Chapter 220: The So-Called Elite, Clerical Ranks, and the Shadow of Curses (4k)

“Hurry! Get inside the house!”

Someone shouted.

A crowd rushed in in panic.

Kicking, tripping, abandoning, punching…

Every trick was used.

These weren’t big names from the news, or celebrities from fashion shows, or heads of charities.

They may have looked polished and proud, claiming their superior qualities justified their wealth, but right now, they were no different from ordinary people.

Just as panicked, just as terrified, just as aimless as flies without heads.

The truth proved that so-called elites were nothing special.

Louis watched from above, amused.

Then again, the world was just a giant shoddy operation; true human elites were far fewer than imagined.

And most of these so-called elites on stage were fake.

Maybe luck, maybe backroom scheming, maybe rising through channels as insidious as AIDS…

But no matter how they got here, these people controlled society’s resources and were indeed better equipped to resist sudden crises than ordinary people.

Just like now.

Inside the house, under the leadership of what seemed to be the villa’s owner, each grabbed a cross and stepped into a circle drawn with salt.

“I just checked—the dead all died suddenly, blood gushing from all seven orifices. Either poison, or some special method.”

“These crosses I got from Father Patrick at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and these piles of salt are rare holy salt. As long as we stay inside, even demons can’t get in.”

The speaker was the owner himself—a middle-aged man with a stern face. From his words, he clearly belonged to the true elite.

But now, his feet were bloody, and a damp woman’s underwear hung from his head, making his forced calm look absurd.

Of course, the others had no mood to laugh—he was just one more terrified than the rest.

“That’s not the issue! What do we do now? That was definitely a terrorist attack! Yes, it’s Bohn! It has to be Bohn! That monster declared war on America last year and tried to assassinate the Pope this January!”

“Poison? Special powers? I think it’s some kind of terrorist attack—who knows what weapons those military terror groups have developed!”

“Little John! This is your villa—you’re responsible! Where’s your security?”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why did my wife die!”

“Motherfucker! I’m going home!”

“…”

As the arguing threatened to flare again, Little John’s eyes flickered with impatience.

God knew how a bunch of brainless, panicky, noisy idiots had more money than him—but no matter how much he resented them, he couldn’t let them die in his villa; the retaliation would be unbearable.

“Everyone, quiet down. I’ve already called and activated the security system. Just stay calm and wait a little longer—it’ll be safe soon.”

He tried to soothe them.

But this group clearly had their own ideas.

“Little John, where’s your underground facility? We should go there—this place isn’t safe.” Someone suggested.

It instantly gained support from some.

Little John’s face darkened.

“Underground facility” was just shorthand—it was something only wealthy families with deep roots built, mostly to evade disaster, especially during the Cold War.

It was one of their most private possessions.

And he still suspected this attack was some kind of mystical force, not advanced tech or poison.

Leaving this sanctum for the underground facility now would only invite disaster—no, he couldn’t let them go. He had to assert control.

Little John quickly decided, stepped forward, and clapped his hands.

“Gentlemen, it’s not that I’m stingy—it’s that we’re safest right here. My underground entrance is at the villa’s corner; if we go out now and make that trip, what if something happens?”

“Besides, since we came in, hasn’t anyone noticed—no one else has died?”

“That proves we’re safe now. We just need a little more patience and quiet waiting.”

“Of course, if anyone doesn’t believe me—go ahead. I’ll tell you the location. You’re free to leave anytime. I won’t stop you.”

His mix of soft persuasion and firm logic calmed the dozens down.

But then—

Thud!

A woman suddenly collapsed, blood pouring from nose and mouth, her eyeballs popping out under pressure, hands stretched forward, “Aaah… help… help…”

“…”

One second.

Two seconds.

Then—screaming!!

Everyone went mad, bolting for the exit.

Only Little John stood frozen, cold, staring at the salt circle—now blackened. The dead woman hadn’t held a cross.

It was mystical power—real mystical power—he hadn’t been wrong!

Going to the underground facility was a mistake!

He couldn’t let them go…

His thought cut off. Little John’s expression darkened. He realized something.

He couldn’t say anything.

The entity targeting them might be watching right now.

Let these people draw attention—he couldn’t let all focus turn to him.

Little John said nothing. He dialed a number, then poured holy water bought from a cardinal over himself, ate the communion bread, gripped a cross, and walked to the corner, sitting quietly.

Meanwhile—

Those who ran outside searching for the underground facility met something far worse.

Thud!

Crack!

Thud-thud-thud!

One after another, people collapsed.

They groaned, writhed—but still died.

The crosses they held crumbled.

No one could save them.

Finally, the elite security team arrived—fully armed, trained to rob banks. They stared in horror. Surveillance, thermal imaging—all tech failed to locate the enemy.

In the end—

Thud!

Thirty-six fully armed, bank-robbing security personnel were wiped out—entirely.

Not even half a minute passed.

Modern technology, before fully understanding the mystical, held no advantage against certain special entities.

Of course, at Louis’s current level, it was a bit of a case of the mighty crushing the weak…

In the sky—

Louis tapped his fingers like a god playing a game—point, and that one died.

He didn’t point randomly—he targeted list members first, then killed a few other billionaires to muddy the waters. As for accidental kills? Too bad—bad luck.

