The Second Spirit of Vengeance

"Humans really are terrifying." Wayne patted his skeletal head, feeling a surge of emotion as he recalled how he too had once been threatened with a cement barrel. "Indeed, humans are terrifying," Yulia agreed with a nod. "Utterly terrifying!" Abin whimpered in distress, reminiscing over his tragic past as the soul flames flickering in his eye sockets trembled unsteadily. Wayne: (눈_눈) *The two of you have no business chiming in. Speaking of terrifying, you literally scared someone into wetting their pants just now.* With a broad wave of his hand, the boiling river water converged into a massive tentacle, wrapping around the oil drum and hurling it directly onto the riverbank ten meters away. With a thunderous crash, the metal drum crumpled, large chunks of concrete broke off, and a foul stench spread outward. Anyone who regularly stuffed people into cement drums and sank them in rivers knew that if you didn't mix the cement and sand in a one-to-three or one-to-four ratio and poured straight concrete instead, the cured block would be extremely brittle. It could easily crack and deform under the expansion of gases venting from within the corpse. Of course, adding sand only helped so much; it would crack regardless unless you first treated the co— *Ahem.* Getting back to business, Wayne urged the undead warhorse toward the riverbank. At his approving nod, Abin stirred up a swirl of mist and aggressively broke open the container, smashing away every bit of concrete encasing the body. The corpse wore a beige trench coat and was frozen in a curled-up posture. Both hands were bound behind its back with a pair of silver bracelets, its feet were tied, and the decay was severe. Compounded by Abin's rough handling, which had torn away large swathes of skin and flesh, the face was already unrecognizable. However, the uniform underneath the trench coat, the Senior Inspector epaulets, and the police badge that tumbled onto the ground were enough to confirm his profession. The mist gathered the badge and presented it before Wayne. He reached out, wiped away the grime, and verified that it was a Londan police badge. The deceased hailed from the Londan Police Department. "A policeman with a story..." Wayne's initial thought was a dirty deal gone wrong—that this Senior Inspector had abused his authority to grant favors to criminal syndicates, only to be murdered in retaliation after repeatedly hiking his prices or failing to deliver on paid promises. *Wait, since when did my thoughts get so dark?* Wayne muttered to himself. The Shadow Nightmare was far too sinister; it insidiously eroded a person's sanity without leaving a trace, to the point that even a sunny young man like him could barely resist its influence. Yes, that had to be it. He changed his line of reasoning. The officer was a good cop who, ignoring his colleagues' warnings, had pursued an investigation into a powerful figure. Along the way, he had uncovered a mountain of evidence and refused the influential man's offers of hefty hush money, only to be shoved into a cement drum and dropped into the river by thugs sent by the humiliated, infuriated dignitary. "A powerful figure?!" Wayne sneered. He was reminded of the very same influential man who had driven him out of Londan. If memory served, that man's exact threat had been to stuff him into a cement drum and sink him to the bottom of the river. *Thirty years east of the River Thame, thirty years west of the River Thame—never underestimate a poor young man!* That big shot certainly could never have imagined that, just three months later, the ant he could have casually crushed beneath his heel had stood back up! *Three months! Do you have any idea what kind of life I've had to endure these past three months?* *My butler took such exquisite care of me!* *I never had to worry about food or drink, and I even picked up a gorgeous, long-legged teacher!* Fury welled inside Wayne, and thick black smoke billowed frantically from his skull. From afar, two white flames pulsed violently within the twisting black shroud. Sensing their master's wrath, the undead warhorse snorted plumes of purple fire, and the spectral hound threw its head back in a piercing howl. As the saying went, the enemy of an enemy was a friend. Wayne debated no longer. He readily inscribed the name into the Book of Greed, sealing a pact with his second Spirit of Vengeance. [Humble suppliant, wrongful dead harboring resentment, I have heard your lamentations...] [Witnessed by the sacred covenant, all that you are belongs to me. You may retain your past, but you will forfeit your future...] [You are granted an opportunity for rebirth. You shall become a Spirit of Vengeance, wielding the butcher's blade for your master, for your god, and for me.] Wayne did not ask Yulia to step aside, awakening his second Spirit of Vengeance right in front of her. In all honesty, there was no binding master-servant contract between him and Yulia, making her quite different from Abin. She was a secondhand horse, and her former master could come knocking at any moment; strictly speaking, she wasn't entirely one of their own. Yet Wayne still chose to place his trust in her. Looking past appearances to the essence within, beneath an exterior that conflicted with Wayne's righteous aesthetic lay a pure heart—far kinder than ninety-nine percent of humans, and certainly far kinder than Wayne himself. Since Yulia had offered her loyalty and acknowledged Wayne as her master, Wayne repaid her with trust. Trust that wasn't absolute was no trust at all, so he made no deliberate effort to hide his bonding of the Spirit of Vengeance from her. Yulia knew nothing of his inner calculations. When she first met Abin, she had learned that Abin served a formidable master—one powerful enough to create magical life and capable of extracting the Shadow Nightmare. Therefore, seeing the corpse