Chapter 41: Deep-Buried Doubts
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
Russell had been admitted to the intensive care unit. While he was in the hospital, John and Coraci finished their temporary guard duty assignment before returning to the West Bay City branch office of the Association.
Coraci planned to visit Russell. Russell had been found with multiple blood clots, had suffered acute myocarditis, and was still experiencing unresolved electrolyte imbalances…along with a string of other ailments Coraci couldn’t even name.
The toll that sorcery took on a person was all too visible. To an ordinary person, things like “the color of the soul” might sound abstract, but physical illness was undeniable — and no spell or prayer could reverse the damage.
Russell had only just been moved from intensive care to a general ward. When Coraci arrived, a woman in her forties was speaking to him in a low voice.
The nurses all assumed she was Russell’s wife, but Coraci recognized her as Bella, one of the senior leaders of the Demon Hunter Society.
Coraci suspected that, aside from visiting, she was here to interrogate Russell.
It wasn’t only because Russell had used extremely dangerous sorcery, but also because he had once been a member of the Arcane Covenant — a fact Coraci only learned after returning to the Association.
Years ago, Russell had made contact with the Demon Hunter Society, offering them intelligence. Thanks to his information, the hunters had uncovered a hidden research facility and altar. Out of the twenty-five Covenant members present, only five had escaped. Later, Russell joined the Demon Hunter Society himself and continued to help hunt down — or execute — those five survivors.
The Society had accepted Russell, but that didn’t mean they fully trusted him. So even though Bella had already heard from other hunters what had happened in the Bunker, she still came to see Russell in person, to judge his attitude for herself.
Now Coraci stood holding a bouquet, the tag reading: Unthreatening Creature Protection Association, West Bay City Office. Bella stepped aside to let him place the flowers in a vase before politely taking her leave.
When Coraci rounded the curtain, he found Russell watching him intently.
“I know why you’re here,” Russell said, motioning for him to sit.
Coraci hesitated over how to phrase his thoughts, but Russell waved a hand. “Let me be direct. Back then, I meant to tell you — your soul’s energy is too strong. I only took a small portion, yet I nearly couldn’t control it.”
“That’s impossible,” Coraci said. He still remembered Russell’s eyes — weak, yet deeply alarmed. “I may not understand your sorcery, but I can guess your black serpent works on the same principle as the thorns around Wizard. Your spell was better, stronger… but your soul alone couldn’t sustain it. So you needed a bit of someone else’s…”
Russell, still lying in bed, gave the smallest of nods. “There were bloodkin and werewolves in the room, but their souls were useless to me. I thought of yours. Only after the spell succeeded did I realize your soul was…different. All I wanted was to end Walter’s life as quickly as possible. But then…the power swelled, and I ended up killing every single mutant.”
His expression shifted to disbelief, his gaze sliding from Coraci to his own hands.
“But don’t worry,” Russell added. “I’m certain you’re human. If you weren’t, that sorcery wouldn’t have worked. Having an overly strong soul isn’t necessarily a bad thing — it might just be because you have the Eyes of Truth. I was shocked because you reminded me of an old project the Covenant’s mages once pursued.
“The Arcane Covenant has been in shambles for years, but their secret activities never stopped. Your Association must be aware of that.”
Coraci nodded for him to continue.
“I wasn’t deeply involved with that project, but I know it failed. Of the seven participants, some died, some went insane, and the test subjects were apparently destroyed. I don’t know the details — the mages kept their secrets well.”
He drew a slow breath, closing his eyes as if recalling something brutal.
“One of the insane survivors had Eyes of Truth, just like you. I was part of the cleanup operation. He went on a killing spree inside the facility, and his magic was completely out of control — much like how I nearly lost control after borrowing your soul’s power.”
“And…what happened to him?” Coraci asked.
“He was killed. I don’t know what happened afterward — I left. But the Covenant mages always believed Knowers were special. Not only could they see through disguises, but perhaps they carried far greater potential. What I saw back then seemed to prove it…and what happened in the prison that day made me believe it even more.”
Coraci listened in silence, his thoughts drifting to something else. “Mr. Russell…do you remember what that madman looked like? Was he, say…black-haired and blue-eyed?”
Russell thought for a moment. “I remember he was black-haired — curlier than mine — but… he didn’t have eyes.”
“No eyes?”
“That’s right. He was a Knower, but during his attack on us, a mage melted his eyes with a spell. I never saw what color they were.” Russell paused, studying Coraci. “Why? Is your Association looking for a black-haired, blue-eyed Covenant mage?”
