Sister, I Hit You Because There Was a Ghost Behind You - Chapter 4

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 4. An Elegant Nightgown and a Bloody Purge
At that very moment, in the Imperial Hospital VIP Ward—boasting the Empire’s finest facilities.
The luxurious hospital room had become an absolute war zone, as if hellfire itself had descended.
Mikhail, swaddled entirely in bandages, clutched his face—so pulverized it was beyond recognition—and raged like a feral beast.
He shattered every mirror and window pane in the room while shrieking in anguish.
“My face! My perfect, handsome face! How dare that lowborn wretch do this to me!”
Shattered glass and broken ceramics littered the floor, while nurses huddled in the corners, trembling with terror.
Yet even amid this chaos, Laura had no time to heed Mikhail’s screams.
She curled into a corner of the sofa, suffering severe withdrawal symptoms, her fingernails torn and bleeding from her frantic gnawing.
The demon that had rested upon her fragile shoulders, supplying her with boundless mana, had vanished completely.
Ever since Violetta’s merciless iron mace had shattered the demon’s form and obliterated it, Laura had been tormented by a horrifying emptiness—as though her very soul had been torn away—and a bone-deep, icy chill.
She trembled like an aspen leaf, grinding her teeth and muttering incoherently.
“Vivi… that damned bitch broke my wings… how dare she destroy my precious demon…”
Her unfocused eyes gleamed with vicious malice and murderous intent.
Laura’s gaze narrowed to serpentine slits as she surveyed her surroundings, then with trembling hands, she rummaged through her bosom and withdrew a small communication device embedded with a black gemstone.
She had to contact The Master—the highest-ranking executive of the Demon Worship Cult—immediately.
As she channeled mana into the device, a chilling presence flowed back through it, and Laura bit her lip, whispering urgently.
“Send me your most reliable and ruthless assassin at once. I need her dead by tonight.”
She had completely forgotten that the target she was now touching was no mere noble lady, but a madwoman wielding an iron mace that could strike down ghosts—a fatal miscalculation.
Meanwhile, in the Heresy Inquisition Bureau Headquarters Annex’s premium VIP quarters.
Thanks to my status as the head of the prestigious Eberhardt Family, despite being detained as a criminal, I had been assigned a lavish suite that rivaled the finest hotels.
Upon the plush bed.
I held a hand mirror before my face with the utmost gravity and seriousness, releasing a deep sigh.
“Ugh… so parched and dull. What a disaster.”
Today’s schedule had been nothing short of a disaster film protagonist’s ordeal.
I’d swept through the grand Wedding Venue in my flowing dress, demolishing the entire venue with my iron mace, been escorted by the Holy Knights Order for grueling interrogation, and spent the afternoon swatting away every noticeable stray spirit with my club.
My skin in the mirror was cracking like parched earth, draining of all vitality.
My desperate struggle to protect my 100 billion gold remained etched across my face like medals of honor.
I’d just showered in warm water and emerged from the bathroom, retrieving a premium hydrating mask I’d packed beforehand and pressing it onto my face.
As the soothing essence seeped into my skin, the tension that had gripped me melted away blissfully.
Then I draped an elegant silk nightgown across my shoulders with a light touch.
Though confined in this cold Inquisition facility, I would maintain the dignity of a noble lady and the health of my complexion without compromise.
I reclined comfortably against the headboard, closed my eyes, and hummed contentedly to myself.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Just twenty minutes of healing in this state, then a blissful sleep. Don’t forget to remove the mask.”
A cozy silence filled the room as drowsiness began to creep in—when it happened.
Creak.
From the direction of the window came a faint, peculiar sound—like dead leaves scraping against glass.
An ordinary person might have dismissed it as wind, but my acute hearing, honed from countless encounters with monsters and malevolent spirits, could not be deceived.
Someone was treading on the window frame from outside, approaching with deliberate stealth.
