After clearing out that utterly pathetic millennia-old creeper...
While still staring at the now-unrecognizable pile of flesh that had once been a monster, the police began questioning the teachers and students on the bus about what had happened.
Their first three questions cut straight to the point:
Why did they encounter this creature?
What exactly is this creature?
Why were they attacked?
Naturally, none of the students or teachers could give a clear answer. Only the cheerleading captain, who had some limited knowledge of the events, was able to offer a rough explanation.
Even with most of the information missing, the police didn't push them too hard. After all, everyone on the bus was either studying or working at Grint High School—locals of Briarwood County, for the most part.
Orsaga, however, wasn't so lucky.
As a stranger with striking and unusual features, he immediately became the subject of more thorough questioning.
Facing the calm and composed man before him, the deputy chief of police quickly realized that Orsaga wasn't someone who would be easy to get answers from.
Flipping through his documents with a frown, the deputy asked, "So what exactly are you doing here?"
"I'm not really sure," Orsaga replied casually.
"This afternoon, I sort of 'woke up' and found myself by the side of Route 9. I walked for a bit and stumbled upon this school bus. I didn't feel like walking anymore, so I figured I'd hitch a ride—and then, well, the monster showed up."
The deputy chief blinked. "What do you mean you 'sort of' woke up?"
Shrugging, Orsaga answered in an utterly matter-of-fact tone:
"Exactly what I said. You know—I'm an exorcist. Weird stuff tends to happen around me. This is all pretty normal, wouldn't you say?"
"..."
The deputy exchanged a long, speechless glance with the nearby officer.
Even though what Orsaga had said sounded like complete nonsense, there wasn't really anything to argue against. The man had just burned a regenerative nightmare into ashes in front of them—clearly not just blowing smoke.
And if monsters were real… well, wasn't randomly waking up somewhere just another day in the life of a so-called exorcist?
Still, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being taken for a ride.
Just then, a document they hadn't noticed before slid into view.
[Professional Exorcist License — Issued by the International Association of Exorcists]
It was among the stack of papers Orsaga had casually handed over.
The deputy squinted at it. "...You guys have licenses for this kind of thing?"
"As long as you've handled a few cases and—well—survived, you qualify," Orsaga said dryly.
This information came from the fragments of memory the Matrix Purgatory had implanted in him. They were sparse, but enough to help him navigate basic checks like this. He had no idea how he'd even passed the exorcist exam himself. All he knew was how to contact the Association and some other surface-level knowledge.
Probably to stop Purgators from mooching off other people's exorcist credentials.
The deputy chief raised an eyebrow. "...Pretty straightforward vetting process."
Orsaga replied nonchalantly, "There's really no way around it. In this line of work, either you've got it or you don't. If you don't, nothing will save you."
---
Half an hour later.
Acting on the deputy's orders, Orsaga hitched a ride in one of the police cars headed toward the nearest town.
"This is my hometown," said the officer driving. "Nice place, good environment. You might enjoy walking around a bit."
While chatting, he glanced at Orsaga through the rearview mirror. "Where do you want to get dropped off?"
"A net café would be best," Orsaga replied. "I need to use a computer."
Just as he finished speaking, something on the side of the road caught his attention.
It was the front gate of a luxurious mansion.
Under the glow of a streetlamp, a striking blonde woman—perhaps in her forties—was having a conversation with a man in his thirties.
By reading their lips, Orsaga easily deciphered their conversation.
The woman was the man's stepmother. She was trying to mediate a conflict between him and his father.
But what piqued Orsaga's interest wasn't the content of their conversation.
It was the woman herself.
At a glance, she seemed like a well-preserved middle-aged beauty—but as she spoke, Orsaga clearly noticed something off about the movement of her facial skin.
As a seasoned expert, Orsaga was very familiar with the muscular behavior of the human face—how certain syllables pulled certain muscles in predictable directions, how expressions changed based on subtle shifts.
And this woman? Her movements weren't human.
