Chapter 117 – The Holy Oil Test
As soon as Professor Ritchie's words fell, the classroom erupted in chatter.
"Three-year-grade Holy Oil? The academy's being generous today."
"It's just a single drop. Probably worth a few thousand dollars."
"That's still insanely expensive! Not everyone's dad is loaded."
"Then maybe you should reflect on why your dad's income is so low."
"So you're saying your dad's rich?"
"Nope. Dirt poor. I'm just good at talking."
"You little—"
Aside from jokes about the reward, several students voiced unease about the liquid inside the glass jar.
"When you're out there facing real exorcisms,"
Ritchie said, scanning the room,
"you'll face much worse than this."
His tone grew heavier.
"You'll deal with vomit, blood… sometimes even human organs."
A few students turned pale.
"To save the possessed," Ritchie continued,
"an exorcist must be willing to sacrifice."
He paused for effect, then tapped the glass jar with his finger.
"There was once a priest named Damien Carlos.
He deliberately drew a demon into himself—then hurled his own body down a staircase to drive it back into Hell."
The class fell silent.
"If any of you can't handle something this small,"
he said evenly,
"you're free to withdraw right now."
No one moved.
The air was still.
Then, a calm voice broke the silence.
"Professor Ritchie, if the Holy Oil fails to resist the corruption,"
Silas spoke up,
"what's the proper countermeasure?"
Ritchie's brow lifted.
He knew the boy well—arrogant, smug—but undeniably gifted.
"Excellent question."
He snapped his fingers.
"Safety protocols must always come first."
Uncapping the jar, Ritchie dipped his fingers directly into the black, viscous liquid.
Within seconds, his skin began to rot and turn pitch black.
A collective gasp swept the room.
But Ritchie didn't flinch.
He calmly drew a small vial of Holy Water from his pocket, pressed a cross to his chest, and began to recite from scripture.
A faint hiss filled the air as tendrils of dark smoke evaporated from his fingers, leaving behind smooth, healed skin.
"As long as I'm here," he said quietly, raising his hand,
"you're safe."
His sleeve slid back just enough to reveal the silver cross embroidery of a certified Vatican exorcist.
The students stared in awe.
"Professor Ritchie," Silas said, standing, "I'd like to volunteer first."
Heads turned instantly. Everyone was eager to see the academy's star pupil in action.
"Go ahead," Ritchie said, stepping aside.
Silas straightened his robe, exuding confidence, and walked to the front of the class.
Even before the test began, he had already captured every pair of eyes in the room.
"First, anoint your arm with the Holy Oil," Ritchie instructed,
"then focus your mind—feel how your body responds."
Silas nodded and produced a small vial from inside his robe. Only a few precious drops glimmered within.
"Is that—?"
"It is! One-year-grade oil!"
"He's got this in the bag."
"Quiet down," Ritchie ordered.
Silas smeared the Holy Oil across his forearm and closed his eyes.
Moments later, a faint smile curved his lips—
a man certain of his victory.
Then, under the class's collective gaze, he plunged his hand into the glass jar.
One second.
Two seconds.
For a moment, nothing happened—then his expression snapped.
"Ah—ahhh!"
Silas's face contorted in agony.
Black veins burst across his arm, twisting like living snakes beneath the skin.
His fingers curled unnaturally, cracking at the joints.
"Stay calm," Ritchie commanded.
"Channel the Holy Oil's power."
Silas tried—he really did—but the darkness surged faster than he could contain it.
With a strangled cry, he collapsed, writhing on the floor.
Ritchie stepped forward instantly, sprinkling Holy Water as he recited an exorcism prayer.
A bright light flashed, and the corruption dispersed like smoke.
When it was over, Silas lay trembling, his once-pristine face streaked with tears and snot, all arrogance stripped away.
"That… that was brutal."
"But Professor Ritchie didn't even flinch when he touched it…"
"Maybe Silas was using fake oil."
Ritchie checked his watch.
"Twenty seconds," he noted aloud.
"Not bad."
For beginners, even five seconds was impressive.
He turned back to the room.
"Anyone else?"
No one raised a hand.
"Then I'll choose."
A collective shiver passed through the students.
Bente felt his stomach drop.