With my eyes still closed, I furrowed my brow slightly and grumbled inwardly.
‘…What? The Inquisition’s security is this sloppy?’
A faint clicking sound followed, and the window’s lock disengaged.
The window slid open silently, and with the cool night breeze came a wave of unbearably metallic blood stench mingled with the reek of sewage, flooding into the room.
Ah, this acrid odor was no mere stench of common Back Alley thieves.
I’d thought them ordinary criminals, but these were far worse—wretches draped in malevolent spirits like ornaments.
Three masked assassins slipped into the darkness of the room.
Behind them, pitch-black shadow spirits coiled like serpents, their crimson eyes gleaming as they hungered for my blood.
I exhaled a careful, deep sigh, cautious not to disturb the facial mask clinging to my skin, and sighed.
“Sigh…. Really, what a nuisance.”
Ah, my precious twenty minutes of healing time evaporating so pathetically.
Irritation surged at the thought that stress would halve the efficacy of the mask I’d so carefully applied.
Still reclining languidly against the bed, I spoke to the assassins emanating killing intent from the darkness, my tone dripping with indifference.
“You there, the one who stepped on the window frame—you’re dropping mud on the floor. Wipe your shoes before entering. The maid just finished cleaning.”
At my calm, everyday voice, the assassins trembled visibly in shock.
They’d never encountered a woman who, rather than screaming and trembling at the sight of them, complained about the state of the room’s cleanliness.
The one who appeared to be their leader drew a poisoned dagger with a vicious gleam in his eyes and shouted.
“Quick-witted, aren’t you? But you’re a dead woman walking tonight. Die without pain!”
The assassin leader let out a bitter laugh and charged ferociously toward the bed.
Just before his sharp blade could pierce my delicate throat, the malevolent spirit parasitizing his shoulder extended its claws first and lunged at me.
It intended to devour the most appetizing soul first.
I pressed the mask on my face lightly with one hand and spoke coldly.
“You enter someone’s room without permission, and you lack all courtesy.”
Crack—!
A sharp, weighty sound echoed through the quiet guest room.
My right hand now gripped my perfect work partner—the iron cudgel I’d left resting quietly beside the bed—and it struck the creature’s chest with perfect, merciless precision.
Of course, not the assassin’s own chest, but the grotesque spirit’s head that clung to him like a leech.
Before my special ability to physically strike spiritual entities, even the most vicious spirit was nothing but a punching bag.
The impact sensation between host and spirit was shared completely.
The assassin leader, having received the horrific pain of the spirit’s head bursting and dissolving directly in his brain, shrieked in a hoarse voice.
“Krrgh!”
He flew through the air without even properly wielding his dagger, crashing hard into the solid marble wall.
With the dull crack of breaking bones, he lost consciousness without even a final cry.
Witnessing the unbelievable scene unfold before their eyes, the remaining two assassins stumbled backward in panic and shouted urgently.
“What, what is this?! What did you just do? Is it magic?”
To their eyes, a woman with a white facial mask caked on her face, dressed in elegant silk pajamas, was swinging that heavy iron cudgel as effortlessly as a feather, sending her comrade flying like paper—a bizarre and terrifying sight.
I slung the heavy cudgel across my shoulder and walked toward them with measured steps, answering kindly.
“What do you mean? It’s simply very effective physical therapy for releasing tense muscles.”
The assassins, seized by instinctive terror, sought an escape route toward the door.
I watched them and clicked my tongue sympathetically.
“You’re carrying far too many twisted spirits drawn by the blood stench on your bodies. Your shoulders must be terribly heavy, no? That’s the cause of chronic fatigue, you know. I’ll do you a special favor today and lighten the load for free.”
As if to mask fear with fury, the two assassins raised their voices with venom, their faces flushed with rage.
“You, you monster! Stop spouting nonsense!”
The assassins scattered to both sides and lunged at me simultaneously.
