over." "Woof!" Karen hung up. The woman knitting a sweater beside the payphone said without looking up, "Two riels for the call." After paying, Karen walked to the operating room and took a seat on the bench outside. Roughly half an hour later, the doors pushed open, and a doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask. "Doctor, how is he?" "We managed to pull him through. The wounds have been treated, but the burned area is extensive, so he isn't out of the woods yet. We'll transfer him to the intensive care ward for continued observation." "Understood. Thank you, Doctor." Alfred was wheeled out. By now, his eyes were already open. Karen accompanied Alfred to the ward. Just then, a large wave of other casualties from the accident was brought in, plunging the hospital into absolute chaos. Such were the benefits of arriving early; had they arrived late or even at the standard time, they would have been forced to wait. Once they were in the ward, the nurse hooked Alfred up to an IV, told Karen to keep an eye on him, and left. "Young Master..." "How do you feel?" "Nothing major..." Alfred said with an apologetic tone. "I just didn't expect them to have dynamite hidden under their coats." Had Alfred been given even ten more seconds to react, he would never have wound up in such a state. "You just had bad luck," Karen said. "Yes. I happened to step right onto the wrong beat and got knocked unconscious by the blast. But I actually woke up while we were in the hearse. I just kept playing dead, worried that Inquisitor would see through me. He even called me a priest, heh heh heh." "You can still laugh." "Fortunately, I set up a small magic circle from Mr. Hoffen's notes on myself. Right now, there isn't a trace of aberrant demon aura on me." Karen lifted Alfred's blanket, looking at the extensive bandaging across his skin, particularly over his chest. "Can you do what Ms. Molly did?" "Theoretically, yes." "Then that's fine." "Still, I hope to preserve this body as much as possible. Doing what Ms. Molly did actually restricts one's growth and the realization of one's talent." "What's the logic behind that?" "It's like drinking... Alcohol causes irreversible damage to the body, but in a freezing snowstorm, a couple of swigs can help keep you warm. It's still harmful, but under those circumstances, the benefits outweigh the harm. "It works the same way for our aberrant demon bodies. Mr. Hoffen's notes mentioned that there are two kinds of aberrant demons in this world: those born naturally, and humans who turned into aberrant demons after being corrupted. "I belong to the latter category. Therefore, a moderate degree of corruption can awaken and develop the body's potential, allowing one to even control it and achieve a kind of... evolution. "That is the advancement process for aberrant demons. Throughout that process, the original body is always the most suitable. At the very least, one must maintain as much of the original form as possible; otherwise, it becomes easy to lose oneself, or it severely increases the difficulty of further evolution. "That is also... why Ms. Molly chose to stay in Rojia City rather than come along to Wien. She knew that once she fused with that body, her ceiling was essentially fixed. "What she failed to realize, however, was that there is another path—developing faith in you, Young Master. "Heh... though with her intellect, it would be difficult for her to manage that anyway." "Still, this body of yours won't last much longer without replacement parts." "My recovery rate is better than an ordinary person's," Alfred said. With that, Alfred closed his eyes and began sensing his physical condition. Soon, he opened them again, looking rather helpless. "Oh, heavens. The burns this time are far worse than I anticipated. It seems this body really won't hold out." With burns covering such an extensive area, infection was practically a given. Even with advanced modern medicine, dealing with such cases often came down to fate. Of course, Alfred did not have to worry about actual death; he simply would not be able to keep using this body. "A purified corpse, right?" Karen asked. "Yes." "I understand. I'll contact Allen Manor in a bit and have them arrange to send one over." "Wouldn't that disrupt your training regimen, Young Master?" Alfred asked. Alfred naturally knew why Karen had left Allen Manor. "This is a different situation. Nothing can happen to you," Karen replied calmly. "Young Master, it was my poor handling. I shouldn't have rushed forward back then. I still lack practical experience as a bodyguard." "Your handling was fine. It was