Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 956: Chapter 200: Sin (5)

After slowly sprinkling the carefully selected sea salt onto the freshly fried meat, Bucky picked up the plate, placed it in front of him, took a deep breath, and relished the aroma of the cooked meat.

Nothing could satisfy him more than having a special fried meat steak for breakfast in the morning.

Meat is justice!

But just as Bucky was about to dig in, the video phone behind him suddenly rang.

Mr. Besong, who is not only the ‘High Priest’ of ‘God’s Teachings’ (self-proclaimed) but also the Grand Steward of the manor, called to say that Saint Fran Mister had come to visit.

This immediately wiped out Bucky’s good mood because it reminded him of the terrifying memory exposed on the rooftop—yes, the incident that happened last night.

In the end, Bucky did not buy the answer from the club’s Pad.

Not because he was really reluctant to part with those hundred thousand units of faith, but because he only possessed just over thirty thousand units of faith at present.

Why?

Of course, it was because he had early on purchased a whole cold storage full of special meats—the ‘Messenger of God’ loved meat, and couldn’t have five meals a day without it—something almost everyone in the manor knew.

The cold storage for storing the ‘Messenger of God’s’ rations was even guarded 24 hours a day by someone.

Currently, due to the massive inventory purchase, Bucky’s faith units were quite limited and he was really unable to afford the answer that required a hundred thousand units.

However, it was obviously not Mingo who made him inexplicably faint on the rooftop; otherwise, where would the need for the hundred thousand unit answer come from?

“Quite annoying…” Bucky frowned, thought for a while, and then directly instructed, “Besong, let him wait for me in the living room for a while.”

…

When the ‘Messenger of God’ appeared in front of Saint Fran Mister, it had already been two whole measures of time since Saint Fran Mister had visited the manor.

“I’m really sorry, I’m accustomed to praying to my god after waking up in the morning,” Bucky appeared with a smile, apologizing, “I’m really sorry to keep Saint Fran Mister waiting.”

“Perhaps it is precisely because you, the emissary, are so devout that you are the one to receive the divine oracle.” Said Saint Fran Mister with a fitting smile, issuing just the right compliment.

“I wonder what brought Saint Fran Mister so early to see me?” Bucky asked indifferently while glancing at Miss Cosini, who had come along with Saint Fran Mister.

Saint Fran Mister suddenly said, “Emissary, about last night’s events, could I have a private word with you?”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but Mr. Besong seriously said, “I’m sorry, Saint Fran Mister, you are not yet a believer of our church and cannot meet with the emissary alone.”

Saint Fran Mister was obviously surprised by Mr. Besong’s sudden interjection, frowning slightly, but he saw Mr. Besong’s gaze was impartial and unassuming, leaving Saint Fran Mister somewhat dumbfounded.

“It’s okay, Besong,” unexpectedly, Bucky instructed at this time, “I also happen to have some things to talk about with Saint Fran Mister alone, you all leave first.”

“Understood!” Mr. Besong readily agreed without a second thought, and walked over to Miss Cosini, making a gesture of invitation—it seemed Mr. Besong really executed the emissary’s instructions to the letter, leaving no room for divergence.

Soon, only Bucky and Saint Fran Mister were left in the living room.

Bucky suddenly smiled slightly and then pointed to the sofa nearby, “We ought not to stand here, let’s sit down.”

Saint Fran Mister nodded in agreement, but he cautiously surveyed the sofa area—actually, ever since entering, he had been careful, not even taking a sip of the water brought by the servants.

Since he already knew that the emissary was adept at hypnosis, anything in this reception room could potentially become a tool for hypnosis or serve as a psychological suggestion.

Yet everything here seemed not to achieve that effect…like there were no alternating colored floors, no repetitively ticking clocks, and no visually deceptive paintings—there weren’t even any wall paintings here.

As for smells…Saint Fran Mister was someone very sensitive to odors and had undergone various smell identification training—nothing seemed to exist in this regard either.

Then perhaps only language remains, as long as he keeps a clear mind…

Saint Fran Mister smiled lightly and sat down, though he himself did not know that when he sat down, his gaze already became completely vacant and his thoughts lingered at that moment.

Bucky yawned lazily and sat in front of Saint Fran Mister—in the instant Saint Fran Mister made his way toward the sofa area, Bucky had already thrown a Charm Spell at him without a second thought.

Convenient and efficient.

“Slap yourself,” Bucky suddenly said.

Saint Fran Mister’s eyes were vacant, but his hand suddenly rose and went to slap himself hard—but just before it hit, Bucky suddenly called out to stop.

The hand was halted less than half a centimeter away from Saint Fran Mister’s cheek, dangerously close.

Bucky nodded in satisfaction—only someone under a Charm Spell would react this way. Because those under the effect of a Charm Spell would act on command without thinking—due to the unconditional reflex, he was able to stop in time.