Her throat moved as she spoke, yes—but it was mechanical, unnaturally consistent.
Her pupils didn't dilate or contract at all. The expression in her eyes was entirely simulated by her eyelids.
A few seconds later, the police car drove past the mansion and out of sight.
Orsaga leaned forward and asked the officer in the front seat:
"Are there any creepy local legends around here? Especially about dolls or puppets?"
The officer visibly stiffened at the question, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel.
"…Why do you ask something like that all of a sudden?"
"I just saw a pretty impressive doll," Orsaga said casually. "Got curious."
The officer hesitated for a moment, then slowly replied:
"…Actually, yeah. This town does have a legend about a doll."
"The story centers on someone whose name I can't say aloud. She was once the most famous ventriloquist doll master in the town—and she even owned her own theater."
"But after she died—under mysterious circumstances—she turned into a vengeful spirit. Since then, she's haunted the town. People have been dying ever since the 1940s, and every single victim had their tongue brutally ripped out…"
"We've brought in exorcists—many of them. Tried everything: holy water, crosses, prayers.
None of it worked. If she didn't only target specific individuals, this town would've been abandoned years ago."
At that point, the officer fell silent for a moment—thinking about how Orsaga had incinerated that unkillable creeper earlier.
After some hesitation, he added:
"If you think you're up for it, you could head to the town library and dig around for more information. If you can deal with that spirit—I'm sure the townspeople will give you a very generous reward."
He put extra emphasis on the word reward.
Clearly, this spirit had been tormenting the town for a long, long time.
After a few seconds of quiet, the officer added:
"But if you're not confident—don't go looking for her. Over a dozen priests and self-proclaimed exorcists have died in ways no one could explain…"
Orsaga just gave a lazy smile at the warning.
A doll made of flesh. A spirit whose name couldn't be spoken. One confirmed to exist but never successfully exorcised.
This vengeful spirit… seemed a lot stronger than that sorry excuse for a monster they just dealt with.
After stepping out of the police car and thanking the officer for the ride, Orsaga headed straight into a nearby internet café and booted up a computer.
With practiced ease, he navigated to a specific website.
He typed in a verification code into the site's search field, unlocking a hidden section.
This was the official portal of the International Association of Exorcists—yes, the kind with real government backing. Since exorcists did actually help maintain social stability, most countries didn't mind giving them some operational convenience.
The site stored a wide range of special information and also served as a private international forum for exorcists to share intel across borders.
He opened up the U.S. regional board and clicked on a random thread.
'Nice—combat reports.'
Due to differences in methods and religious backgrounds, several groups were currently locked in a heated argument. The shamans, in particular, were winning handily—verbally beating down a group of Catholic priests.
Orsaga couldn't help but chuckle.
In this day and age, even supernatural professionals had gone digital—fighting was just easier online.
Closing the thread, he opened up the forum's archive.
He typed in a few keywords—the name of the town he was in.
A long list of search results appeared instantly.
He clicked on the most recent summary post:
Ridgewood County – Town of Ravens Fair – Paranormal Archives
Entity: Vengeful Spirit – Mary Shaw (Active for 57 years)
Born: 1865
Died: 1943 (Presumed homicide)
Occupation before death: Ventriloquist & Puppet Master
Primary Activity Area: Ravens Fair (also reported in surrounding areas)
Known Abilities:
Remote puppet control
Ability to move freely in sunlight
Extreme speed
Telekinesis
Hallucination projection
Confirmed Kill Count: 1,344 victims (all killed with their tongues removed—believed linked to her own death)
Exorcist Association Response:
Attempts: 5
Status: All failed
Casualties: 7 exorcists dead, no survivors
Cause of failure: Unknown (no surviving witnesses)
Threat Level: Red (Avoid whenever possible)
---
After digesting the intel, Orsaga casually searched for info on the creeper he encountered near Route 9.
---
Briarwood County – Paranormal Archives
Unidentified Entity: Codename: Fear Eater/ Creeper
(According to Native American records, active for over 3,000 years. Last appearance recorded in 1977, Texas – Briarwood County.)