just bad luck." Two gunmen were shooting at ordinary people; Alfred stepping up to control them was a perfectly reasonable decision. After all, who could have anticipated they had lit sticks of dynamite hidden beneath their clothes? "Do you need water?" "No, Young Master." "Then I'll go make the call to have the Allen family arrange your transfer and subsequent treatment." "Thank you, Young Master." Karen stood up, walked out of the ward, and headed toward the hospital payphone. As he walked down the corridor, he suddenly heard a chorus of barks echoing from the hospital courtyard: "Woof, woof, woof!" Karen walked over to the window and looked down. He saw a golden retriever with a small crossbody bag barking nonstop, while hospital security guards were trying to corner it. Kevin? Karen immediately leaned out and waved downward. Kevin spotted Karen upstairs, instantly darted through the guards' cordon, plunged into a nearby flowerbed, took a sharp turn, and charged straight into the inpatient building. Karen put the phone call on hold and hurried to the stairwell. Kevin bolted up the steps, panting with his tongue out and grinning as he arrived before Karen. "Purr and Xili aren't home?" "Woof, woof!" (Xili took Purr to the supermarket for groceries; neither is home.) Karen crouched down, opened Kevin's little crossbody bag, and pulled out five thousand riels, along with an address book containing only a few phone numbers: one for the Inmerlais house, one for their own home, and one for Allen Manor. Even though Karen had memorized those numbers, the dog had certainly been remarkably thorough. Moreover, the dog had clearly dashed all the way here from home; all four of its paws were caked in mud, with signs of scrapes and bleeding. Karen led the golden retriever back to the ward. Pushing the door open, the dog trotted up to Alfred's bed, tilted its head, and looked at him. Alfred looked back at the golden retriever. "Lord Evil God, good afternoon." The golden retriever panted, took a few steps back, and leapt onto the bed. It placed a paw onto Alfred's blanket, leaving behind a bloody smear. Karen pondered for a moment, walked up, pulled back Alfred's blanket, and said, "His burns are too extensive. It will be hard to fully preserve this body; we need to find a replacement." The golden retriever shook its head and placed its paw over the bandages on Alfred's wounds. "You want to see the wounds?" Karen asked. "Woof." Karen nodded. He did not ask why, nor did he explain any medical facts. Instead, he went to the door, locked it from the inside, walked back, and began unwrapping Alfred's bandages. As the layers came off, the horrific burns across Alfred's front were exposed. "Whimper..." Looking at the gory, repulsive wounds, the golden retriever squeezed its eyes shut in sheer disgust. Then, the dog turned around. It planted one hind leg on the bed and lifted the other, assuming a posture that... any ordinary dog would make. Alfred's face twisted into a bitter grimace. "Lord Evil God, please don't joke like this." Karen, however, asked, "Will it work?" The golden retriever nodded. "Woof." Alfred froze. A folk remedy involving regular dog urine was obviously nonsense, but the urine of an evil god... who could say for sure? Anything touched by the word "god" took on an air of profound mystery! Alfred's mind instantly cleared. "Aim well, Lord Evil God." The golden retriever looked back, cast a deeply disdainful glance at Alfred lying beneath it, and began to pee. Urine splattered across Alfred's wounds. Karen stepped forward, paying no heed to the filth. He reached out to help Alfred turn over so the liquid could coat all the burned areas evenly, and even used his hands to smooth it over Alfred's skin like an ointment. Alfred kept his eyes shut, his eyelids trembling. Once the golden retriever finished, it gave itself a shake, hopped off the bed, and collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily. The run from home had thoroughly exhausted it. Karen did not even pause to wash his hands, staring intently at Alfred's injuries. To his astonishment, the results were remarkably swift. The charred wounds began turning red, and fresh, tender flesh was already springing up. "Alfred, check how you feel," Karen urged. "Young Master, the wounds feel... so itchy... hiss... they're really, really itchy..." "Kevin," Karen called out. "Woof!" Exhausted and drained though it was, the golden retriever proudly raised its head, ready to receive praise. "From now on, you're not allowed to use the toilet. You are only permitted to use the chamber pot." "..." the golden retriever.