before her 'come back to life' did not surprise Yulia in the least. The corpse in the beige trench coat slowly picked itself up. River water dripped steadily from the hem of his coat as he stared blankly at the undead warhorse, the spectral hound, and the master who had bestowed new life upon him. At the same time, the Spirit of Vengeance page in the Book of Greed manifested the likeness of this second dependent. A man in a beige overcoat, wearing a police uniform and knee-high boots underneath, with ashen eyes and moist, pale skin. A puddle of water remained perpetually pooled beneath his feet. A water ghost! Wayne looked down from above, his skeletal jaw clacking as he spoke in a heavy, echoing voice: "Raise your head. Look into my eyes." The man subconsciously looked up, meeting the two glowing white points of light. Waves of dead memories rushed into his mind, reminding him of his name. Bo Philip. As Philip recalled the past, a sequence of scenes flashed across Wayne's vision. The first chapter showed three children sitting on swings at an orphanage, sharing their dreams. The two boys, Philip and Perry, dreamed of becoming brave, fearless policemen. They were still young and did not comprehend the burdens a policeman had to bear; they only knew that the officers on the streets looked grand and dashing, and that no one would dare bully them once they wore the badge. The girl, Timmy, fantasized about becoming a teacher or a nurse—preferably a nurse. That way, if Philip and Perry ever got hurt, she could dress their wounds, and if they misbehaved, she could give them shots. The second chapter showed Timmy being adopted by a wealthy couple due to her pleasant looks. Afterward, Philip and Perry left the orphanage one after another, and they never saw each other again. The third chapter revealed Philip achieving his dream and becoming a police officer. Brave and valiant, he racked up distinguished service awards. During an incident where he rescued a damsel in distress, he crossed paths with Timmy again, falling in love at lightning speed. Timmy had neither become a teacher nor a nurse; under her adoptive parents' guidance, she had entered the financial sector, working as an office clerk. In the fourth chapter, Philip's partner was injured, and a new partner arrived at the office. Perry had also realized his childhood dream and become an officer. On that day, the orphanage trio reunited in a warm, harmonious scene. The fifth chapter showed Philip investigating a missing-persons case. Following the underworld trail all the way up, he traced it to a Member of Parliament. Ignoring Perry's warnings, he dug deeper and pressed on with the case. With a dull thud of a bludgeon, Philip collapsed rigid to the floor. Standing behind him was Perry, his face completely expressionless. The gangsters held a farewell party for Philip. Perry stood side by side with the underworld boss. Perry was the MP's man; he had tried to warn Philip, but Philip had stubbornly refused to listen, leaving Perry with no choice. Philip roared in fury, refusing to believe his eyes, demanding to know where his childhood friend's dreams had gone. Perry merely sneered, mocking Philip's naivety. In a city like Londan, far too many people chased dreams, but almost none succeeded. In the end, human dreams had to bow to reality! For people from the bottom of society like them, leaping over class barriers required the backing of influential patrons. Blindly clinging to ephemeral dreams would keep a person trapped at the bottom forever. Philip thought he had achieved his dream, but he was nothing more than a tool—a tool valued only because he was useful. Justice? It didn't exist! Perry: *I don't want to be a side character. I don't want to be a disposable tool. I want to climb up, to make everyone respect me.* Philip: *I look down on you!* Perry hadn't grown angry. He quietly poured the concrete. Just before Philip's face was completely submerged, Perry calmly confessed his love for Timmy. He resented Philip. Everyone had been fighting tooth and nail, and Perry had sacrificed far more, yet Philip had ended up with everything while Perry remained nothing but an onlooker, a supporting actor. "Aaargh—!" Philip curled up on the ground, clutching his head as the flashbacks dragged him into an abyss of agony. He had loved this brother so deeply; the jarring contrast between the face of brotherhood and the face of cruelty overlapped again and again, driving him into frantic rage that curdled into burning hatred. Hatred born of betrayal! Violent waves surged across the River Thame. The calm river surface churned into whirlpools, dark undercurrents boiling as terrifying swells crested into crashing breakers, slamming relentlessly against both banks. *Because he's a water ghost, his abilities are water-related?* Wayne stared at the restless river, a string of question marks floating through his head. Strictly speaking, Philip had drowned in cement, not the River Thame. *So... cement counts as water too?* "Calm down. You are disturbing the balance of the night." Wayne waved his hand, raining magic down upon Philip like gentle droplets. The rotting body gradually shifted, ultimately settling into the form of a pale, thoroughly soaked wretch dressed in a police uniform and overcoat. "I grant you new life; you walk again because of me. My Spirit of Vengeance, Bo Philip is no more. From this day forward, you are Abo." Wayne sat tall in his saddle, drawing his bone sword and pointing it at Philip, waiting for him to drop to one knee and accept his rebirth. Yet the man did not kneel. The moment a Spirit of Vengeance awoke, its first imperative was to enact vengeance for its former life. It had been true for Abin, and it was true for Abo. Both possessed intense obsessions they could not let go. Abo had been human, which meant more thoughts, more baggage. Gazing up at the powerful, sinister master before him, Abo felt a chill deep in his soul. The being granting him new life was a villain, a great demon lord. Once upon a time, his dream had been to brave danger for the sake of justice, sparing no effort to protect the weak even at the cost of his life. He had never imagined that after a single slumber, he would become a minion of evil. How was this any different from Perry serving that MP? Oh, there was a vast difference: that MP wasn't nearly as wicked as an arch-fiend. "M-My Master... after I have exacted my revenge, would you grant me eternal rest?" Abo asked bitterly. His dream had always been to champion justice; he had no desire to serve evil. "Rrrroooaaar—" Yulia snorted fire, while Abin stepped forward with ears pinned back, baring sharp fangs in a warning growl. *Kid, don't push your luck. It's not too late to kneel and apologize!