Coraci shook his head. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”
“Yes. Whoever you’re looking for, the person I met back then is already dead. He was still very young. Of course, I was even younger at the time — it was more than twenty years ago.”
“Is that what made you decide to leave the Arcane Covenant?”
“No. I was still with them then.” Russell looked away, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. “Maybe you can’t tell, but I used to be a middle school science teacher. I worked to make a living, but my real passion was researching ancient magic and sorcery. Back then, I was content. Later…I decided to pass information to the hunters. There wasn’t a single turning point — it was a gradual change of heart.”
From the garden outside the hospital ward, laughter drifted up during visiting hours. The sick and injured children, accompanied by their parents, were finally getting a rare chance to breathe fresh air.
Russell turned his head toward the window. The air was warm, but he still had to wrap himself tightly in the blanket, his gaunt profile sinking deep into the pillow.
“Over time, I stopped teaching at school. Those kids weren’t really my students. My real students were in the Arcane Covenant — people like Walter, the Wizard. But after spending so many years with ordinary children, I could no longer bring myself to tie a child to a laboratory table…”
Coraci didn’t press him for details. He had no desire to know more.
“Walter hated me — fiercely. I understand why.” Russell gave a weary smile. “I don’t regret arresting him. I don’t even regret killing him with my own hands. The only thing I regret is that I was the one who made him a wizard in the first place.”
Coraci avoided lingering on the subject; it wasn’t good for Russell’s health. After briefly chatting about the Bunker and the hospital’s lunch menu, Coraci got ready to leave.
Just as he reached the door, Russell called after him. His voice was weak, yet every word struck like a nail.
“Coraci…your case still hasn’t reached a conclusion, but I urge you — stay vigilant. You’re a scholar of magic. You should know what I mean. It’s like the adverse reaction warnings on a medicine label — maybe nothing will ever happen, or maybe… you’ll drag everyone around you straight into hell.”
Coraci gave him a polite smile over his shoulder and left, closing the door behind him.
He didn’t know how to respond. He had already harbored doubts — about the people who kept appearing in the Association’s field of vision, and about the faint, elusive secret that clung to him. Maybe it would never pose a danger. Maybe one day it would bare its fangs.
He couldn’t confirm it. But he couldn’t deny it either.
As he walked toward his car, Coraci’s phone rang — it was Instructor Jere.
“Coraci, how’s that ‘construct’ case coming along?”
“I already sent it home,” Coraci said, waving to Wu Jiu in the driver’s seat as he climbed into the car. “The person who built it is also looking for it. Hard to imagine someone losing a construct at a supermarket — sounds almost like a missing child case.”
“It really does. Oh, and Carolyn and Liz will be coming over tonight. There’s something I want you all to investigate.”
“All right. John will be there too.”
“By the way, will Wu Jiu and Hai Jiu be around?” Instructor Jere asked.
Coraci was already seated inside, casting a temporary human visage spell on Wu Jiu. He found it odd that Instructor Jere would ask about them.
“If it’s convenient, bring Wu Jiu and Hai Jiu along tonight,” Instructor Jere added.
“What? They’re not Association members — they’re my personal assistants. They’re not equipped to handle supernatural work…”
“I know. Don’t worry, I’m not asking them to help. Mr. Atwood is here. He might want to meet them.”
“I see. All right, I’ll tell them.”
After hanging up, Wu Jiu muttered a long, low string of sounds while driving. Bound by contract to the specter, Coraci understood him.
He sighed. “Mr. Wu Jiu, perhaps you don’t want to meet Atwood. Don’t worry — you’ve got us.”
Wu Jiu replied with another nervous-sounding ramble.
When Coraci arrived at the office building, John was already waiting in the lobby.
“You’re not waiting for me, are you?” Coraci asked.
In truth, John was. After arriving in the evening, he’d wandered the parking lot first. With his bloodkin speed and eyesight, it hadn’t taken long to scan every vehicle — no sign of Coraci’s.
John didn’t admit it, claiming it was just coincidence.
Coraci didn’t call him out on it. Instead, he moved closer and spoke quietly. “Come here. I need a favor.” He pulled John into the stairwell.
Two figures slipped out from Coraci — Hai Jiu and Wu Jiu, one after the other.
“We’ll need the elevator to get up there,” Coraci said, his tone almost pleading. “If they float around outside, they’ll scare people on the other floors. But if both of them possess me, I’ll be short of breath the whole time. Could you take one of them for me?”
“Mr. Wu Jiu and Ms. Hai Jiu?” John had never seen them at the Association offices before.