Activity Range: Most of the continental U.S. (and possibly beyond, based on ancient records)
Behavioral Notes: Normally humanoid in appearance. Awakens every 23 years and feeds freely for 23 days.
Known Abilities:
1. Human-level intelligence
2. Absorbs victims' memories to varying degrees, allowing it to use tools and understand multiple languages
3. Can determine the value of prey based on scent
4. Can seamlessly attach body parts from victims to itself
5. Effectively immortal – cannot be killed even if ground into mush
6. Possesses strength capable of killing a grizzly with a single punch and speed far exceeding a cheetah (also capable of flight, burrowing, and swimming)
7. Can craft specialized weapons
8. Immune to nearly all exorcism methods—ignores crosses, sunlight, holy water, etc.
Kill Count: Uncountable; over 800 documented victims in modern history alone
Exorcist Association Response:
Attempts: 1
Status: Failed
Casualties: 11 dead, 3 survivors
Cause of failure: Could not kill the creature even after defeating it—it dragged the team down with it.
Threat Level: Red (Avoid whenever possible)
---
After reading through both dossiers, Orsaga opened a few more entries and began compiling a broader overview of the database.
Eventually, he started seeing some very familiar names:
Chu Renmei,
Sadako of the Mountain Village,
Freddy Krueger…
These were big names—legends in the horror scene. Frontline leaders of the villain faction. Even someone as out of touch as Orsaga had heard of them.
He nodded to himself, deep in thought.
"So many old acquaintances... I ought to find a way to kill a few of them. Otherwise, this whole trip might be a waste."
---
From what he could tell, the creatures in the archive could be generally divided into three categories:
1. Semi-normal paranormal entities
They fear sunlight, holy icons, blessed items, and can be dealt with using traditional exorcism methods. These are relatively low-threat and form the bulk of what most exorcists deal with.
2. Abnormal entities
These ones kill in broad daylight, are immune to most exorcism tools, and laugh at things like holy water. Professionals usually avoid these. Their attacks can punch through skulls, while yours might barely scratch their skin.
Still, they're not completely invincible—most need to meet special conditions before they can kill.
3. Special-class entities
No one really knows what these are. They might be ancient monsters, mutated species, or things that crash-landed with meteorites. Their threat levels vary wildly—some can slaughter entire villages, while others are so weak even civilians could beat them with a broomstick.
--
Overall, Orsaga concluded that this world wasn't exactly short on monsters.
Just in the U.S. alone, nearly every state had hundreds of creatures—of varying danger levels—lurking within.
And that was after consistent clean-up efforts by both exorcists and official agencies.
Often, monsters seemed to just pop into existence out of nowhere.
A person might get hit by a car and die on the road—only to rise the next day as a ghost roaming the streets.
Someone drowns in a lake, and a week later, a haunted ghost ship appears and starts dragging people to their deaths.
Even something as mundane as natural death could trigger a monstrous transformation.
In short—there was no stopping it.
---
A few hours later.
After finishing his research, Orsaga casually transferred some funds to his account.
From Swiss Bank, Citibank, J.P. Morgan—you name it.
Don't ask how much.
Once you're inside the system, just type any number that doesn't start with a zero, then slam the zero key a few times with your eyes closed.
How much you get? Pure luck.
Leaving the internet café, he checked into a hotel with halfway decent décor and ordered some takeout through the front desk.
It was late at night, and this was a small town, so even with money, luxury wasn't on the table.
After eating, he caught a whiff of sweat from his body and sighed.
"Humans are such a pain... even sweat. Guess I'll have to take a shower."
Click.
Before he could even finish the sentence, the room lights suddenly went out.
Then, the window creaked open on its own.
A small humanoid figure appeared on the windowsill, its lifeless eyes locked onto him.
It was a wooden puppet, about half a meter tall, dressed in a black suit.
But under the moonlight—its shadow on the wall was that of a tall, thin woman.
