Chapter 138 — The Strange Demon
This time, Gideon stopped Judy before she could act.
Whether this was the demon "padding his stats" or trying to bait them in, he refused to play along with whatever game it was playing.
A being capable of stealing another demon's territory—there was no way it feared them.
The idea that it was "pretending to be weak" just to avoid being banished didn't make any sense.
And if its plan was to lure them inside and kill them? That didn't fit either.
The night before, the same entity had actually helped him—interfering to drive out the sacrificial demon that plagued the farmland.
That kind of calculated restraint didn't belong to a mindless monster. This was a demon that knew when to bow and when to strike. And those were the ones you truly had to fear.
After a long moment of thought, Gideon decided not to act rashly. He'd wait for Church reinforcements before making a move.
But, of course, things never went the way he wanted.
"Ben! Ben's still inside!"
Denise Solomon's voice cracked with panic.
Everyone turned—realizing the youngest child of the Solomon family was missing.
"Please, please—you have to do something!"
Denise dropped to her knees, tears streaking her face. Her husband, Roy, held her trembling shoulders, his eyes full of desperate hope.
Before Gideon could respond, Silas spoke up, his tone careful but firm.
"Father, under Church doctrine—when facing a Catastrophe-class event, our first duty is to ensure our own survival. Civilian casualties… are regrettable, but permitted."
Zal and Bente lowered their heads in silence, quietly agreeing. Even among exorcists, those words were doctrine.
Judy, however, looked at Gideon in confusion and dread. She didn't know what the "right" answer was supposed to be.
And so, the final decision fell to him.
Gideon stepped forward, gently helping Denise and Roy to their feet.
"We can try," he said calmly. "But you'll have to follow my instructions exactly."
The couple nodded frantically.
"Anything—just tell us what to do!"
Gideon took out several small protective talismans, tying one around each of their wrists and ankles.
"Walk toward the farmhouse," he instructed.
He, of course, had no intention of entering himself.
If the demon had some hidden intent, then better to let the Solomons' approach reveal it.
They took hesitant steps toward the field.
Almost immediately, the corruption began to stir—thick, crimson-black vapor coiling around them like mist drawn by gravity.
Roy flinched, expecting an attack—but the miasma didn't strike.
Instead, it circled them, hovering close, pulsing with strange, rhythmic energy.
Gideon's eyes narrowed, his expression sharp.
"It's reacting… to something."
He looked closer and noticed the tendrils of darkness drifting toward the couple's waists—toward the bottles of holy water he had given them.
"Mr. Solomon," he called out, "hold the vial in your hand."
Roy obeyed, gripping the small glass bottle.
Immediately, the mist surged closer, writhing around his arm.
"Now unseal it," Gideon instructed. "Dip your finger inside."
Roy hesitated, then did as told.
When he pulled his hand out, droplets of blessed water clung to his fingertips—and the black mist suddenly vibrated, its movements sharp and restless.
Almost… excited.
"Now—throw the water," Gideon ordered.
"Where?"
"Behind you. As far as you can."
Roy turned and flung his hand.
Tiny droplets of holy water scattered through the air.
The reaction was immediate.
The entire cloud of miasma lunged after them, devouring the droplets like a starving animal.
When the two forces met, the air hissed—the darkness hissed and peeled away, parts of it purified on contact.
But the rest wrapped around the droplets, absorbing every trace of holiness.
Roy blinked, dumbfounded.
He tried again—once, twice, three times.
Each time, the same thing happened.
It wasn't attacking.
It was feeding.
A few meters away, the academy trio watched, utterly bewildered.
"I don't get it," Zal whispered. "Isn't this supposed to be a territorial war between two demons?"
"Or the middle of a sacrificial ritual?" Bente added.
They exchanged uneasy glances.
Nothing about this made sense anymore.
The three young priests could hardly believe what they were seeing.
A demon, voluntarily touching holy water—and not being destroyed.
Gideon rubbed his chin thoughtfully and turned to Silas.
"Give me a bottle of holy water."
"This one's a one-year batch," Silas said, pulling out a small glass vial.
Gideon took it, studying the faint shimmer inside, then handed it to Jess.
"Give this to your parents."
As soon as Roy and Denise took it, the miasma surrounding them reacted again—drifting closer, swirling like smoke drawn to a flame.
