“Goodbye, Father!”
“Even if you refuse to tell me which church you run, I’ll find it myself.”
“I’ll see you again, Father Anderson.”
Jessie’s voice gradually faded outside the truck, but the faint trace of her perfume remained inside the cab.
Father Anderson sat alone behind the wheel of his Ford Raptor, his clothes properly arranged and his expression restored to its usual calm.
The small marks on his neck, however, told a different story.
For a moment, Anderson silently reflected on what had happened.
The experience had certainly been enjoyable, but as a priest and exorcist, his mental discipline was far stronger than that of an ordinary man.
He closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and began confessing.
“Lord, I acknowledge that I have sinned, and I sincerely intend to repent.
If You are willing to forgive me, I promise to exorcise more demons in Your name, spread Your light across this land, and allow more people to witness Your greatness.”
Anderson paused before adding one final word.
“Amen.”
After completing his confession, he felt considerably better.
When he opened his eyes again, his thoughts had returned to their normal clarity.
He glanced into the rearview mirror.
Police officers, paramedics, private security personnel, and investigators still filled the highway behind him, but the emergency was finally under control.
Jessie and Carly were safe, the cannibal hunting party had been eliminated, and the authorities had discovered the cabin and its collection of evidence.
There was nothing more for Anderson to do.
He took one final breath of the lingering perfume, pressed the accelerator, and drove away.
The Ford Raptor disappeared down the highway beneath someone’s lingering gaze.
Fortunately, the rest of his journey was uneventful.
After leaving the Appalachian wilderness behind, Anderson reached a populated area late at night and finally had time to review everything he had gained.
With a thought, a translucent system panel appeared before him.
[Alexander Anderson]
[Race: Human]
[Occupations: Priest, Professor of Pharmacology, Physician…]
[Constitution: 24/24]
[Note: Average human value is 10.]
[Vitality: 106.5/106.5]
[Note: Average human value is 10.]
[Spirit: 83/83]
[Note: Average human value is 10.]
[Magic: 134/134]
[Note: 1 point of Magic is restored every minute.]
[Equipped Item: Basic Clerical Robe]
[Defense: 6]
[Durability: 6/10]
[…]
His Vitality had reached 106.5 after the previous allocation.
The two points of magic temporarily transferred to Jessie had also returned once Anderson withdrew the night-vision blessing, restoring his Magic to its maximum value.
His gains weren’t limited to system rewards.
Jessie and Carly had promised him a combined payment of two million dollars—one million from each family.
Judging from the expensive SUVs, armed security teams, and complete lack of hesitation surrounding the offer, neither woman considered the amount financially devastating.
To them, a million dollars seemed almost like emergency spending money.
Anderson found that difficult to comprehend.
Once the payment arrived, he wouldn’t need to worry about funding his research, replacing ammunition, purchasing medical supplies, or maintaining the church for a long time. Read the latest chapters at NovelPing.
He had also recovered a large bag of jewelry, watches, cash, and other valuables from the cannibals’ cabin.
Those items would require more careful handling, but their combined value could be substantial.
Anderson shifted his attention back to the system.
The mission to eliminate the cannibal killers had rewarded him with three points.
Investigating the history of the deformed family had earned another point, leaving him with four points available for allocation.
He considered the choice briefly.
“Two points to Magic and two to Vitality.”
Vitality remained his highest priority because it was directly tied to survival.
Still, the Harrisville exorcism and his temporary blessing on Jessie had reminded him how useful Magic could be outside direct combat.
[Attribute Points Assigned Successfully]
The panel changed immediately.
[Alexander Anderson]
[Race: Human]
[Occupations: Priest, Professor of Pharmacology, Physician…]
[Constitution: 24/24]
[Vitality: 108.5/108.5]
[Spirit: 83/83]
[Magic: 136/136]
[Equipped Item: Basic Clerical Robe]
[Defense: 6]
[Durability: 6/10]
[…]
A familiar warmth spread through Anderson’s body.
His heartbeat grew stronger, his breathing became deeper, and a strange energy flowed through his muscles and internal organs.
The increase in Vitality felt like an additional reserve of life force.
It kept his body energetic, strengthened his recovery, and significantly reduced the effects of exhaustion.
Combined with his unusually high Constitution and Spirit, the result was almost unfair.
Anderson could remain awake for days without becoming mentally or physically exhausted.
Even after an exorcism, a gunfight, and an entire night of driving, he still felt capable of returning to the basement and spending several more hours producing ammunition.
That was one of the main reasons he never ran out of holy water, blessed crosses, custom drugs, or specialized shells.