Orsaga stared silently for a few seconds.
Then, speaking honestly as an artist himself, he said:
"No offense, but... that puppet of yours is kind of ugly. I mean, from a professional standpoint, couldn't you make something more aesthetically pleasing?. Try watching some modern anime. You might find some inspiration."
The room, already deathly cold, seemed to freeze over completely as his words echoed in the silence.
"You foolish exorcist—how could you possibly understand what art truly is?"
As the puppet's wooden jaw slowly opened and closed, a cold, boyish voice echoed from its mouth—low, eerie, and brimming with malice.
Mary Shaw, once a master of ventriloquism, had pride. Even in death, that hadn't changed.
And so, she could not tolerate anyone insulting her art.
Especially not to her face.
But when confronted with her taunt, Orsaga simply raised a finger and wagged it with casual disapproval.
"No, no, no—that's where you're wrong. Don't question my professional authority. Sure, I've never worked with puppets personally, but based on your construction and knowledge of human golden proportions, your puppet's head is about 20% too large."
"And that jaw mechanism? You used the wrong type of screw—too long. That's why the jaw doesn't move smoothly. Not to mention the faded blush on the cheeks. You probably left it in a damp environment during the drying process."
Mary Shaw fell silent.
'Damn it… how is he so precise!?'
She couldn't even find a counterargument.
In that moment, her pride in her craftsmanship took a direct hit.
How could she stand for this?
How could she accept this?
She immediately tried to shift the conversation to more advanced topics:
"Knowing all that is meaningless! The wood used for this puppet is—"
"Garbage. Even the best wood doesn't matter if your cutting tools are dull. That's why the surface layer of this puppet is rough and uneven—"
---
Two hours later…
The puppet in the black suit had been gently placed on the floor.
Mary Shaw herself was now kneeling respectfully on the hardwood, addressing Orsaga, who sat calmly in a chair like a seasoned academic.
"Master, I humbly ask… is there any way to prevent blood-flesh puppets from rotting over time?. I've tried many methods, but none of them truly work…"
Yes.
After two hours of intense technical discussion, Mary Shaw had come to understand that the man before her was a true expert—a master of immense depth.
And she needed to adopt a student's attitude if she was going to learn anything from him.
Orsaga's knowledge spanned everything—from celestial navigation to earthly science. The man could sniff the air and calculate the oxygen percentage on the spot.
Mary Shaw had never encountered anyone like him.
With utmost humility, she began to ask about the countless technical challenges she'd faced as a puppet master.
And since Orsaga was in a decent mood, he saw no reason not to answer.
Casually and precisely, he laid out the solution to her question:
"Thirty grams of sulfur, six grams of yew powder, and two hundred grams of silver. Mix thoroughly and heat at 250°C for half an hour, then—well, you get the idea…"
His tone was relaxed. The steps were clear. The measurements exact.
He didn't even pause to think.
After all, in his mind, a problem like this didn't even require effort. He could list off thousands of solutions in his sleep.
Mary Shaw eagerly scribbled every detail into her notebook.
Once she had everything down, she looked up with a serious expression and asked:
"I understand that now, Master. But tell me—can blood-flesh puppets be considered the ultimate form of puppetry?"
Creating the perfect puppet had always been Mary Shaw's lifelong dream—before and after death.
She wanted to know just how far she was from reaching the pinnacle of her craft.
"The ultimate puppet?"
Finally, a question with some actual substance.
Orsaga rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then asked in return:
"When you say 'ultimate,' are you referring to a puppet that requires manual control—or one that can function independently as a living entity?"
"?"
Mary Shaw blinked, confused.
"A puppet… can be a living entity?"
"Of course," Orsaga replied smoothly.
"To higher beings like gods or demons, mortal creatures are nothing more than puppets or marionettes. Tools to be manipulated. God creating man… Nuwa shaping humans from clay."
"If you know your mythology, you'll notice a recurring theme—these stories of 'creating life' are, in essence, about bringing puppets to life. The only difference is that the language makes it sound fancier."
