My Possession Became a Ghost Story - Chapter 261

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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“…The veil?”

The bishop’s voice lowered, and wariness clearly crept into the end of his words. The air instantly grew heavy. I stared at the bishop without even blinking.

“Yes. I’d like to see your face while we talk. You’ll grant me this small request, won’t you?”

The bishop’s fingertips seemed to tremble slightly, but he slowly raised his hand and lifted the veil.

The moment the face hidden beneath was revealed, I froze. That face was not the one Azazel and I had just confirmed. As I had expected from Azazel’s reaction, it was not Bishop Marik’s face covered in burns, but someone else’s face.

“…Saraka.”

The name flowed out unconsciously. My throat felt dry as if it were burning. Saraka, whom Azazel had searched for so desperately, was right before my eyes in vivid detail.

I glanced at Azazel, but there was no sign of surprise.

“Are you now ready to converse with the young lady?”

A smile appeared at the corners of Saraka’s lips.

I composed my expression while hiding my confusion. However, my mind was still dizzy. A person had changed in an instant. How was such a thing possible? Was this also Lea’s trick?

“Lady Rohanson?”

“…I saw a peculiar painting on my way out. When I asked Azazel about it, he said you had ordered it to be hung there.”

“Ah. You mean that portrait.”

Saraka nodded as if she had some idea about it.

“It’s a portrait with strange aspects, but I quite like it.”

“A portrait… Then do you know who the model in the painting is, Bishop?”

“Well. Unfortunately, my knowledge isn’t that extensive.”

Saraka’s words were elegant and gentle, but the uncomfortable sensation from her calm voice lingering in my ears never faded.

“Has Lady Rohanson’s curiosity been satisfied now?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

I gave a formal response and turned around. The moment I turned my back, my body shrank at the illusion of a gaze flowing along my back. Even as I closed the door and exited through the corridor, it felt as if a presence lurking somewhere kept brushing against the back of my neck.

As I quickened my pace, Azazel followed closely behind me. His shadow fell right behind me, closing the distance.

“That painting was all you wanted to ask about? Then why did you want to see Saraka’s face? Since when do you care about manners?”

Azazel’s voice was mixed with irritation and dissatisfaction.

“If you’re going to keep chattering like that, don’t follow me.”

“I don’t want to go with you either, you know? But Saraka told me to escort you safely back to the manor.”

It was as if he was making some great sacrifice. How admirable of him.

***

The carriage rattled and slowly departed. When I turned my gaze out the window, the temple’s spire stood tall as if reaching for the sun. Its imposing majesty somehow reminded me of ‘that thing’ borrowing Bishop Marik’s body. And that ‘thing’ had now intervened in this world.

I remained silent, keeping my gaze fixed. Azazel, who had climbed into the carriage without permission, was uncharacteristically reading my mood.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange since earlier. …There isn’t some problem with Saraka, is there?”

Anxiety and impatience were evident in Azazel’s voice. Azazel, who reacted particularly sensitively only when it came to Saraka, was clearly sensing something suspicious in my behavior. His gaze was sharp, as if trying to analyze every subtle action of mine.

I let out a short sigh and turned my head. The familiar yet strange scenery passing by evoked an odd unpleasantness.

There is a problem. But how should I explain this? Would he even believe me if I told him? Words like trust don’t exist between Azazel and me. Just as I had done, it would probably be faster for him to confirm it with his own eyes rather than explaining it a hundred times.

Just then, the carriage rattled to a stop. The coachman’s voice announced that we had arrived at our destination.

“Get out.”

As soon as I opened the carriage door and stepped out, a gloomy scene unfolded before my eyes. The carriage had stopped not at the Rohanson manor, but in the slums on the outskirts of the capital. I looked around as I stepped down. The scenery of old buildings and shabby roads tangled together was gloomy, and a musty smell carried by the wind stung my nose, perhaps due to the garbage scattered here and there on the streets.

“Where is this place?”

Azazel asked bluntly with a frown. His displeasure was clearly evident in his voice.

“Be quiet. Was it this way…?”

I moved my steps while groping for the path that remained dimly in my memory. I could feel Azazel’s heavy footsteps behind me as I walked along the old wall.

What I was looking for was Donau’s house.

Fortunately, I vaguely remembered the way to Donau’s house. The fact that I still remembered it meant that the old me must have been quite shocked to have that mysterious summoning circle stolen.

“Here it is.”

I stopped at the end of a familiar alley. Sure enough, a small house that was strangely familiar appeared. It wasn’t burned down, nor were its windows blocked, but it was the house I was looking for. Without hesitation, I opened the door and strode into the house.

“Donau.”

When I called that name, a loud noise came from somewhere. A man who had been crouched in a corner of the room covered with an old blanket flinched and moved. Then he staggered to his feet with a loud commotion.

“Wh-who is it! Who dares to enter someone else’s house… E-Evangeline Rohanson…?”

Donau stammered in shock. Upon recognizing me, his complexion instantly turned pale.

His complexion was haggard and his beard had grown unkempt, as if he hadn’t been able to find proper work since being fired. Empty liquor glasses rolled around on the floor, and his flushed face made him look no different from a rampaging drunk.

“As expected. You’re alive.”

At my words, Donau gasped in fear. Ignoring his cornered rat-like behavior, I explained to Azazel.

“Azazel. This is the protagonist of that painting.”

“Oh?”

Azazel strode up to Donau, grabbed his neck, and lifted him up with one hand as if picking up luggage.

“Gack! Urgh… Let, let me go!”

Donau struggled desperately, but Azazel paid no attention. As if finding it fascinating that Donau had all his limbs intact and wasn’t burned, he just turned him this way and that in the air, observing him with interest. Donau resisted, but would that snake, no, that demon listen?

“This is the first time I’ve seen him alive.”

Azazel added mockingly.

“The real thing is disappointing? He looked better when he was a corpse.”

It was probably meant as a joke to him. To Donau, those words must have sounded like a threat to kill him, as he now burst into tears and begged for his life. Even though he was trash who once tried to use our Kanna as a sacrifice, I felt just slightly, just a fingernail’s worth of pity for him.

“So. Are you going to kill him?”

Azazel looked back at me, clicked his tongue, and released Donau. Donau collapsed onto the floor with a thud. Terrified and hiccupping, he crawled backward on his bottom to escape to a corner.

“Seeing as you brought up the painting and led me all the way here, you must have business with this bastard. So what exactly is it? He doesn’t look particularly useful.”

Azazel glanced at Donau.

“Azazel. You also saw the painting with me at the temple.”

“Yeah.”

“And the model of the portrait is here.”

“So?”

Azazel narrowed his eyes as if asking whether I was playing word games. His attitude suggested I should get to the point quickly.

“Isn’t it strange?”

After finishing my words, I looked around the room. The floor was perfectly fine, and there wasn’t a trace of sorcery circles or burn marks to be found. Without sorcery circles, he wouldn’t have kidnapped people claiming to summon demons. It was just the shabby house of a drunkard. I met Azazel’s eyes and spoke.

“How can you paint a corpse of someone who’s still alive?”

By all logic, that should be a painting that shouldn’t exist.

***

Confirming that Donau was alive only deepened my questions.

A painting that defied causality. Pudding and Jelly who didn’t respond when called. The incomprehensible fact that Saraka, who had disappeared, had reappeared, and Azazel’s memories modified to match it. On top of that, there was even some unknown someone who had spoken to me through Bishop Marik’s body.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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