Chapter 116 – The First Customer
Creak—
Bente pushed open the old wooden door.
At once, a faintly sweet fragrance filled his nose — fresh, clean, almost soothing.
Even his tense mind began to relax.
Inside, the place looked… strangely aged.
The wooden counters were worn smooth with use, the floorboards slightly yellowed with time.
It didn't look new at all — in fact, it looked like it had been standing for decades.
Bente frowned, stepped back outside, and glanced at the sign above the door.
"Grand Opening — House of Rest."
He couldn't quite understand the phrase, but the English words below made it clear enough.
So this really was a new shop.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped inside again, eyes drifting over the interior.
Near the entrance were several round tables, each cluttered with glass vials filled with shimmering liquid.
Further in, there were a few small rooms sectioned off with white curtains — private booths, perhaps.
"Hello? Anyone here?" Bente called softly.
---
In the back room.
A stone workbench glowed in the dim light.
Over a small furnace, Gideon Black was refining Holy Oil.
He dropped a segment of the Hive Queen's leg into the flames.
At once, the fire flared high, releasing a faint, strangely pleasant aroma.
It was a trick Sadie had taught him —
by burning monster materials together with hellebore, aconite bark, and eyebright grass,
one could neutralize the creature's toxins and enhance the oil's potency during refinement.
The resulting Holy Oil would always be of superior quality.
Just as he was adjusting the flame, he heard a voice from the storefront.
Someone had entered.
Wiping his hands on a cloth, Gideon stepped out.
"What do you need?"
He took a seat behind the counter — if one could call it that.
There was no register, no devices, no polished surfaces.
Just scattered papers, half-empty bottles, and bowls of clear water.
It looked less like a shop counter and more like the workspace of an alchemist or priest mid-ritual.
---
Bente swallowed nervously.
The man before him was clearly a priest —
his robe bore the Church's insignia, though it was smudged with ash and ink.
Both sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
Everything about him — his untidy look, his casual tone, his messy workspace —
stood in stark contrast to the immaculate relic shops elsewhere on the street.
Those places had polished marble counters, rows of gleaming crucifixes,
and owners who looked more like bishops than merchants.
Bente considered retreating… but the priest was already looking at him.
And since there were no other customers, leaving now would be rude.
"Uh… I want to buy some high-grade Holy Oil."
Gideon pointed casually.
"One-year bottles are on the table. The rest are in the cabinet to your left."
Bente froze.
He stepped closer, extending his senses toward the bottles.
Indeed—he could feel it.
The faint but distinct radiance of year-aged Holy Oil.
"He said… 'the rest are in the cabinet'? Could it be…?"
Heart pounding, Bente approached the wooden cabinet—
and as soon as he opened it, a wave of sacred energy washed over him.
These bottles were even older!
There were vials here that felt decades matured.
"It's real…!"
But his excitement quickly gave way to dismay.
He didn't have nearly enough money.
Originally, he'd only mentioned "high-grade" as an excuse to leave politely—
after all, only the major relic merchants could possibly stock century oils.
Who would've thought this shabby little place actually had them?
---
Meanwhile, Gideon was watching him closely.
The boy's furtive glances and hesitant movements put him on edge.
"A thief? Has the Church really fallen so far…"
He quietly picked up a crucifix from the counter, just in case.
"So," Gideon said mildly, "which one do you want?"
"Uh… I… I'll take…"
Bente stammered, cheeks reddening.
Finally, he blurted out—
"I-I'll take a bottle of one-week Holy Oil!"
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Gideon's expression froze.
He twitched slightly.
A minute ago this kid had barged in asking for high-grade oil—
he'd thought a big spender had finally walked through his door.
And now… a bottle of one-week-grade?
He didn't even keep such low-quality stuff!
Still, after a brief pause, Gideon's brow furrowed thoughtfully.
Wait. He did have something like that.
Yesterday, during a failed refining test, he'd made a weak batch—about two weeks old.
He'd tossed it aside in disgust.
"Hold on," he said, rising. "I think I've got one lying around."
He disappeared into the back.
Bente could hear clattering and muttering from beyond the curtain.
"Don't tell me… even two-week oil is rare these days?" he whispered nervously, wiping his forehead.
After several minutes, Gideon emerged holding a small glass vial.
"Handmade Holy Oil. Twenty-five hundred dollars."
Bente's eyes bulged.
"T-Two thousand five hundred?! That's robbery!"
Freshly made Holy Oil usually cost five hundred at most—
maybe fifteen hundred if aged for a few weeks.