"There's no way… Thirty people in here. The odds are tiny…"
"Bente Gavin," Ritchie read from his list.
"Are you present?"
"Y-yes, sir."
Bente's heart sank.
He raised his hand stiffly, his face drained of color.
This was it. He was doomed to make a fool of himself in front of everyone.
He trudged to the front, clutching the painfully expensive vial of Holy Oil he'd bought.
Following Ritchie's instructions, he applied it to his arm—
and blinked in surprise.
"Huh… that actually feels… nice?"
A warm, soothing current flowed beneath his skin.
He could feel pure light spreading through his arm, fusing seamlessly with his body.
And then—
a faint change.
His skin felt… harder?
Like something beneath it had solidified.
Could this be what successful absorption felt like?
He wasn't sure.
He'd never used Holy Oil before, but everyone said it usually took time to take effect.
"Can you feel the Holy Power?"
Ritchie frowned when Bente didn't respond right away.
"If it hasn't worked yet, you may sit out the test," the professor offered.
Bente shook his head.
"No, sir. I… I'd like to try."
Ritchie raised an eyebrow, then nodded.
"Very well."
Bente inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves—then reached toward the jar.
Ritchie already had his vial of Holy Water ready in hand.
Unlike Silas, who had access to high-grade Holy Oil,
Professor Ritchie expected this new student wouldn't last long.
But what happened next stunned everyone.
The moment Bente's fingers touched the corrupted liquid, his hand began to change—
not with decay or black veins,
but with a surge of radiant light.
A plume of white mist burst from the jar, hissing softly like steam meeting sunlight.
Within seconds, the demonic taint vanished completely.
"W–wait… that's it?"
Bente blinked in disbelief.
He didn't feel any pain.
No burning, no nausea—nothing.
He hadn't even managed to pull his hand back yet.
Curious, he tried again.
And again.
Each time, the same thing happened:
the darkness dissolved the instant it met his touch.
To the others, it looked as if he were eagerly dunking his hand into evil for fun.
Silas, still pale from his own ordeal, stared in disbelief.
He'd been waiting for Bente to fail.
If he wasn't the only one humiliated, at least it wouldn't sting so much.
But now—
this idiot who barely scraped through entrance exams was fine.
"Why isn't anything happening to him?! Does that make me look weak?"
Silas's jaw tightened until his teeth ached.
Meanwhile, the entire class was erupting in astonishment.
"No way! He actually purified the corruption!"
"Who is this guy? He's just a first-year!"
"Even Professor Ritchie didn't do it that effortlessly!"
"Maybe he got his hands on century-grade Holy Oil!"
The classroom buzzed like a hive.
Compared to Silas's agonized screaming, Bente's calmness made the feat all the more unbelievable.
Without realizing it, the other students began cheering for him.
Even Ritchie's eyes glimmered with surprise.
He was the only one who'd clearly seen what happened.
The moment the taint touched Bente's arm, pure Holy energy condensed around it—
forming a faint, translucent barrier that kept the corruption at bay.
That kind of reaction only occurred when a body had completely assimilated the Holy Oil.
"Incredible," Ritchie thought, studying the boy.
"A natural affinity for divine energy… I'll have to report this to the dean."
Bente, of course, had no idea.
He'd just earned himself a spot on the academy's special development list.
---
The rest of the session went on without surprises.
A few students managed to absorb the oil, but none lasted as long as Silas.
And other than Ritchie himself, only Bente succeeded in fully neutralizing the corruption.
He was awarded the promised prize—
a single drop of three-year-grade Holy Oil.
But Bente knew the truth.
"It wasn't me," he thought, clutching the vial.
"It was that shop owner's oil.
He wasn't lying… it really works."
All his earlier frustration melted away, replaced by a quiet thrill.
He actually felt like he'd struck gold.
"I have to go back there tomorrow."
---
The Next Day
As soon as morning classes ended, Bente sprinted across the street,
his bag stuffed with cash.
He was determined to buy more—
especially that miraculous two-week-aged Holy Oil!
The sign over the shop read the same as before:
"House of Rest — Holy Goods and Blessings."
The door was already open, a faint herbal fragrance drifting out.
Just as he stepped inside, he heard a familiar voice.
"Judy! Long time no see.
What are you doing here?"