Chapter 58: Phantom, Vengeful Spirit, Curse
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The “realm” of ritual practitioners.
“Ghosts, vengeful spirits... and curses.”
Fernandes raised three fingers. “There are three levels of spiritual entities, corresponding to the practitioner’s ‘rings’: one to three, four to six, seven to nine.”
“The higher the level of mystery, the more secrets they command, and their power becomes more complex and chaotic.”
“Of course, these are just the ‘rules’ from the books—‘hierarchies’ established by us humans.”
Fernandes tapped the book with his index finger, making a rhythmic sound. “Generally speaking, cases involving spiritual entities do not fall under the jurisdiction of our enforcers.”
“That’s the responsibility of the Oversight Bureau.”
“They are rare in origin, and almost all come from humans.”
“Weak spirits, or ghosts, aren’t particularly dangerous: aside from making those around them more susceptible to illness or causing a frightful night.”
“Vengeful spirits are different.”
Fernandes explained that at the vengeful spirit stage, these entities begin to devour the flesh and souls of the living according to certain ‘rules,’ constantly ascending in power.
To someone unaware of these rules, they appear overwhelmingly strong.
Once they reach the cursed stage, their influence is no longer confined to a single household.
Ritual practitioners must investigate to find the key obsession or grudge and achieve a “re-enactment”; at the same time, before the battle begins, they must understand which ‘rules’ the spirit uses to launch attacks—that is, obtain the unlocking key.
“Re-enactment,” and “the key.”
Roland listened quietly.
“…That girl killed seventeen men within half a month.”
Fernandes brought up a case he had once been involved in:
It took place on a remote farm.
“That bastard...” Fernandes’ anger was still faintly evident when recalling the case. “He subjected his daughter to five years of... five years of... uh...” He glanced at Roland but could not bring himself to say the word.
The general situation was as Fernandes described.
A widower and his young daughter.
When he once again forced his daughter to kneel before him in the stable, this heinous act was finally discovered by a passing neighbor—who reported it to the town police.
Soon after, he was arrested by enraged villagers and the town police.
The man confessed to his crimes without hesitation, though he did not consider them crimes.
“You don’t understand a father’s love for his daughter, nor how deeply I love her,” he said. “Better she be under my care than out there as a prostitute... I love her more than those worthless men.” As he spoke, his daughter nodded repeatedly, clinging obediently to her father’s arm, fearful that the police and villagers would harm him.
The room fell silent as the priest recounted the story.
To be honest, Fernandes expected Roland to be as furious as he had been upon first learning the case.
Yet the pale patient on the bed showed not the slightest expression.
This was no surprise.
Stories like those of Doralee and Humbert were all too common in the poorhouse.
Ebner, the director, often gathered with his bloated friends to smoke pipes and cigars or drink heavily—at such times, they would summon a few boys and girls who were unfit for hard labor to the recreation room.
Over time, a natural selection had occurred, weeding out those who were less ‘palatable’ or obedient.
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Those who were not ‘suitable’ or obedient were sent back to do dirty and exhausting work.
For a time, the children around Roland almost formed a culture:
They took pride in being called to the recreation room and kept silent about what happened there afterward.
The boastful children would look down on their peers who did chores, holding their heads high and eagerly awaiting their next summons for pleasure.
“I even got a sip of gin; you wouldn’t understand.”
Thinking of this, Roland was once again grateful to Ms. Yamm Jones.
She had stopped young, naive Roland, cruelly forcing this nearly unique and handsome boy to do the dirtiest, most exhausting tasks, even if he came home daily with bruises and battered all over.
But that had protected him.
It allowed him to survive those harsh years filled with revolting odors.
Roland now somewhat understood the scent clinging to the children returning from the recreation room and what had happened to them.
In a sense, he had become well-experienced.
“Why did Su Yue tell you these stories?”
“I’ve already told the stories of Mr. Twest and Mr. Delmar.”
“I don’t want to hear those names again.”
“Mr. Twest is quite skilled on horseback.”
“I think he’d rather be the horse.”
Roland disagreed with Wrench; he thought the two men were fine together—at least they had four fists between them.
“I thought you’d say something more profound.”
“If I had enough fists as a child, Yamm wouldn’t have been bullied by them.”
White Flame was silent for a moment:
“…You’re different now, Roland.”
“Of course.”
Roland curled the corner of his mouth.
“I’m pretty formidable now.”
Wrench made no comment on this boastful outburst.
Though outwardly calm and elegant, he knew well what kind of wild child Roland was behind closed doors—for a time, every evening when old Collins was away, Wrench quietly watched Roland take off his shoes and dance barefoot on the bed.
A little madman.
“The town police locked him up.”
Fernandes’ voice lowered as he spoke of the back-and-forth conversations between Roland and Wrench.
“He died the following year from the plague, his body festering and rotting.”
The story was short, but made no mention of the ‘main character.’
Roland asked naturally, “What about his daughter...”
The most tragic figure was the daughter.
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After her father’s death, the helpless girl was sent to the poorhouse—before that, the town police and local sheriff had specifically asked villagers who had defended the girl:
If any were willing to offer help, even just a few copper coins to give her a meal, with the promise that the police would quickly find her a suitable job...
Yet from the girl’s eventual fate at the poorhouse, things had not gone well.
No one cared for her.
What angered people was the trampling of justice, morality, and righteousness—not just the trampling of a girl.
“She only lasted six months.”
Fernandes’ anger crept into his voice. “After that, strange things began happening in town.”
“A dead man’s wife said she heard her husband’s wails at night: ‘You are not my daughter’—he once shouted that. All seventeen victims died with their bodies festering, just like...”
Roland whispered, “Just like her father.”
Fernandes was silent.
After a pause, he continued, “…When the sheriff reported it, she was close to becoming a curse.”
“We lost two fifth-ring ritual practitioners to resolve her. Fifth-ring, Roland, do you understand what that means? Fifth-ring ritualists are extremely precious…”
“Do you know how long I’ve been stuck at the fourth ring? Maybe four or five years, even seven or eight…”
“Two fifth-ring practitioners…”
Cases involving spiritual entities hinge on the concepts of “re-enactment” and finding the “key.”
The former diminishes their obsessions or grudges, thereby weakening the spirit’s power.
The latter clarifies which ‘rules’ they use to launch attacks; as long as the ritualist follows these ‘rules,’ they are usually safe.
In fact, ritualists of the Eternal Silence Ring who worship the White Crown of the Wasteland are more adept at handling such cases, especially the “Dirge” path.
They can communicate with spirits, even raising these painful, resentful invisible monsters like pets.
Fernandes did not go into detail about how the case was ultimately resolved.
He only gave an example, hoping Roland would understand how to handle those highly mysterious and extremely dangerous spiritual entities.
“Unless it’s a newly born ‘ghost,’ ritualists have a hard time fighting these entities that defy material laws. ‘Re-enactment’ and ‘the key’ are the basic standard procedures—I want you to remember that, Roland.”
“Holy water and bullets are not万能。”
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From The Introduction to Ghosts, Volume One: Prologue
They reveal their fractured faces to all things.
Spirit and flesh entwined. One faces the dawn of birth; the other walks into the silent night.
The full inevitably betray.
When pleading for truth, first confront fear, then tear open greed.