Their coordinated assault was sharp enough, and the poison-coated blades gleamed like serpent tongues cutting through the darkness.
But to my eyes, all their trajectories and movements appeared transparent and sluggish, like slow-motion video.
The foolish spirits dangling behind them were broadcasting their masters’ actions in advance.
The spirits barked loudly into the assassins’ ears, shouting instructions.
“Thrust to the right! Sever the woman’s breath!”
“Aim for her legs and bring her down!”
I heard every pre-planned instruction ringing clearly in my ears, but matching them was the harder task.
I tilted my head lightly and effortlessly dodged the blade flying toward my right, letting out a contemptuous laugh.
“Right? Sure, except your timing is too slow.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I lowered my body and drove the thick end of my mace upward with tremendous force, striking the assassin’s jaw with perfect precision.
Crack!
With the sickening sound of his jawbone shattering, the assassin’s eyes rolled back white as he collapsed, spewing blood.
Without hesitation, I spun my body and viciously swung the head of my mace against the spirit clinging to the other assassin’s waist.
The spirit shrieked in agonizing death throes, its form tearing apart.
“Krraaaagh!”
As the spirit vanished, the other assassin received the full force of the impact in return, and he too collapsed to the ground, vomiting blood from the tremendous shock that reverberated through his organs.
Just ten seconds.
In merely ten seconds, the three elite assassins notorious throughout the Back Alley of The Empire lay sprawled on the ground, writhing like insects in pathetic defeat.
The worthless black spirits that escaped from their unconscious bodies shrieked in terror and scattered, attempting to flee.
I furrowed my brow sharply and spoke in an icy voice.
“Where do you think you’re going? Once I’ve started this cleaning, I finish the job properly.”
I slashed through the air and caught the tail of the largest spirit attempting to escape through the window with my bare hand.
The moment the purifying energy dwelling in my fingertips made contact, the spirit’s body melted like it was dissolving in acid, burning away with a sizzling sound.
I stared directly into the spirit’s crimson eyes as it thrashed about, and spoke with lethal warning.
“Listen well. Go tell your foolish master right now, word for word. I’m sparing the assassins’ lives this time, but if you bother me again like this, I’ll smash that cursed mask your master wears to pieces with my mace and tear it off completely. Understood?”
Crushed beneath my overwhelming killing intent, the spirit let out pathetic squeaking sounds like a trapped mouse and desperately fled into the darkness through the open window.
The room had returned to peace, but the massive men scattered about made for an unsightly scene.
I tapped the edges of the face mask on my face with my fingertips to secure it better, then tried to return to bed.
Bang—!
At that moment, the heavy door that had been firmly shut burst open with such force that its hinges shattered.
Demian, his breathing ragged and urgent, cried out desperately.
“Miss Violetta! Are you safe?”
The noble Holy Knights Order commander Demian, who normally never showed the slightest disturbance.
But now his face was deathly pale, and the hand gripping his holy sword trembled slightly.
He had received an emergency report of an unidentified assassin infiltrating the Inquisition Headquarters, and seized by the terror that the young lady he was sworn to protect might have been brutally murdered, he had rushed here like a madman without even noticing one of his shoes had come off.
Demian burst through the door consumed by fear and despair so intense his heart felt ready to burst.
But the scene his blue eyes beheld in the guest room was entirely different from the horrific bloodbath he had imagined hundreds of times in his mind.
A shattered window through which cold night air whistled.
Beneath it lay three massive assassins sprawled unconscious, white foam flecking their lips, their limbs twisted at grotesque angles.
And standing in the very center of those terrifying intruders’ bodies.
I stood draped in the finest silk gown, a sheet mask stretched taut across my face, meticulously polishing an enormous iron club with a handkerchief.
I was the one they saw. Startled by the violent crash of the door, I held the iron club in one hand and regarded Demian with perfect composure as I spoke.
“Oh? Commander?”

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