Chapter 5: The Book of Greed, Spirit of Vengeance

Wayne remained silent, swallowing hard to steady himself. He focused all his attention on William's hand, trying to make sense of the brief flash of light. It disappeared so quickly that he almost thought it was a hallucination.

When he first heard the urban legends, an unsettling premonition had arisen in his mind—this world was far more complicated than it appeared.

The events unfolding now were proof of his suspicions.

It was bad. As an ordinary man, Wayne had felt the world's malice pressing down on him. He wished more than anything that everyone could be as ordinary as he was. But then, a thought flickered in his mind: unless... he was no longer ordinary.

The Book of Greed!

In that moment, Wayne felt an overwhelming desire to open the cursed book.

"Who left you with that brand?" William's voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

Abel's face twisted with confusion. After a long pause, his eyes widened as if he'd remembered something. But as he began to speak, the death cultist mark on his hand began to shift. The inverted triangle's edges sprouted four spider-like tendrils, writhing like the legs of a black spider.

The symbol dug deep into his flesh and soul, far beyond a mere tattoo. Eight spider legs began to spread, the venom coursing through his veins at a visible speed, rapidly overtaking his entire arm.

Abel's body tensed in agony, his features contorting in pain. It was clear he was trying to fight against it, but the more he struggled, the more intense the pain became. Breathing seemed almost impossible.

William's grip tightened on Abel's wrist, his fingers like iron pincers, and with another burst of warm light, the spider legs receded, vanishing into the darkness. Abel's pain began to subside, his body going limp, returning to an almost catatonic state. His voice was reduced to incoherent muttering, his words barely understandable as he babbled about a gathering in the warehouse district.

His knowledge of the Death Cult was limited. He wasn't even an active member—he had been misled and caught up by the followers of the Goddess of Death. Abel, frail and nearly lifeless from years of labor, had been drawn in by the cult's ranks, given a drink of black rum, and branded with the death mark after it was too late to escape.

His information was mostly useless, but one point stood out: the warehouse district was a key location. With William's pressing, Abel shared several names, one of which caught their attention—Bruto, a dockworker.

Lainer's wife, Abel, Bruto—the connections were undeniable. It was highly probable that the Death Walker's influence on Mrs. Lainer originated from Bruto. Even if Bruto wasn't a true Death Walker, he was still a crucial lead.

"We're heading to the warehouse district," Veronica declared, her voice firm as she cradled Monica in her arms, heading toward the door.

William knocked Abel unconscious, draping a blanket over him, and quickly followed Veronica.

Wayne hesitated for a moment. His instincts screamed at him that this mission would be dangerous, and that regret would come with it, but at the same time, not going was bound to bring even greater regret. The dangerous world he was in, the mystery of the Book of Greed—it all felt like a whirlwind pulling him into its depths.

"Are we really going to the warehouse district now?" Wayne asked, glancing at his watch. "It's getting late. By the time we get there, it'll be dark."

The time lost in traveling from the docks to Abel's apartment, and now back toward the warehouse district, had caused a delay. Wayne was reluctant to face the ominous night of London, but deep down, he knew there was no turning back.

William, reading Wayne's thoughts, slapped him on the shoulder with surprising force. The warmth of his hand was almost overwhelming, and he squeezed it a little too tightly. "You've already figured it out, right? Yes, Veronica and I are both mages. The darkness is scary, but the moonlight will guide us. We'll be fine."

Wayne blinked, taken aback. "You? A mage? But... I thought only people with special talent could do magic. Could I... become a mage?"

"You can, but first, you need to have faith." William's tone turned serious.

Wayne blinked. "Faith? I don't—"

Before he could protest further, Veronica interrupted coldly. "Shut up, William. Don't drag ordinary people into this."

William didn't back down. "I know, but Wayne has already been dragged in. He reeks of death, the Death Walkers are already after him..." His voice trailed off as he noticed the glare Veronica gave him.

Wayne's eyes widened. "What do you mean 'reeks of death'? What's this about Death Walkers? You need to explain yourself more clearly."

"Don't worry," William said, his voice softening. "Once we take out the Death Cult's base in the warehouse district, you'll be safe."

He slapped Wayne's shoulder again, and as Wayne flinched, William sent a burst of light into his body. Wayne barely registered the warmth before they were on their way.

In the taxi, Wayne kept quiet, his eyes closed as though resting. But when the others were distracted, he secretly flipped open the Book of Greed.

It was open! The book had accepted him!

William hadn't taught Wayne magic, but he'd placed a simple defensive spell on him. It was a basic application of magic and belief, a layer of protection against the death threats closing in on Wayne.

Wayne didn't realize this, but as soon as the light entered his body, the Book of Greed seemed to awaken. It absorbed him like a key turning in a lock, allowing Wayne to begin reading its contents.

At first, the book appeared mostly blank. But the first page had his name clearly inscribed. The bad news was, this book was nothing like the code he had originally written. It was utterly foreign to him.

Wayne, frustrated, began to recall the code he had worked on. He had set up so many attributes, boosts, and settings—extra life, attribute immunity, god-like powers. One feature, Sacrifice, allowed the player to give up another's items and freeze their account for seven days.

It was meant to balance the game, to maintain order, but now, all those settings were distorted. The Sacrifice feature was now a contract, not a sacrifice of life but an exchange of bonds, a binding agreement. Wayne tried to form a contract with Veronica, but it failed. He then tried with William, but that failed too. Even Monica, the black cat, couldn't be bound by the contract.

Frustrated, Wayne finally realized there was someone who could be contracted—a spirit!

The blank pages were filled with crimson text, a contract forming before him. It was a spirit of vengeance—an entity that had been wronged and was now seeking to serve him. Wayne didn't hesitate, mentally signing the contract.

As the ink settled, the contract materialized:

"The humble supplicant, the vengeful spirit, I hear your cries...

Under the sacred witness of this contract, everything you own belongs to me. You will retain the past but lose the future...

You are reborn with vengeance, to strike down in my name, for your master, for your god. You shall wield the sword of vengeance."

Wayne's heart skipped a beat. This didn't sound like the work of a good spirit.