Two years passed in the blink of an eye.
Our protagonist had now wandered his way onto a new continent.
Nightfall. Inside a certain apartment.
The wailing cries of ghosts and wolves had echoed for over two hours. That eerie sound, capable of penetrating solid matter, reverberated through the walls and into the ears of nearby residents with an oppressive intensity that made them shiver uncontrollably.
Children, adults, and the elderly alike all huddled in their homes, too frightened to do anything unnecessary.
By now, with the ever-increasing frequency of supernatural events, the general public had already become aware of the existence of those monsters—even though the authorities of every nation were still trying their best to cover things up and maintain social stability. After all, people weren't stupid.
The result? A society-wide panic.
Then again… life still had to go on.
People adapted. As things were, they stayed that way.
Only, night life had become noticeably more subdued.
Anyone still daring to roam the streets in the dead of night had to be either a lunatic—or a beast.
Not that staying home guaranteed safety either…
In this kind of environment, if someone were unlucky enough to run into a spirit, it was simply bad luck.
No one else to blame.
Calling the cops wouldn't help.
You'd be dead long before the police could even show up.
And when they did, all they could do was collect your corpse and organize a memorial service—hopefully to soothe your lingering resentment, so you wouldn't end up turning into a spirit yourself.
So, as that terrifying wail continued to echo through the night…
The only thing nearby residents could do was silently pray that the spirit wouldn't come for them.
Because if it did, no god or man could save them.
The terrifying spirit causing all this panic? At this very moment, it was dangling helplessly from Orsaga's hand, its face a picture of hopelessness and sorrow.
After two hours of nonstop torment, the creature had already lost all will to resist.
In fact, under the weight of his hatred and the relentless torture inflicted by Orsaga, it had actually undergone an evolution—from a Malevolent Spirit to Vengeful Spirit.
But it didn't matter in the slightest. In Orsaga's eyes, it was still nothing but trash—something he could squish to death with a single finger.
He could do whatever he wanted to it, however he wanted.
It had been through it all: the elation of catching what it thought was prey, the shock of being brutally overpowered, the hatred that led to its evolution, the thrill of thinking it could turn the tables, and finally, the crushing despair of being beaten down again.
After that whirlwind of psychological torment, the creature was now like a fish that had given up on life.
Meanwhile, Orsaga just kept disassembling its body over and over again, making sure to leave its core untouched each time so it could regenerate.
Another two hours passed, and Orsaga wordlessly stuffed the creature into his Eternal Agony, letting it "enjoy" its reward inside.
Sitting in the dead silent room, he muttered softly, "Still no good…"
Over the past two years, he'd captured more than ten thousand spirits and anomalies. Each one had been dissected dozens, sometimes even hundreds of times.
But he had yet to discover the true reason these things could evolve from ordinary souls into monstrous entities.
To his senses, this planet had a strange aura to it—as if it had been tainted by some kind of pollution.
Unfortunately, he hadn't visited any other planets yet, so he couldn't confirm whether this was a local anomaly or a trait of the entire universe.
After all, every universe had its own quirks.
In some places, becoming a monster after death was normal. In others, even turning into a robot was within reason.
Time passed slowly as he sank deeper into thought.
A short while later.
A strange sound came from the front door of the apartment.
It was faint, but distinct—like someone trying to carefully pick the lock with tools.
Outside the apartment.
A man in a government-issued uniform glanced at his teammate, who looked every bit like a sneaky thief as he fiddled with the lock.
With a conflicted expression, he turned to the man next to him and said:
"…Captain, maybe we shouldn't go in. Why not just use some kind of special tool to seal it up and be done with it…"
His voice lacked conviction, clearly showing just how scared he was—but he still managed to voice his opinion.
He clearly had zero interest in stepping foot inside that apartment.
Hearing his words, the other team members all nodded in agreement, fully backing his proposal.
Each and every one of them was clearly terrified.
Seeing this, their captain's eyes flashed with disappointment. He sighed and muttered like a parent scolding ungrateful children:
"Seal it? With what? That kind of stuff only works temporarily. If we don't deal with it now while it's still weak, it'll become a huge problem later."
His expression turned stern as he barked out:
"Besides, you took this job. That means no more playing scared. Like it or not—you're going in! If the higher-ups find out, the whole lot of you are getting thrown into the Suicide Squad!"
That shut everyone up instantly. Miserable expressions all around, they braced themselves for what was coming.
The captain, though outwardly strict, was sighing inwardly.
Ever since the Spirit population had reached a critical mass, armies and police forces across the globe had been stretched thin.
In response, a variety of special task forces had been formed.
One of them was the Exorcism Division—the one they were part of.
This unit was composed of civilian recruits. As long as you were bold enough and your background was clean, you could join.
Its defining features? High pay and high risk.
A single month's salary was enough to support an average family of three for several months.
For people living in hardship, it was an irresistible offer.
Because no matter how dangerous the job was—if the pay was right, most people would take it.
Their main job, after a few months of training, was to take on spirits.
The current squad was freshly formed. Apart from the captain—who was an experienced veteran—the rest were all rookies who'd just finished their basic training.
That was why they were so easily frightened.
At first, when they'd just signed up, they'd all had guts of steel.
But the more they learned, the more they realized how truly horrifying these spirits were—and their bravery and bloodlust had taken a serious hit.
The captain knew what had to be done now: force them into action.
That was the only way to unlock their potential.
Some of them might break under the pressure, lose all courage, and collapse the moment they came face to face with a spirit.
But some might find strength in the face of death—and be reborn with the courage to survive.
And he knew that because he'd been through it himself.
The ones who could fight through the fear—those were the ones he wanted as future comrades.
He'd do everything in his power to keep them alive in the missions ahead.
As for the weaklings who broke down and lost their nerve?
Not his problem.
If they died during a mission, so be it. They took the money—they should've been ready for that risk.
And if they were lucky enough to survive, they'd still be reported as failures and immediately eliminated from the program.
After all, someone who couldn't cut it had no business holding the spot. It was a disservice to everyone else on the team.
Click.
The door finally unlocked.
Revealing a cold, empty room inside.
As the sun slowly rose outside, the captain gave a wave of his hand, signaling the team to move in.
____
T/N:
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