Chapter 150: Misdirection, Dirty Deal, Altar Plan

Even after turning off the equipment, the more they walked inward, the more sweat the captain sweated.

The Bureau's personnel were accustomed to supernatural incidents and clearly understood the distinctions between malevolent spirits, demons, and other monsters—the flashing lights on the instrument just now had specific meanings.

Green meant safe, yellow meant dangerous but not fatal, likely ordinary malevolent spirits or monsters, manageable with firearms and special bullets.

Light red meant situations where even they could lose lives—stronger malevolent spirits or monsters.

Bright red meant traces or incarnations of demons; at that point, they needed to be fully prepared, ideally calling for reinforcements, or the losses would be severe.

Deep red… actual demons!

A piercing alarm in deep red meant multiple demons converging!

So what exactly was going on in this prison? And the Cano family—weren't they just a gang before?

Could they also be involved in a cult?

The further they walked, the more he thought, the more sweat poured out—soon he was drenched.

Asen walked beside him, having long noticed the official's unease, but it didn't matter—the greater the pressure on the other side, the better.

That way, it would be easier to deceive him during negotiations.

Behind his glasses, Asen's eyes were sharp.

Soon.

Sitting on the chair, the captain wiped his sweat and forced a composed gaze toward Asen. "Mr. Asen Cano, I trust you understand why I'm here?"

"Oh~ no, I don't understand. I just thought I should welcome our official brothers—and aren't you here to inspect the prison?"

Asen asked with a puzzled expression, as if he understood nothing they were saying.

"By the way, what's your name, Captain?"

The captain's face remained calm—he'd met these capitalists before; every one of them could lie with a straight face.

"Michael Chandler. You can call me Michael."

"Enough of this nonsense, Mr. Asen. Here's the evidence."

Michael laid out the resident list, neighbor relationships, license plates, surveillance footage, and more.

"So, could you bring out that girl? We need to uncover the truth. Otherwise, who will be held responsible for such massive losses?"

Asen narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on the words: losses, who's responsible.

And truth… they clearly didn't know Jiali's real situation. Combined with what his nephew Louis had just told him, Asen—long experienced in the underworld, skilled at weaving lies—immediately devised a plan.

"These things… I don't want to deceive you. The girl's current state is highly unstable—she's nearly insane. She's also a victim, so it's best not to see her now. As for the truth, I can tell you."

Michael's subordinates, hearing him admit involvement and that the girl was right there, immediately widened their eyes, ready to speak.

But Michael cut in first. "Oh? Go on."

Then, under Asen's vivid description,

the outline of the incident emerged.

In his account, after Jiali's family moved into their new home, Jiali often felt something was off—but what could a student do?

Today, something happened in their apartment. The landlord who had rented them the cheap place was a cult follower, planning to sacrifice the mother and daughter.

In panic, the mother, Margaret, fought the landlord to buy time for Jiali's escape, while Jiali called her uncle for help—as a neighbor, a good boy with a sense of justice.

His nephew naturally rushed to save them at the perfect moment, rescuing the mother and daughter. The landlord, however, was drained dry by the ritual's backlash, and a giant moth emerged.

Then…

"Heh, you know, families like ours always have self-preservation methods. My nephew used one, escaped with the girl, and pulled off a perfect hero-saving-the-damsel."

"As for the apartment and the street? Perhaps the moth was venting its rage."

Asen ended this part vaguely.

Michael nodded slightly. Asen's story matched his own suspicions—and the fact that a moth monster was summoned filled in a missing piece.

But Asen was definitely hiding something, and they likely didn't know what happened after they left.

In Michael's guess, the moth summoned by the ritual was some kind of monster. After the teenagers escaped using some flame-based method, the Mothman on the first floor clashed with the moth monster.

The damage to the street and the fire hydrant was probably caused by their battle; the figures people claimed to have seen in the sky were most likely the Mothman.

Why did he think that?

Because Mothmen are exactly like that—they appeared decades ago, leaving traces in every state. They can disguise themselves as humans, prefer to move at night, and those who see them usually meet misfortune. Sometimes they even eat people, but their main goal is to find others of their kind and kill them, as if absorbing or completing some ritual.

Now it seemed the Mothman had targeted the moth monster summoned by the landlord's ritual.

Still, whatever Asen was hiding was likely significant—otherwise, why not let him see Jiali?

He recalled what the female chief had told him about the school bathroom incident.

Michael had some theories, but they didn't matter. There were countless beings with special abilities in this world—some even openly active.

The Warrens' Supernatural Association was very active; two years ago, the Church sent people to investigate a monastery. Even his relative's friend—a constant scammer—was active, as were the mediums scattered everywhere.

And what did it matter if these capitalists coveted a special ability user? They did far more disgusting things behind closed doors.

Since it was confirmed they weren't conducting a cult ritual, no matter what hidden truths remained, they were irrelevant.

The truth didn't matter. Only the outcome did.

But he couldn't say that outright—how else would he make money?

So Michael put on a troubled expression. "Mr. Asen, you understand—we can't just return empty-handed after an external mission…"

Asen smiled.

He reached beneath the table.

Pulled out a document.

Michael's face lit up instantly. So did his colleagues and soldiers—all smiling happily.

That's more like it. Why didn't you just do this earlier?

Only the female chief twitched her lips, then decided ignorance was bliss—this wasn't her affair.

But when Michael took the document and read it, his expression changed slightly. "Mr. Asen, are you overthinking this?"

