Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

Durin was truly innocent in this matter. This morning, while cooking, he added just a drop of his blood to season the dish for the little girl.


And just from that one drop of blood, the girl burst into flames after taking just a single sip of the soup.


"How are you going to explain this to her great-grandfather!" Yala had watched Durin cook and even reminded him at the time, thinking it wouldn't be too outrageous—after all, people eat chili peppers not for the spiciness, but for the pain.


What he hadn't anticipated was that Mishel would self-immolate after just one sip of the soup, engulfed in pure white flames. The table and chairs remained unscathed, even the spoon in her hand didn't melt, but she herself would have been thoroughly chilled if Durin hadn't promptly treated her with the Spell Formula of Negative Energy.


Chapter 317: The Black Library Curator