My esoteric uncle Jules

Chapter 148 The Encounters at Old John's House
The air in the room grew increasingly cold, and the flame of the oil lamp flickered erratically.

The sound of flapping wings from the crack grew clearer, as if it were resounding directly in Jules' mind.

“Death…” Jules murmured, the scene of killing those assassins himself three days ago flashing through his mind.

At some point, killing and death had become something mundane to him.

Looking back now, the bloodshed and murderous intent of that moment seem to have turned into an invisible boulder, weighing heavily on my heart.

He took a deep breath:

"What do I do next?"

"Kill this corpse again, in the same way you killed someone that day."

Upon hearing this, Jules' eyes flickered slightly, and he said:
"it is good."

The lighthouse keeper felt around behind him for a moment and said:
Do you need this?

Jules looked down and saw a small knife.

"No need." He gently pushed it back.

Then, he slowly walked up to the ghoul corpse and looked down at it.

The lighthouse keeper craned his neck curiously, wanting to see how Jules planned to "kill" the corpse.

thump.

Suddenly, the corpse's head rolled to the ground without warning, making a dull thud as it hit the ground.

The lighthouse keeper paused, then swallowed hard.

He was completely unaware of when Jules had severed the corpse's head.

However, a scarlet line of blood had quietly appeared on the ground without anyone noticing.

Jules turned to the lighthouse keeper and said softly:

Is this enough?

The people he killed that night died in different ways, but in the end he chose the simplest one—

Beheading.

The lighthouse keeper nodded and said:

"Please step back a little."

Jules retreated to the doorway and observed the rest of the ceremony with great interest.

The lighthouse keeper carried an oil lamp in his hand. He walked to the corpse, held the lamp up to the severed area of ​​the corpse's head and neck, and gently shook it.

The lighthouse keeper's expression turned solemn, and his entire demeanor suddenly became somewhat unfathomable.
"Let us pay homage to the moth."

Upon hearing this, Jules felt as if the light in the entire room had dimmed slightly.

"The god who seeks among the trees in the woods, the god who flaps his wings within the skull, the god whose body is mottled."

The light from the oil lamp began to flicker, and even the flapping sounds from the chest cavity gradually weakened.

"Your power will transform death into a butterfly, and guide the new life!"

In an instant, the light of the oil lamp became brighter than ever before.

After a brief silence, the flapping sound from the corpse's chest cavity suddenly erupted, and countless moths swarmed together, bursting out like a black cloud.

Not only that, but even the severed head and neck of the corpse were being crawled out by a continuous stream of moths.

After they crawled out, they didn't fly around randomly. Instead, like thirsty people seeing water, they frantically rushed towards the lantern in the hands of the lighthouse keeper.

The light from the lantern seemed to have a fatal attraction for them—and in fact, it did.

Moths kept falling to the ground with a thud, but they still buzzed as they flew toward the oil lamp.

The last glimmer of light from the oil lamp was completely extinguished by the dense swarm of moths.

Even though he was mentally prepared, Jules still felt a chill run down his spine.

He can accept blood splattering everywhere and limbs scattered all over the ground, but he still can't quite accept this kind of scene.

After all the moths had landed on the lantern, the lighthouse keeper weighed the lantern in his hand and said:

"Sir, here are the moths you need. Please take them."

Jules suppressed his discomfort and took the lantern.

He held the lantern, feeling the slight tremor in his palm.

Moths swarmed onto the lamp's surface, their black and white wings trembling slightly, their scales falling like fine snowflakes, gleaming eerily in the dim light of the oil lamp.

Under the light, the black and white bodies and wings of these moths reflected dappled light.

The chill in the room hadn't dissipated, and the air was filled with the stench of decay and the pungent smell of herbs, making it somewhat suffocating.

The lighthouse keeper wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice low and deep:

"These moths are the raw material for black and white pigments. Crush their wings, mix them with their bodily fluids, and you can make the product."

Jules nodded, his gaze sweeping over the moths on the lantern. They had stopped fluttering, as if they had exhausted their life force, and quietly clung to the surface of the lantern.

If it weren't for the occasional fluttering of their wings, some moths would almost look like corpses.

"Corpse fluid? Is it from this corpse?"