* ×2 Abin took an instant disliking to Abo. The bastard had some nerve being so ungrateful—unlike himself, who hadn't made a single demand back then. "I came in answer to your call. Why seek eternal sleep the moment you awaken? Haven't you slept enough?" Wayne pressed down with his hands, signaling Abin and Yulia not to get worked up. They needed to learn from their master; he wasn't angry at all. It was perfectly normal for a young man to be confused and make mistakes. Take him in as a dog first; there would be plenty of time to give him hell later. Abo fell silent for a moment before speaking softly: "I want to be a good person." "Khehehehe—" Wayne laughed aloud, gesturing between himself, Abin, and Yulia. "What, do we look like bad guys to you?" Abo: "..." *It's not a matter of what you look like.* "I know what you're afraid of, but there's no need for it. And I can tell you quite plainly: what you think doesn't matter. What matters is what I think." Wayne looked down at Abo. "Abo, remember this: the moment you woke up, you became my dog. Whatever I want you to do, you must do!" Abo bit his lower lip. Before he could speak, Wayne continued: "Go. Vent the fury in your heart, carry out your revenge against the past, and sever your ties to it. From this moment onward, your future belongs to me." Abo didn't move. Wayne sneered. "By my count, you've been dead for six months. Let me guess... is that pretty girlfriend of yours curled up in your brother's arms right about now?" *Boom!* A thunderclap seemed to detonate above Abo's head. That was right—his past contained not just hatred, but love. He resented more than just the betrayal; he hated himself for failing the woman he loved. He had promised her that he would come home early that evening to enjoy a candlelit dinner with Timmy. He was already six months late. Abo spun around abruptly, leaped into the water, and vanished from sight. "Master, shall we follow and take a look?" "Probably not a good idea. It's been six months; they might be right in the middle of something uncensored over there..." *** West District of Londan, Golden Prince Street. The fog was thin in this middle-class neighborhood. Past midnight, only a handful of cars rolled slowly along the streets near the residential block, with rarely a pedestrian in sight. Like a drowned rat, Abo emerged from a storm drain. He stared blankly up at a fifth-floor window for a moment, then scrambled up toward the balcony using both hands and feet. Like Abin, Abo required Wayne's magic for sustenance. Because he had resisted serving his master, he hadn't received any mana. Right now, he was in a weakened state; his status panel was grayed out, rendering many of his abilities unusable. Furthermore, having only just awoken, he did not yet understand what he was, naively believing he was merely an undead raised by a demon lord. As a water ghost, Abo could not stray far from the River Thame or water sources. Otherwise, his body would rapidly desiccate, his attributes would plummet across the board, and he would be no different from the elderly ghosts lingering in a graveyard. Just as Abin was confined to the Londan mist, Abo was bound to the River Thame. The moment they left their respective domains, they would plunge into extreme weakness. The solution was simple: obey their master and earn rewards of magic. Standing on the balcony, Abo peered through the French doors into the bedroom. His girlfriend, Timmy, lay curled on the bed, looking gaunt and haggard with heavy dark circles under her eyes. Her once-gorgeous long hair was now dry and utterly devoid of luster. The nightstand was crowded with framed photographs of the two of them. "You've gotten so thin..." Abo murmured to himself. He raised a hand to push open the door, but in the end, he lacked the courage. He was already dead, his future already sealed. He had nothing left to give her, unable to make even the simplest promise. What point was there in meeting her now? To kindle a spark of hope only to snuff it out with his own hands, plunging them both into eternal torment? "You're a good girl. Forget me. I'm not worthy of you." Abo closed his eyes in pain, leaning against the wall as he patted his pockets, wanting a cigarette to settle his nerves. All he pulled out was a soggy pack. "Oho, your girlfriend is quite a looker! Fine bone structure too!" A haunting voice drifted down. Abo's eyes snapped open and darted toward the sound. The undead warhorse stood upside down, its four hooves gripping the vertical wall as effortlessly as flat ground. From the saddle, his master looked down and said, "This flower of life is on the verge of withering. I could help speed things along, so you two can keep loving each other in the afterlife." *Thud!* Abo dropped straight to his knees, utterly devoted. "My merciful Master, Abo is profoundly grateful for the name you have bestowed. I offer my future to you with all my heart. Even if I fall into hell and become a devil, I will harbor no regrets—so long as you spare my past." "Who's there?!" "Who's outside?"