As Orsaga spoke, Mary Shaw felt like a window had opened in a previously sealed-off part of her mind.
She had never thought at such a high level.
Her whole existence had been buried in making her puppets and hunting down the descendants of those who had wronged her in life.
But now—now new ideas were bursting forth like fireworks in her mind.
"Master, I see it now!!. The endgame of puppetry… is the divine right of gods and demons!. To create a new species! My own species!!"
Crazed with newfound enlightenment, Mary Shaw bowed deeply and thanked Orsaga with uncontainable joy.
Then—with a flash of movement—she grabbed her puppet, leapt out the window, and vanished into the night.
She looked like someone who had just found their life's calling—and couldn't wait to get started.
Orsaga scratched his head in mild confusion.
"…What exactly did she just realize?"
He had been planning to explain how one might go about creating autonomous lifeforms, too.
After all, knowledge was valuable. And when he was in a good mood, he didn't mind sharing.
In that regard, he considered himself a model lecturer.
Back during his hundred-year stint in the wizarding world, he'd even served as a guest professor at several prestigious institutions.
He had once been named one of the Top Ten Lecturers.
Now, watching Mary Shaw disappear into the distance, he thought for a moment—then let it go.
After all, a teacher can give you knowledge.
But how you apply that knowledge?
That's on you.
Talk about capitalism in a feudal kingdom. Talk about utopia in a capitalist state.
Orsaga had a habit of saying exactly what shouldn't be said.
He enjoyed stirring the pot—not for profit, but purely because it amused him.
As a result, during his time in the wizarding world, around one-fifth of his students had ended up on various countries' most-wanted lists.
Not bad for a lecturer.
After waiting a while to make sure Mary Shaw wasn't coming back for more lessons, Orsaga closed the window.
Then he ran a hot bath and got ready to enjoy a long soak.
—
Meanwhile, Mary Shaw was traveling at near-sonic speeds, slipping through the air without disturbing a single molecule.
Her voice trembled with fanatical excitement as she muttered:
"I'm going to create living puppets. And for that, I'll need fresh materials. Your family will do nicely. Consider this the final chapter of our grudge…"
The next morning.
Orsaga had just crawled out of bed and was thinking about grabbing some breakfast when the sound of sirens blared outside.
He poked his head out the window, took one glance at the scene, and lost all interest.
Clearly had nothing to do with him.
After all, he hadn't even killed a single person.
Model citizen behavior.
Low-key, well-behaved, full of class—that was Orsaga.
He casually ran a wooden comb through his hair, then picked up the hotel room phone and called the front desk to check out, giving them his room number.
Then, he headed downstairs.
A few minutes later.
Having completed the checkout process, Orsaga stepped outside the hotel.
Originally, he'd planned to hail a taxi, but this small town didn't seem to have any. After waiting a few minutes without seeing a single one, he decided to wander around on foot.
That's when he noticed a large group of police officers gathered around a certain residence.
A blonde middle-aged woman was crying, and a few officers stood around her, trying to comfort her.
"Huh?"
Though slightly curious, Orsaga wasn't the type to get involved in other people's drama.
He turned to leave.
But the weeping woman—Mary Shaw—spotted him.
Ignoring the surprised looks from the officers, she suddenly lit up, shedding all signs of sorrow, and cheerfully called out:
"Master! What a surprise—what brings you here?"
Never one to ignore a greeting, Orsaga replied honestly:
"Tried to catch a cab. Didn't see any, so I figured I'd just walk around a bit."
Originally, he'd been planning to destroy Mary Shaw.
But after some thought—since she was technically his student now—he decided to let it go. He'd just find another target elsewhere.
Unaware that she'd narrowly escaped death, Mary Shaw beamed:
"Oh, that's no problem at all! If you need a car, I'll give you one!. We've got over a dozen sports cars in the garage—take whichever one you like!"
She said it as casually as if she were offering a candy bar.