“No,” the lighthouse keeper shook his head. “Any corpse will do, even if it’s not human.”

Seeing that Jules seemed somewhat embarrassed, he asked:
"If it's really inconvenient for you to get one, I have some ready-made ones here that you can use first."

"Then I'll trouble you." Jules nodded.

After a while, the lighthouse keeper brought a small bottle and handed it to Jules.

"It's just body fluid inside. Don't worry, it's been specially treated and there's no odor."

Jules took the small bottle, shook it twice to confirm its quality, then bowed to him and said in a deep voice:
"Thank you for your help. What kind of reward would you like?"

The lighthouse keeper shook his head and said:

“I don’t need any payment—if I had to ask, I would only have one request: to help the priest recover.”

"Help the priest..."

Jules smiled helplessly and said:

"I will try my best."

The sorceress died deep within the ghoul graveyard, which was inconvenient for him to enter, and for anyone else to go would be suicide.

Regarding the priest's poison, he could only take it one step at a time.

……

Having obtained the raw materials for black and white pigments, Jules naturally rushed back to his rented place and began to study the production of black and white pigments.

Making this pigment is not difficult; the challenge lies in cutting off the wings of these moths.

Fortunately, with the help of his abilities, he completed the task with ease.

Soon, all the moths that had been clinging to the lantern turned into cold corpses, while a small bowl of translucent black and white wings appeared in the wooden bowl beside it.

Boom, boom, boom.

He quickly crushed the wings into powder and poured them into the small bottle of corpse fluid.

When the two combine, a dramatic reaction occurs instantly.

The bodily fluids began to boil, bubbling and gurgling, but Jules still felt the same coldness as always.

The originally dark green liquid gradually turned into a thick black, but within the darkness, there was a faint hint of pure white.

Ultimately, black and white each occupied half of the area, yet they intertwined, forming a thick liquid with a unique aesthetic.

【Black and white pigment】

[Quality: Third-level rare item]

[Effect: Can be used for the Tier 3 advancement ceremony of the "Traveler" synthesis sequence, or for the Tier 3 advancement ceremony of the "Barber" synthesis sequence]

[Description: Made from the wings of rare lepidopteran insects hatched from the corpses of extraordinary individuals, crushed and processed. "Want to paint black? Want to paint white? This paint can do it all."] "Finally got it..."

Jules gripped the bottle of black and white paint tightly in his hand, feeling as if he had taken a giant step closer to his goal.

Once he obtains the [residue of the degraded worm], he can attempt to advance to the third tier.

So, his next task was to return to London.

There lies his future, and even more so, the people and things he misses.

He turned the black and white paint into cards, put them away, and left the room.

Although the priests couldn't help for the time being, and entering the Silent House might not necessarily allow him to return to London, he still really wanted to go in and take a look.

To defeat that evil spirit, you don't necessarily need any complicated rituals—sometimes, the power is enough to crush everything.

Jules couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly when he thought of the power of the lantern that Uriel had displayed that day.

【The Lamp of Exorcism】

[Quality: Third-level rare item]

[Effect: By igniting the scales of a moth, it can dispel all spirits whose power is not higher than its own.]

[Description: When the light shines down, the shadows also fade away.]

He didn't believe that the evil spirit lingering at the entrance of the Silent Residence could have the strength of a fourth-tier being—otherwise, there probably wouldn't have been any survivors who spread the news of the existence of an evil spirit there.

"...Let's go ask Uriel for one." Jules really didn't want to run into that guy, but it was the most effective solution at the moment.

Although it was now completely dark, for those adventurers, the nightlife was just beginning.

For these desperate fugitives who live hand to mouth, staying out all night is not just an empty phrase.

……

However, Jules stopped halfway through.

He gazed at the familiar little house in the distance, his eyes flickering with emotion.

"Old John..."

This is old John's home, and the place where he first came into contact with Blanker.

Three days ago, he brought out the body of Old John's daughter, and after taking care of other matters, he asked someone else to bring the body over.

It had been quite some time since he had seen old John.

Since I'm passing by this time, I might as well catch up with him.

Although Old John's actions since returning from the cemetery have puzzled him and even displeased him somewhat.