At once, his colleagues and soldiers raised their guns.

Growl~

Dozens of fierce dogs assumed attack stances, their white fangs streaked with blood. The burly men beside them also reached for their belts.

The atmosphere froze.

But Asen smiled and waved his hand, calm and composed. "Don't misunderstand. Look further."

Michael paused, then continued reading. The more he read, the more his expression shifted. When he finished, his face was utterly unreadable.

"Do you think the donations from over seventy percent of Orlando's capitalists would satisfy your appetite?"

Asen said, gently adjusting his glasses, elegant and amiable.

"Of course, nothing could be better. I think we need a party to celebrate—and to properly discuss how to proceed. What do you say, my dear brother Asen?"

Michael's face broke into a grin like a blooming chrysanthemum.

The atmosphere relaxed, now warm and friendly.

…

Soon.

A party erupted inside the prison.

Thus, Asen and Michael reached a dirty deal.

After Michael and his team left and returned to their city hotel, Asen exhaled deeply, removing an earpiece.

He returned to the table, pulled out the second document beneath it—clearly listing some Cano family assets. He stared at the paper, then flicked out a windproof lighter.

Snap!

Flames slowly ignited the paper. Unnoticed, a cigarette appeared between his lips. He lit it with the burning document.

He leaned back comfortably in his chair, puffing smoke.

Amidst the hazy white, Asen smiled.

After hearing Louis's account, he'd immediately prepared two contingency plans—one to sell out other capitalists in the city, the other, the one in his hand: his own family assets.

He'd gambled based on how the negotiation went—and luckily, his original guess was right.

He hadn't lied during his story—just selectively revealed part of it. It seemed he'd won the bet.

Due to his profession, he'd long understood two truths.

One: the most skillful lie isn't half-truth or nine truths and one lie—it's the whole truth, but incomplete. Let them think. Let them explore.

Because people always believe what they discover themselves.

The other: whether you're a capital elite or a homeless beggar, everyone loves money. Give enough, and even if they see something they shouldn't, they'll choose to look away. After all, work is done for others—but money in hand is yours.

Especially when the danger is extreme, there's no point risking your life.

He'd deduced this from the instrument's readings and Michael's expression when he entered.

"Looks like this matter can be wrapped up—for now."

"No, I need to scold Louis. He never used to cause trouble—why's he causing so much now? And now he's drawn the attention of secret agencies."

Asen took a deep drag, exhaled a massive smoke ring, then headed toward the basement.

On the other side.

Michael, driving away from Rebirth Prison, suddenly slumped back in his seat.

"Captain? Captain?!"

"No, I'm fine. Just let me rest."

None of them realized how immense their pressure had been, how precisely they'd balanced their words with that man—if conflict had erupted, or if they'd used old methods to dig deeper and extort, they'd likely have been wiped out there.

Yes. Wiped out.

Those dozen or so fierce dogs and those burly men—if his eyes hadn't failed him—had all been enhanced by some mysterious force, and when he entered, he had clearly felt a cold, indifferent gaze, extremely dangerous.

And that prison—it made every hair on his body stand on end, as if he had stepped into some demonic lair, filled with unknown horrors. This level of threat was absolutely not something for an ordinary field team like theirs to handle; it should have been left to the elite squads!

On the honor of the Chandler family, this feeling never lies.

So, just now, some of what he said was merely going along with the other side.

Of course, the agreement he reached with them was genuine.

So he had no intention of going back to snitch. The matter could end here. There were too many secrets in this world—even their own Sacrifice Bureau wasn't clean—so don't invite trouble.

At this moment, Michael felt utterly exhausted. Sure, he earned a lot, but this kind of work was far too dangerous. With his current abilities, he was barely enough. Should he go study under that bastard Constantine?

The moment this thought surfaced, the image of his relative Chas Chandler, still lying in the orthopedic hospital, flashed through his mind—he shuddered violently.

Forget it.

That guy's a trap. He didn't want to die.

Thinking this, Michael idly turned on the device—but the moment he did, bang!

The device's small bulb exploded.

Michael froze. The teammate beside him froze too.

"Fuck! Xie Te! Drive! Drive now!"

Whirr!!

The Humvee's power surged violently and vanished in a blur down the road.

…

Beneath the prison.

Underground base.

Asen was chasing Louis, and though Louis felt he could beat him, he clearly had no reason to fight his second uncle, so he just kept running.

As he chased, Asen calculated his nephew's current physical condition—and arrived at a result that satisfied him.

Soon, both stopped.

"Second Uncle, if you can't catch me, stop chasing. You're past your prime. Save your strength for having kids—give me a younger brother or sister instead."

Asen slightly sneered. "Enough. Come here."

The uncle and nephew walked together through the underground base. Asen examined the items Louis had collected and said, "This matter is over. Bad luck turned to good fortune—the family may now rise faster in this city. But it'll surely attract many enemies."

"So from now on, you must serve the family. Use your methods to deal with the enemies coming our way."

"The family isn't just yours alone."

As he spoke, Asen 's tone carried deep implication.

Louis nodded. He understood his second uncle's meaning perfectly. His uncle was right—Grandfather's intervention on his behalf must have come at great cost.

He felt moved, but at the same time, an idea formed in his mind.

Shouldn't he build a force entirely his own, one he could command without restraint?

Especially now that he had reached the Primordial Spirit realm—in ancient times, he would have been a True Person, a High Master, qualified to establish his own branch or lineage.

(End of Chapter)