The two specters greeted him politely — Wu Jiu bowing like a gentleman, Hai Jiu lifting her white skirts for a curtsy. Even with their pale, corpse-like faces, they carried themselves with elegance.
“Sure, as long as they can possess a bloodkin.” John glanced up at the stairwell. “But is it really necessary? Why don’t we just walk up?”
“Walk up? Twenty-nine flights?”
“Of course,” John said, a little eager to try. “They can float, right? I’ll just carry you. Twenty-nine floors is nothing for a bloodkin — I might even beat the elevator. Besides, you’ve always hated elevators…”
John reached out toward Coraci, one hand ready to hook under his leg. Coraci quickly stepped back. “No! You can’t do that!”
“Uh… or maybe I could carry you on my back instead,” John offered. He thought perhaps the way he’d been planning to hold Coraci looked a little too strange.
Coraci smiled weakly as he held his forehead. “John, think about it! You don’t think there’s anyone in the stairwell? What if some random office worker from another floor wants to take a private phone call or chat with someone, opens the door, and suddenly sees someone running faster than an escalator while carrying another person — plus two specters floating alongside? What do you think they’d feel in that moment?”
John blinked in realization but was also secretly disappointed. He’d always wanted to try that, but apparently it wasn’t going to happen.
“Ms. Hai Jiu, go to John,” Coraci said.
Hai Jiu drifted toward John and merged into his body. Wu Jiu returned to Coraci’s side.
Once they reached the top via the elevator, Hai Jiu and Wu Jiu stepped out of their bodies. At the front desk, Erica lowered her voice. “Coraci, it’s time.” She then nodded at the two specters with a smile. “Aren’t you going to dress up a little?”
Hai Jiu would forever be in a long white nightgown, and Wu Jiu in a tailcoat — unless Coraci decided to alter their appearances with an illusion.
Hai Jiu spoke in her own tongue, and Coraci translated for her. “She says using their true appearance feels more familiar.”
Erica nodded. “Mm, fair point. They’re in the small conference room. Carolyn and Liz are already there.”
The two specters exchanged a glance, and Hai Jiu linked her arm through Wu Jiu’s. They floated behind John and Coraci.
As Coraci walked ahead, John asked quietly, “Are they scared? Afraid of Carolyn?”
“They’re definitely not afraid of Carolyn. Carolyn loves Wu Jiu’s cat-pattern latte art,” Coraci replied as they reached the small conference room door.
It was open, revealing a scene John had seen many times before: Instructor Jere seated at the front, Liz flipping through a notebook, and Carolyn pacing the room.
Another “gentleman” was present — dressed in a three-piece morning suit, a felt top hat you’d usually only see in magic shows, and carrying a gentleman’s cane.
Like Hai Jiu and Wu Jiu, he floated, and his face was sunken and ashen, the shapes of his bones visible beneath his skin. His entire appearance was dim, as if he was forever standing in the shadows.
Coraci first introduced the gentleman to John. “This is Mr. Atwood, Ms. Hai Jiu’s father — and now also Mr. Wu Jiu’s father-in-law.”
John stared, not surprised that there were three specters here, but at the fact that Coraci’s ghostly house staff were married.
Hai Jiu said something in greeting. Mr. Atwood replied with a forced air of detachment — though no one else understood his words, the tone was unmistakable.
In most ghost stories, the kind of spirit who could speak with the living would be called an insubstantial “ghost”, not a corporeal “specter” or “phantasm”. The difference was subtle: ghosts were usually manifestations of the dead’s anger or obsession, while specters were considered an entirely different form of life.
Most people couldn’t understand a specter’s voice. Only those bound to them by certain powers could converse with them — and even then, it wasn’t a matter of speaking another language. Coraci could understand because of his past contract with his specter servants.
Before Coraci’s arrival, no one in the office knew exactly what Mr. Atwood wanted to say — though his demeanor suggested he was either seeking help or offering clues.
“Coraci, please translate…” Instructor Jere murmured a quiet reminder. But the specters continued their own conversation, their tone growing heated enough that it seemed they might start arguing.
Author’s Note:
The distinction between “ghost” and “specter” here is my own invention. While the terms are indeed different, this particular difference only applies within the scope of this story.
In this setting, a “specter” might look a little like a Shadow or Greater Shadow — but not quite, especially since their origins differ (Shadows aren’t formed from the dead). A “ghost”, in this context, is what you’d normally think of when hearing words like “haunting” or “restless spirit”. They’re weaker than specters, but they can speak.
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