Then, ignoring the baffled looks from the police around her, she went on:
"Ever since our conversation, my worldview has completely expanded!. I've found a bigger dream to chase! I'm actually preparing to leave town and explore the world!"
Orsaga, very satisfied with this gift, nodded and replied:
"Well then, thank you for the car. And good luck with your dream."
Mary Shaw waved it off:
"Oh, please! Think nothing of it! In fact, if you want the house too, I'll throw that in!"
At this, the surrounding police began to grow visibly uneasy.
Giving away a car was one thing… but a house? This house?
That was the nicest house in the entire town—easily worth millions.
One officer stepped forward and warned,
"Ma'am, be careful! He could be a scam artist."
He even shot a glare at Orsaga, clearly suspecting him of using his looks to swindle people.
Mary Shaw's expression darkened. She shoved the officer aside and snapped:
"Master Orsaga is not a scammer!. His wisdom is beyond your comprehension!"
Her voice rang with conviction.
Orsaga, hearing this praise, instinctively straightened his already upright posture.
'Ah… yes. I do love compliments. Keep them coming.'
The officer who tried to help could only grit his teeth in frustration, feeling wronged and utterly helpless.
Just as Mary Shaw was about to strike up another conversation, a familiar figure appeared.
It was the officer who had given Orsaga a ride the day before.
The moment he spotted Orsaga, his eyes lit up.
He quickly pulled him aside into a secluded corner, urgency written all over his face.
"Mr. Excorist! Please—you've got to help us! Mary Shaw has started killing again!"
He pointed toward the woman—who was now smiling and chatting with other officers like any normal citizen.
"Her husband and stepson were murdered last night!. The way they were killed—no one else could've done it! It has to be the spirit that's haunted our town for decades!. You have to stop her!"
"..."
Orsaga glanced at Mary Shaw, then at the pleading officer.
He didn't quite know what to say.
His silence, however, seemed to worry the officer, who assumed Orsaga was hesitant because of how dangerous Mary Shaw was.
So, he quickly offered a compromise:
"I get it—asking you to destroy her is too much. No one's been able to do that for years. But if you could just drive her out of town—just make her leave—that would be enough!. Name your price! Anything! The mayor himself would back it!"
In his mind, it was simple:
If they couldn't kill the problem, they could at least send it away.
Let it haunt someone else's town.
Hearing this, Orsaga's eyes lit up slightly.
That request was easy.
After all, thanks to his legendary teaching skills, Mary Shaw already had a new life goal and had decided to leave town on her own. She was probably halfway to the highway by now.
So he put on a troubled face and replied solemnly:
"...Alright. I'll do my best."
The officer was overjoyed.
""Mr. Excorist, on behalf of the whole town—thank you! You're a true hero!"
To him, this was a mission of life and death.
That Orsaga was willing to take it on?
Absolutely awe-inspiring.
Orsaga simply waved his hand and said humbly:
"No need for thanks—it's nothing, really…"
---
Two days later.
The vengeful spirit—Mary Shaw, Master of Ventriloquist Puppets—had completed her preparations and officially set off on her journey to chase her dream.
Orsaga, meanwhile, had enjoyed two full days of luxurious treatment, courtesy of the entire town. He then formally informed the townspeople that the "threat" had been resolved.
In gratitude, the mayor invited him to a special ceremony at town hall.
Under the watchful eye of the local news cameras, Orsaga was solemnly awarded the town's Hero's Medal—and a $5 million check.
That footage was broadcast repeatedly for a full week.
Residents even pooled money to commission a bronze statue of Orsaga, which they planned to install in the town square, to commemorate his "outstanding service."
And as he drove out of town in one of Mary Shaw's gift sports cars, nearly half the town came out to cheer and wave him off.
"Orsaga! Our hero! You'll always be welcome here!"
As the engine roared to life, a chorus of praise followed behind him.
He had come to town empty-handed and unknown.
He left driving a luxury car, holding a $5 million check, and carrying a legacy of heroism