Chapter 12: The Factory, the Evil God, and the Witch!

It was already deep into the night before anyone realized it.

When Zorn returned to the second floor, the old butler, Grank, was waiting outside the bedroom door.

"After Mr. Bevis left through the back gate, I went to the front, and two patrol officers were waiting there," Grank reported. "They did not dare to break in. Afterwards, as you instructed, those officers were quite pleased to accept your generous greetings."

Once Grank finished, Zorn did not hide anything from him, sharing brief information about the stocks and the robbers—naturally, attributing it all to his "supernatural friend."

Satisfied yet remorseful, Grank sighed and blamed himself. "If... if only I had been more careful, perhaps these dangerous fugitives would never have discovered us."

"This is not your fault, Uncle Grank," Zorn said slowly. "Perhaps this is simply a curse from the sea. We reap abundant wealth, and in return, we must bear the heavy cost, must we not? Fortunately... this time, they paid the price with their lives."

Grank started to say something but stopped. He glanced at Zorn's bedroom and whispered, "Vanessa is a good girl."

He did not ask about the whereabouts of the two bodies. Judging by the events of the past few days, Master Zorn, who had already come into contact with those mysterious powers, was clearly capable of handling such matters himself. Master Zorn was no longer the person he used to be; he was confident and decisive. Clearly, those mysterious and powerful supernatural forces were taking effect.

***

Returning to the bedroom, the gas lamp bloomed with an orange glow, illuminating the room. Grank had thoughtfully covered the bloodstains on the floor with a rug; he would clean it properly tomorrow.

"It is truly better to be an aristocrat," Zorn thought to himself as he pushed open the window to let the lingering scent of incense and the faint smell of blood dissipate. He gazed out at the streets, manors, villas, and castles of the wealthy district—symbols of status, wealth, power, and prestige. "If this were an ordinary middle-class family, they would have been besieged by patrol officers and magistrates by now. They would have forcefully broken down the doors and windows, determined not to let a single gunshot go unpunished. After all, firearms are controlled goods that require permits, and such incidents are easy achievements for them. But as an aristocrat with an independent manor and castle, those officers and magistrates wouldn't even dare to intrude recklessly."

Zorn walked to the foot of the bed and looked up.

The maid, Vanessa, was lying on his bed, fast asleep. Her cheeks were flushed and glowing, like a delicious fruit ripe for the picking. After a brief inspection, Zorn bypassed the ornate wooden bed and pushed open the door. He intended to go to the study to read and ponder the "supernatural potions" that could help him earn money. Different medicinal materials and components had varying properties, so the formulas naturally differed slightly. He needed to figure them out as soon as possible.

As for the easily available Vanessa, he had no plans to pick that fruit just yet. Her ultimate destiny was not yet settled. For now, this naive and ignorant girl did not know what she was facing; in other words, she was not ready. If he forced her into a position that did not belong to her before she was prepared, the one who would ultimately pay the price would be Zorn himself. He did not want a bullet he had fired into the dark to strike his own brow years later.

***

Early the next morning, Zorn pushed open the window. He took a deep breath of the fresh morning air, thick with mist. In the air, there were faint traces that only those with keen senses or those who were supernatural could detect: the smell of thick, pitch-black smoke belched from the soaring chimneys of the steam factories.

The western and southern suburbs were home to a vast number of steam factories that devoured massive quantities of coal and raw materials before spewing out finished goods. This large-scale steam industry was the foundation of Ogran City's prosperity. Fortunately, it was summer. Located in a subtropical monsoon climate zone, Ogran City enjoyed warm, moist winds from the ocean that blew the city's smog inland.

Once winter arrived, however, the situation would reverse. The cold northwestern storms would act like the palm of a terrifying demon, gathering the thick, toxic smog over Ogran City and choking every citizen until they could barely breathe. In the past, every winter, Baron Leon would take Zorn to the Ainon Plantation to escape the dreaded Great Winter Smog. It was a vast castle-plantation and the primary source of the Korick family's funding. But now, it was plagued by mist and the "Lost Ones" within it. Fortunately, Zorn knew that the mist would dissipate in a year or two. By then, the fertile plantation would flourish once more.

"Resting for only two or three hours and still feeling refreshed—this is the physique of a supernatural being," Zorn thought, stretching his limbs. "Moreover... after this battle and the sacrifice, the Pugilist's source energy is stabilizing, and my spirituality is growing. At this rate, I can be promoted to a second-level Pugilist in just a few months."

He looked out at Ogran City—a place brimming with wealth, power, and hidden supernatural forces—and began his day's work. Today was Friday. Zorn’s classes were all self-study, so he did not need to go to school.

During breakfast, the way Vanessa looked at Zorn was filled with a mixture of shyness and adoration. Waking up in her master's bed amidst the crisp chirping of birds, she believed she had done what was expected of her. The morning passed in silence, punctuated only by the rustling of turning textbook pages.

***

Near noon, Zorn finished his studies and closed his eyes for a brief nap.

"After becoming a supernatural, both my memory and comprehension have improved significantly," he mused. "And this is just the [Pugilist] sequence, which is not particularly focused on spirituality. Once I complete the inheritance of the [Evil Spirit Warlock], the effects will be even more staggering."

At the same time, information regarding the [Supernatural Potions] he had been researching lately surfaced in his mind.

[Holy Healing: Glimmering Fluorescent Agent]

This was the first supernatural potion Zorn intended to mass-produce. It possessed incredibly potent healing effects, even for those with supernatural abilities. If Zorn had possessed this agent, his previous injuries would not even have required a full night to heal completely. This was the powerful nature of supernatural potions.

Using potions to earn money was only one aspect. More importantly, owning his own steam factories and having a large number of workers toiling for him fit perfectly with the characteristics of "enslavement" and "exploitation." Therefore, every factory would be the root from which the [Evil Spirit] grew and a hotbed for the [Evil God] to thrive. These factories would also serve as the perfect camouflage for the [Evil God]'s power.

This was something Zorn, as an [Evil Spirit], desperately needed. As his power grew, he required enough large and powerful steam factories to mask his presence. Every steam factory that practiced "exploitation" would incubate elements of suffering, disaster, anger, death, and resentment. Some of the more unscrupulous capitalist factories might even give birth to vengeful spirits or evil ghosts.

"Every capitalist is a potential Evil God!"

This was a famous line from a renowned writer in the *Steam Daily*, written after exposing the dark secrets of the steam factories; it had been widely circulated. That same writer was later found dead, having committed suicide after being shot eight times in the back.

For Zorn, he decided he would simply improve the workers' benefits slightly and reduce the exploitation. In that case, those major capitalists and factory owners would become a wall standing before the Evil God.

The [Holy Healing: Glimmering Fluorescent Agent] was a very good starting point. But the problem was that he had not found the "Purple-Blood Fluorescent Grass" among the available materials. Zorn, of course, knew exactly where to find it. It grew in the deep valleys of the Saint-Cahier Mist Plateau, in the region associated with the legends of witches.

"It seems..." Zorn stood up and stretched his body, which had become stiff from sitting for so long. "I must engage in some negotiations with 'Granny Spirit-Witch.' After all... she is the Bishop of the 'Highland Witch' sect."