High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1537: Chapter 281: Offering

After the mass concluded, Elder Atar quickly disappeared through the side door of the hall.

Xiao Xiao patiently waited for a while, until all the citizens and cats had cleared out of the hall, before realizing that the old man would not be seeing him again. This left him somewhat puzzled.

If he truly didn’t want to meet him, he could have chosen not to invite him to the hall for the mass in the first place.

If he did want to meet him, why did he vanish silently right after the ceremony?

Was it because Xiao Xiao took notes in the hall, and Elder Atar thought this lacked due respect for Lord Bastit? Or perhaps the elder received an oracle from Lord Bastit during the ceremony instructing him not to assist them?

The short warlock stood holding the black notebook, pondering the various possibilities.

Xin Fat Man’s round face peeked in from behind the curtain, his bluish skin shrouded by its shadow, adding an air of postmodern mystery.

He glanced around.

”Just you here?” The chubby man’s tone was astonished. ”I saw everyone else leave. I’ve been waiting forever, and you still haven’t come out... Where’s Elder Atar? Weren’t we looking for him to ask for directions?”

A withered cane poked out from under Xin’s arm, followed by the hairless old cat with pale, wrinkled skin. It stared at Xiao Xiao, its pupils dilated in the shadows, resembling a pitch-black almond.

”The Elder already knows your intentions,” the familiar yet grating voice echoed in the hall. The old cat’s face was rigid, looking expressionless at the two visitors. ”The Elder has already given his answer... You know where to find me.”

As soon as the words fell, the old cat and the cane began to disintegrate together.

Like charcoal long accumulated, freed from its bindings, ashes dispersed into the heavy shadow under the curtain. No wind was felt, yet black dust danced within the shadow before vanishing instantly.

Xiao Xiao noticed his companion’s size had suddenly inflated, his head nearly piercing through the hall’s roof.

”Calm down,” he tugged at the hem of Xin’s robe, signaling him to shrink back. ”There’s no danger... It’s just that these Dreamland natives have somewhat unique ways of interacting with us.”

”That old cat has to be a nightmare type.” Xin’s inflated stature began deflating like a punctured balloon, his grievances diminishing in volume, his voice distorting oddly like a malfunctioning radio. ”...Never seen... anyone... saying goodbye... to visitors... like that... Nightmares... are prettier than it.”

Xiao Xiao shook his head without replying, turning to walk out through the curtain.

The museum’s grand hall was empty and silent, shadows looming all around save for the glaring brightness of the distant exit. He nodded thoughtfully—that light was surely the host guiding the guests.

Outside the museum, the sky was an amber haze.

Sunlight spilled from the ridges at the edge of the Enchanted Forest, its orange-golden glow spreading across Boorman Street. Perhaps it was merely an illusion, but Banna faintly caught the scent of sweet oranges wafting through the sunlight.

”I must be craving oranges,” he thought to himself as he reached out, grabbed a handful of sunlight, and took a deep sniff.

Xiao Xiao remained silent, walking ahead of the chubby man, strolling through the small streets of Wusa City.

This wasn’t his first walk through Wusa City at dusk, yet it was the first where his thoughts seemed elsewhere—on previous walks, he always carried a notebook, eager to record even trivial occurrences like two ants greeting each other.

Today, however, the countryside vernacular of Wusa’s citizens failed to catch his attention; the pumpkin coaches dragged by the Zus speeding past him went unnoticed; even the newly arrived wandering caravan exchanging colorful glass beads for silver with local vendors didn’t hold his gaze.

His mind remained occupied as he meticulously recalled everything he had seen and heard during the mass, mentally replaying every word spoken by Elder Atar.

Instead, Xin Fat Man appeared keenly interested in the wandering caravan. The merchants were wrapped in black cloaks, their hair and eyes dark as ink, their leader adorned with a headdress featuring twin horns encircling a disk; their wagon carriages were painted with diverse mystical images—cat-headed human figures, goat-headed humans, eagle-headed humans, and more.

The citizens of Wusa seemed to hold the wandering caravan in reverence, with many elders motioning their hands in gestures toward the emblem on the caravan leader’s headpiece.

”It feels like they’re welcoming a divine spirit...” Xin muttered, biting the shaft of his brush, as he jotted down observations—this scene was material reserved for the ’Oddities’ section of the campus newspaper, for which he’d already drafted nearly ten articles.

”Divine spirits?” Xiao Xiao murmured, as if catching a spark of inspiration.

”Exactly, the wandering caravan,” Xin said, pointing at the black cloaked wagon with his brush handle. ”They’re also followers of Lord Bastit... The trade here resembles an act of goodwill among believers.”

”I see now.”

The short warlock’s face lit up with mild enlightenment. ”I understand... This trade is a ritual, and we must prepare a sacrifice.”

...

...

”Sacrifice?” Zheng Qing frowned, repeating the term.

”To be precise, a gift dedicated to a divine spirit,” Xiao Xiao explained with a nod. ”Elder Atar mentioned a particularly striking phrase during the mass: ’To all who stand before the altar, I shall never remain silent’... If you heard the mass in full, or had a deeper understanding of Wusa City’s protector, you’d know Lord Bastit isn’t a demanding deity.”

”’Those who never visited me, yet now seek answers, I shall respond; those who never sought me, I shall allow them to meet with me.’ Relying on faith in old age and teaching one’s spouse to read scriptures... isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

”But what kind of sacrifice should we prepare?” Zheng Qing wasn’t opposed to offering gifts to Lord Bastit; it made sense to reciprocate when requesting favors—the concept was perfectly reasonable.

The only challenge lay in that the members of the Absolution Hunting Team present were all from Jiuyou Academy; they weren’t the yellow-robed theologians of Atlas who could create lavish offerings for the Cat God with precision while avoiding taboo.

Rumor had it that once, a wizard offered a glossy black mountain goat at the magic circle summoning Nicolas. It was a rare and reliable offering—the only mistake he made was shaving patches of the short black hair off the goat to inscribe several Old Seals.

Perhaps the wizard wanted to prevent other Outer Gods from partaking in the sacrifice dedicated to Nicolas. This act, however, was akin to someone smearing feces over the loaf of bread you were about to eat.

In the end, the magic circle succeeded, and Nicolas was summoned. But, due to those Old Seals, not only did Nicolas refuse to bless the wizard, he transformed him into a blob of flesh with no bones or magic power, a pitiful creature that could only writhe.