This was daylight theft!
But Gideon only smiled faintly.
"Don't be fooled by the price.
This batch was made using a unique refining method—
far purer and more potent than anything you'll find outside."
He wasn't lying.
His refinement process really did elevate the oil's efficiency severalfold.
Still, Bente stared skeptically.
He had never heard of such a method before.
But after already turning the man down once…
he didn't quite dare to refuse again.
If I don't buy it, what will he think of me?
Bente's thoughts raced.
He'll definitely think I'm just some broke fool! If word of that spreads at the academy, I'll be ruined!
He could already picture his classmates whispering, sneering behind his back.
Forget it! I'll buy it!
With a pained grimace, he pulled out the money and shoved it across the counter.
"Welcome back anytime," Gideon said with a genial smile.
Bente forced a smile, his heart bleeding.
Even if I get possessed by a demon, I'm never coming back here again!
---
The Next Day — Saint Dey Exorcism Academy
Training Room "St. Peter"
By morning, the training hall was already bustling with students.
Each held a small satchel containing cleaning tools and a vial of Holy Oil for today's lesson.
"Evel, what grade of oil did you get?"
"Only a month-aged one. You?"
"You're lucky! I checked half the street yesterday and only found a one-week batch. The Colon Brothers' Relic Hall was selling older stuff, but the prices were insane!"
"Then you're still doing better than Joni—she only managed to buy a freshly made bottle this morning. She's doomed to rank last again!"
The students laughed and traded complaints.
The entire conversation revolved around Holy Oil—its age, its purity, its price.
Bente slipped quietly into the classroom and sat in a corner, looking utterly dejected.
"So? Did you manage to buy one?"
It was his friend, Zal, leaning over from the next seat.
Bente nodded.
"Two weeks."
"That's not bad at all! A lot of people couldn't even get that!"
Zal patted him on the shoulder.
"Mine's three weeks old, and it cost me eighteen hundred dollars! The shopkeeper was a total scammer."
Bente froze.
The words hit him like a dagger.
"Three weeks… for eighteen hundred…" he muttered, jaw tightening.
"Yeah… that is robbery."
"Exactly! The Church really ought to start regulating this market," Zal sighed, oblivious to his friend's turmoil.
---
A murmur swept through the classroom.
"Hey, look! Silas is here!"
"He was the only one who successfully purified a possessed subject last session."
"I heard the academy even rewarded him with five drops of one-year Holy Oil!"
"There's no doubt he'll be top again today."
The door opened, and Silas strolled in with an easy smile.
His short blond hair gleamed under the lights, and his emerald-green eyes seemed to glow with quiet confidence.
He nodded to the room, basking in the admiration like it was his birthright.
Then his gaze landed on Bente.
"Hey, Bente! Did you manage to get your hands on any oil?"
"I happened to pick up a bottle of three-month grade," he said lightly, slipping a hand into his bag.
"But since the academy just rewarded me with some one-year oil, this one's practically spare."
Bente and Zal shared a look, rolling their eyes.
This guy never misses a chance to show off.
"Appreciate the offer, Silas, but we've already got ours," Zal replied politely, forcing a smile.
Better to stay on good terms with the prodigy bound for the Church's upper ranks.
"That's a pity," Silas shrugged, his smile faint but smug.
As he moved away, the golden embroidery on his sleeve caught the light — the insignia of a district-level exorcism academy.
It was a mark few earned, especially not in their first year.
Even here, in a mere parish division, it was a rare and enviable symbol of power.
---
Bente was about to quietly change seats when the door opened again.
A man in a clerical coat and black-rimmed glasses stepped inside — Professor Kay Ritchie, their instructor for Holy Techniques.
He looked to be in his forties, calm but sharp-eyed.
"Good morning, young exorcists," Ritchie said, setting a glass jar on the desk.
"Today's lesson: the application and defensive properties of Holy Oil."
He lifted the jar.
Inside was a thick, dark fluid.
"This is diluted corrosive residue extracted from the bodies of the possessed.
Don't worry — it's been purified enough for safe contact."
The students leaned in, faces pale but fascinated.
"In a moment, each of you will anoint yourselves with Holy Oil," the professor continued.
"Then you'll place a drop of this substance on your hand."
"If your oil successfully resists the corruption, you'll be rewarded with one drop of three-year Holy Oil."
A wave of excitement swept through the room.
"And," Ritchie added with a grin, "top performers will also earn extra credit this semester."
Dozens of eager eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"So then…" he said, scanning the rows.
"Who would like to go first?"
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