But the other party had, after all, "saved" him, helping him to establish himself in the land of Blancco and providing him with that fragment of the gravedigger's page.

Thinking of this, Jules slowly walked forward and knocked on the door of old John's house.

dong dong dong.

After a long while, no one answered.

Asleep? He was a little surprised; it hadn't been dark for very long.
Based on the time he stayed at Old John's house, they were used to going to bed later.

He leaned close to the window, trying hard to see through the darkness to the view inside.

This sight made him frown.

"Why is all the food on the table moldy?"

The plate was covered in dried sauce and crawling with unidentified insects, making Jules smell the stench almost through the window.

A worn-out coat hung on the back of the chair; it wasn't dusty, but there were cobwebs clinging to it.

He took a step back and knocked on the door again, his voice louder:
"Old John?"

Still no one answered.

The cold moonlight shone on the stone path in front of old John's house, casting a lonely shadow on Leigh's figure.

The night wind howled softly, mingling with the roar of the waves, causing the windowpanes to creak slightly.

Jules's eyes darkened slightly as he tried to push the door open.

The door wasn't sturdy; it creaked open, revealing a dark crack.

The air inside was cold, carrying an ominous dampness, like the chilly mist drifting from the depths of a cemetery.

He stepped into the house, the wooden planks under his feet creaking softly.

Moonlight slanted in through the doorway, illuminating the clutter in the corner of the room—a pile of dusty books and a broken pottery jar.

Jules crouched down, picked up a piece of paper, and found it covered in messy handwriting, resembling old John's, but the content was illegible.

"Where is he?" Jules muttered to himself, his gaze sweeping across the room.

The bedroom door was ajar, darkness seeped out from the crack, and a faint smell of blood lingered in the air.

"Has something happened..." His eyes didn't change much, but he became a little more cautious.

Could it be that the tragedy was caused by Old John's daughter "Mary" turning into a ghoul?
But he had repeatedly warned her to be careful, to tie Mary's limbs and gag her, just to prevent her from not being completely dead.

However, the current situation has still occurred.

He pushed open the bedroom door, the wooden door creaking softly.

The bedroom was dimly lit, receiving little moonlight, but enough to see the messy bed, with dried black bloodstains on the bedding, emitting a pungent stench.

On the bedside table, an extinguished oil lamp lay askew, its oil spilled all over the floor.

Jules' gaze fell on a wooden cabinet to the side—the cabinet door was closed, but there were several scratches of varying depths, as if it had been scratched by sharp claws.

Upon seeing the size of those familiar claw marks, Jules was immediately reminded of the rotting face in the ghoul graveyard.

However, these are not the point.

The key point is that he actually heard the sound of blood from living creatures inside this wooden cabinet!
Jules stepped forward and tried to open the cabinet door.

The cabinet door jammed, making a muffled thud.

But suddenly, the cabinet door opened by itself.

The person who appeared before him stunned Jules into standing still—it was the same boy from before.

"You..." Jules was about to speak, but before his mouth could even form a shape, the boy nervously raised his hand and made a shushing gesture.

Jules understood his lip reading:
"Do not talk."

He was very puzzled by this.

What happened?
Just as he was trying to pull the boy closer and find a way to communicate through writing, he suddenly heard very faint footsteps behind him.

Although it was slight, it made the hairs on his back stand on end instantly.

He stiffly turned his head, and behind him appeared Mary's familiar figure.

The difference was that Mary at this time was vastly different from the Mary he remembered.

All the wounds on his body had healed, his skin had become even paler, and his claws gleamed with a chilling light.

The power emanating from him, belonging to the principles of winter, was far more terrifying than what Jules had seen before.

"What's going on..." Jules' pupils contracted slightly.

Suddenly, Mary let out a scream without warning, but instead of rushing forward as he expected, she lunged toward something behind her.

There, a mouse just scurried out, touched something, and made a slight noise.

"Squeak!"

The squeaking and screaming of the rats had barely begun when they stopped, leaving only the sound of flesh being torn apart.

Mary quickly tore the rat into pieces, swallowed it whole, and resumed her aimless wandering.

At this moment, Jules finally understood why the boy had asked him to keep quiet.

The ghoul before us is searching for all the "sounds"!
(End of this chapter)