Still, the crosses they wore were oddly effective—when facing his Blood Curse Pearl, they actually worked!

Hmm—normally one Blood Curse Pearl could kill three, now it could only kill one.

As for the salt circle, he’d used a strengthened Blood Curse Pearl made with the blood of a Shiren Demon to break through.

Against ordinary spirits, such a circle would fully protect those inside.

But against Louis, equal in rank to a true demon, it was useless.

He killed one list member after another.

Louis felt bored.

He wasn’t a sadist who enjoyed killing for pleasure.

Especially when they offered no resistance—it was dull.

After killing the last name on the list, Louis turned and left.

Less than ten minutes after Louis departed—

A car arrived.

Out stepped a man in a priest’s robe, from St. Patrick’s Cathedral—a bishop.

In the Catholic hierarchy, below the Pope came the bishops, ranked from high to low: Cardinal (Cardinal Bishop), Bishop, Priest, Deacon.

A Bishop oversaw a single diocese, already part of the Church’s middle tier. In large dioceses, a Bishop might be promoted to Archbishop—above Bishop, below Cardinal—part of the Church’s upper echelon, qualified to attend secret meetings in the Vatican.

St. Patrick’s Cathedral was one such major diocese, led by an Archbishop with two Bishops under him.

Now, a Bishop came personally—proof of these billionaires’ influence.

In fact, this was only because Little John and a few others had called—if everyone had dialed, even the Archbishop might have come.

No joke—they truly had that kind of power.

Every year, the Church doesn’t know how much they’ve donated, and how could they possibly refuse them?

The bishop had barely stepped out of the car when he froze in place; the several priests accompanying him looked at him in confusion, wondering why he wasn’t going inside.

The bishop took out his Bible, sat cross-legged on the ground, and began devoutly reciting its words.

As he recited, he seemed to sense something.

Moments later.

He shook his head, gazing at the sky above the villa, frowning. “Something powerful has descended here recently—very likely a demon.”

Perhaps he felt it wasn’t precise enough, or perhaps he thought the priests beside him were too dismissive—he added, “A demon in its true form.”

At this, the priests’ faces turned pale.

The difference between a demon appearing in true form or not is enormous!

The bishop felt a bitter ache inside—he had just heard from the archbishop not long ago that darkness was returning, and now, today, he encountered what seemed to be a demon in true form.

This was just too unlucky.

But he had no choice. “Let’s go in. May the Lord protect Young Master John.”

When they entered, they were overwhelmed by the gruesome, bloody scene and vomited uncontrollably.

Since the end of the Darkness a century ago, the Church had grown lax in its military readiness; driving away a mere spirit was now a rare event, and none of this new generation of clergy had ever seen anything like this!

After struggling to enter the villa,

they finally found Young John, sitting silently in a corner with his eyes closed.

Seeing them, Young John leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh. “Thank God, you’ve finally arrived.”

“Young Master John, please tell us in detail what happened.”

This incident was huge—after all, many wealthy men had died. As everyone knows, in this capitalist nation, the wealthy are the true masters.

Though there were many masters, and their status varied from high to low, they were still masters.

The death of so many at once was absolutely major news!

The Yaoguan Bureau had to get involved, and even the Church had to take notice—especially since demons were suspected.

Therefore, the bishop had to get a clear account.

Soon, the bishop, having heard the story from Young John, fell into confusion.

This… was it really a demon?

But the dark, bloody, terrifying sensation he felt while praying with the Bible—what else could it have been?

Could it be… some kind of curse?

“Young Master John, please bring the remaining people with us to the church—it will better protect you.”

At the very least, secure the survivors before they’re all wiped out.

Young John had no objection. After this ordeal, he finally understood: these mysterious forces were terrifying. Even though he held a portion of the strongest secular power, before “them,” he was as laughable as cattle or sheep.

He was afraid.

“Bishop, just now—what exactly was it?”

The bishop did not answer.

He could not give a definite answer.

Moreover, he had another suspicion about these wealthy men.

“Sir, have you recently angered anyone? Or has anyone secretly performed heretical rituals?”

!!!

Young John froze, then his pupils widened.

Fuck!

It really might be!

On this land, heretical rituals, mystical rites, and witchcraft flourished wildly—even among the wealthy class, secret experimentation was common.

One of them might truly have caused this!

The bishop shook his head. “Wait for the archbishop’s orders. Meanwhile, the Yaoguan Bureau will likely act too. Young Master John, prepare yourself.”

…

Louis, having finished his pointless killing, did not know that the bishop had mistaken him for a demon in true form. Right now, he was crafting a straw doll using prepared materials.

Compared to the wealthy, the FBI Deputy Director, who held an official position, was more troublesome.

At least Louis couldn’t just go over and curse him to death—he needed a more plausible way to make him die.

What could be more suitable than a curse?

Fortunately, Louis had once mastered a technique of yansheng—tying straw dolls.

Now it came in handy.

First, he confirmed the birth chart using celestial charts and data, then inserted the Deputy Director’s Mao Fa, purchased at great cost, into the straw doll.

Half an hour later.

A crude straw doll, about the size of a forearm, vaguely shaped like a human, took form.

On the doll’s body, the Deputy Director’s name was written.

Louis pulled out a silver needle and drove it sharply into the heart.

(End of Chapter)