But when the black vapor reached the one-year bottle, it lingered briefly… then retreated, drifting back toward the older vial Roy already carried.
Gideon's eyes narrowed.
"So… you only like the vintage stuff, huh?" he murmured.
The Solomons' bottles were five-year blessed water.
Higher purity.
Stronger light.
The demon was choosing quality over quantity.
Gideon still didn't understand its full intent—but if it wanted something, that meant he had leverage.
"Mr. Solomon," he said evenly, "the demon still has your son.
So I suggest… we don't give it what it wants so easily."
Roy blinked, then nodded slowly, realizing the priest's plan.
He raised the bottle in his hand, shouting toward the farmhouse:
"Hey! You want this? Give me my son back, and the holy water's yours!"
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then—the front door creaked open.
A small figure lay on the threshold—Ben, motionless.
"My boy!" Denise screamed, ready to rush forward.
But the miasma thickened instantly, forming a barrier between her and the house.
The message was clear: Don't move.
Roy clenched his jaw and uncorked the bottle, letting a few drops spill onto the dirt.
The vapor drifted aside slightly, but did not vanish.
Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You people really don't understand what leverage means," he muttered.
"If I didn't think this demon had another motive, I'd start giving negotiation lessons right now."
He looked toward the others.
"Hey, Bente—Mr. Solomon might need your help."
Bente blinked in surprise as Gideon leaned in and whispered something.
When the priest straightened, Bente's expression was pure disbelief.
"You want me to… threaten the demon? Me?"
"Relax," Gideon said, smiling faintly. "I'll be right behind you."
Seeing Bente still hesitate, Gideon added:
"Also, next time you're buying relics, I'll give you a discount."
That did it.
Temptation triumphed over fear.
Bente took a deep breath, walked up beside Roy, and—following Gideon's whispered instructions—grabbed the five-year holy water bottle… and drank half of it down.
"Now listen here!" he shouted toward the farmhouse,
"We've only got one bottle left, and if you don't let us through, I'll drink this one too!"
His heart pounded like a drum.
He had never done something this stupid.
He waited for the counterattack—but it never came.
The vapor simply parted, opening a path to the door.
Bente blinked.
"It… worked?"
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
"You sound surprised."
"Because I am!"
The group moved quickly toward the farmhouse, but the moment they reached the door, the miasma thickened again, blocking their path.
Bente tried shouting, threatening, even splashing a few more drops—but this time, the demon did not yield.
"Looks like it won't budge unless it sees the holy water again," Bente said, glancing back at Gideon.
But Gideon had been clear before they came here:
"If you're still within a demon's influence zone," he had said, "you throw the bottle away before you hand it over. Never give it what it wants."
Now Bente was caught between obedience and instinct.
Then, inside the house—
Ben screamed.
His small body convulsed violently on the floor.
His face turned ghostly pale, his limbs twisting at unnatural angles.
Even from where they stood, the air grew cold.
Bente's stomach dropped.
He knew the signs—possession.
The boy jerked upright, his eyes now vertical slits of molten amber.
A low, guttural voice erupted from his throat—one that definitely wasn't human.
"Filthy humans… I'll drag this boy's soul to hell myself!"
The voice was deep, warped, ancient.
The windows shook from the force of it.
"You can't stop me! I'll take him now—AAAH!"
A violent wind exploded through the farmhouse, rattling doors and splintering wood.
Seeing the situation spiral, Bente acted on pure instinct.
He yanked the cork free and flung the bottle's contents toward the boy.
Sizzle—
Smoke hissed from Ben's arms, and the stench of burnt corruption filled the air.
The possessed boy shrieked, black ichor pouring from his wounds.
"You dare use holy water on me!?" the voice bellowed.
"That weak brew can't purify me!"
Bente threw more.
The demon howled again, retreating slightly.
"Damn you…! So close—just a little more!"
The boy's face twisted in agony.
"You're lucky you don't have any stronger sanctified water, or you'd all be rotting in hell already!"
Despite the bravado, its gaze locked hungrily onto Bente's bottle—the last of the five-year holy water.
Bente raised it again, ready to pour—
—but a hand caught his wrist.
Gideon's hand.
He sighed, his tone dry.
"Honestly… do none of you ever listen?"
He gave the group a slow shake of his head.
"When I say don't feed the demon, I mean it."