An ordinary craftsman needed sleep.
Father Anderson simply continued working.
He almost considered turning on the radio again but remembered how aggressively he had reacted to the last song.
Instead, he kept the cabin quiet and pressed the accelerator.
After all the delays, Anderson finally reached home around sunrise.
Warm light spread across the horizon as the sun climbed above the city.
The sight was strangely comforting after an entire night spent surrounded by forests, corpses, cannibals, and darkness.
Despite not sleeping, Anderson remained full of energy.
He parked inside the garage and began unloading his equipment from the truck.
Roadside assistance had replaced the destroyed tires before he left, though the damaged windows would require professional repairs later.
Once inside the house, Anderson first inspected every protective crucifix he had placed around the property.
None had shifted, heated up, or shown signs of spiritual interference.
No one had entered while he was gone.
Satisfied, he carried the weapons and supplies toward the hidden basement.
Anderson had prepared far more equipment than he ultimately needed.
The Harrisville case had ended after only a few shotgun blasts, while the cannibal killers required little more than ordinary slugs.
In both cases, his preparation had felt like using artillery against insects.
If Anderson were forced to repeat the journey, he would bring exactly the same amount of equipment.
No one knew how dangerous a supernatural case would become until it was already too late to retrieve additional supplies.
Overpreparation was inconvenient.
Underpreparation could be fatal.
He removed the remaining shells from both Winchester Model 1897s, inspected their barrels, cleaned the actions, and wiped away every trace of residue.
Once the exposed hammers, pumps, and internal mechanisms had been properly maintained, he returned both shotguns to their assigned rack.
The unused ammunition was sorted by type and placed back into labeled containers.
The holy water, crucifixes, medical tools, and drugs were also returned to their designated shelves.
Anderson disliked disorder inside his armory.
During an emergency, he needed to know the exact location of every weapon and item without wasting time searching.
After finishing, he looked toward the heavy canvas bag resting beside him.
It contained the valuables recovered from the cannibals’ hideout.
The jewelry and watches had been stolen from murder victims, making them legally questionable goods with no clear ownership records.
Some pieces might eventually be connected to missing-person cases, but others had probably been taken decades earlier.
A legitimate jewelry store or auction house wouldn’t accept such a large collection without documentation.
Attempting to sell everything openly would attract police attention and create questions Anderson had no desire to answer.
Expensive objects existed within their own social world.
Collectors, insurers, auction houses, and manufacturers often maintained records of distinctive pieces.
A rare watch or recognizable necklace could carry a history almost as traceable as a vehicle identification number.
The underground market was different.
Certain buyers specialized in valuables with unclear origins.
They accepted the legal risk in exchange for substantial commissions, purchasing goods far below their official value and quietly moving them through private networks.
Anderson narrowed his eyes as a particular buyer came to mind.
The commission would be high, but the man was reasonably trustworthy by criminal-market standards.
More importantly, he knew better than to ask Father Anderson unnecessary questions.
The decision was made.
Anderson would sell the valuables first, then return to the church and complete his daily prayer task.
He might have stayed awake all night, but he refused to miss an easy half point.
After taking a shower, Anderson stood before his wardrobe.
For the first time in a long while, he removed his priestly clothing and changed into casual clothes.
A dark coat covered his broad frame, while a high collar concealed the marks Jessie had left on his neck.
He packed the valuables into a plain backpack, secured the house, and returned to the garage.
The repaired Raptor rolled out shortly afterward.
Anderson drove south toward New York City.
Several hours later, the black pickup entered Manhattan and blended into the morning traffic.
Towering buildings rose on both sides of the street while pedestrians crowded the sidewalks.
The city was already fully awake.
Tourists stopped to photograph landmarks, office workers hurried toward subway entrances, and delivery trucks competed for space along the congested roads.
People from every background and nationality moved through the streets together.
New York deserved its reputation as one of the most prosperous and international cities in the world.
Every time Anderson visited, he encountered travelers, immigrants, businesspeople, artists, criminals, and wealthy collectors from across the globe.
It was also one of the easiest places in America for unusual objects—and unusual people—to disappear.
Anderson parked the Ford Raptor along a crowded street and switched off the engine.
He picked up the heavy backpack from the passenger seat before examining the pedestrians through the window.
None appeared to be watching him.
He stepped out, locked the truck, and joined the flow of people moving toward the city center.
Hidden somewhere among New York’s polished towers and crowded storefronts was a market that existed beyond ordinary society.
And Father Alexander Anderson had merchandise to sell.