As to why he stopped him…of course, it was so that Mingo, upon regaining consciousness, wouldn’t suspect anything with his cheek hurting.

Bucky had years of dealing with Mingo and knew all too well his personality—seemingly carefree yet cautious at every turn.

“Now let’s talk about serious matters, Mingo,” Bucky smiled at this point, “Do you know how I left last night?”

Saint Fran Mister, devoid of emotion, said, “I do not know. According to Cosini, when she came back to her senses, the emissary was already missing.”

Bucky was taken aback, then frowned—it wasn’t Mingo’s doing, he could now completely rule that out…but things had become even more perplexing.

Does he really need to earn enough faith points to a hundred thousand to know the answer?

But a hundred thousand units of faith could buy so much meat…

Bucky sighed, then directly asked, “Mingo, how did you become Saint Fran Mister…what scheme are you up to now? And they say you want to run for president?”

So, Saint Fran Mister detailed how he transitioned from being a key member of the Imperial Command to becoming a great philanthropist.

As it turned out, when working with Bucky in the Imperial Command, Mingo had already planned to clean up his image, so he had always been doing things under the identity of Saint Fran Mister—until after Mingo was imprisoned, Saint Fran Mister’s activities gradually increased.

As for how Mingo could play Saint Fran Mister so happily while in prison, Bucky had no desire to know—after all, hadn’t he experienced a comfortable life himself while in prison?

“I do indeed wish to become president…”

“Intelligent people should wait for the peak moment.”

“If I could leverage the emissary and his network, it would greatly aid my campaign, which is also why I came today.”

“Cosini is indeed my adopted daughter, but I have never touched her. However, she is heavily dependent on drugs, so I am not worried about her betraying me.”

“After becoming president, what I want to do is…”

When Saint Fran Mister reached this point, Bucky saw a look of struggle on his face.

“What I want to do is…is…is…”

The look of struggle on Saint Fran Mister’s face intensified, prompting Bucky to frown.

Because when he bought this Charm Spell, there was already an explanation. Namely, if it encountered someone with particularly strong willpower, and touched the bottom line of such a person, it might fail.

“Stop, I’m not interested in knowing what you plan to do after becoming president.” Bucky quickly said.

Saint Fran Mister’s expression began to calm.

Bucky pondered something, occasionally glancing at Saint Fran Mister—in the end, Bucky made a certain decision.

…

The Emissary and Saint Fran Mister conversed at length in the guest room for a full hour and a half, before finally, the two of them came out hand in hand.

Saint Fran Mister’s smile did not fade all along, even before leaving.

Bucky was watching from the manor as Saint Fran Mister and Miss Cosini’s car slowly drove away, a face full of amusement—Mingo hadn’t realized he had confessed to many things. Upon coming back to his senses, he followed through with the original plan and had an exchange with Bucky about collaboration.

Bucky agreed without a second thought, which seemed to be within Saint Fran Mister’s expectations…

“Hmm… Although Mingo is awake, if I don’t revoke the Charm Spell on him, it’s just like a bomb planted inside him. Heh, he can’t escape my control.” At this moment, Bucky was delightedly thinking that elevating Mingo to the nation’s throne wasn’t much of a problem after all.

I really am damn clever!

Just then, Mr. Besong rushed in hurriedly, panting, “Emissary! Emissary! Another ‘Messenger of God’ has come looking for you!”

“Oh, another ‘Messenger of God’ has come looking for me, huh? I understand, let them go to the guest room… You said what??”

“An-another ‘Messenger of God’!” Mr. Besong’s face was full of excitement, “It’s true! I’ve already witnessed her Miracle Force! It’s truly exhilarating!”

…

…

In the location of the pharmaceutical company’s special research group, Mr. Blind was reviewing the final observation report on the zombie live specimen Natasha, because a few hours later, he would be heading to the airport to meet with the Song Family people to return to Hua Country.

The office also had a deputy head of the research group, named Harutaka Oki, in his early thirties, of Japanese descent.

This person was quite outstanding; in his spare time Mr. Blind would occasionally instruct Harutaka Oki on some pharmacological knowledge. And Harutaka Oki lived up to the expectations, several specialized pharmaceuticals currently used in Song Family Village were developed by Harutaka Oki himself.

“…Sir, currently the zombie live specimen’s decay level has reached thirty percent, and this level of decay is likely irreversible,” Harutaka Oki said with a frown at this time. “We have already tried various methods, but none work. Additionally, we’ve extracted cells from this zombie live specimen and conducted various experiments, but the zombie’s cells only have intracellular fluid left. The rest of the components have dissolved into the intracellular fluid. It doesn’t even have nerve activity… We really can’t figure out, on what principle it’s able to be active, and why does it have a strong tendency towards fresh flesh?”

“If it was simple to understand, such things obviously wouldn’t become mysterious.” Mr. Blind said calmly at this point, while slowly closing the Braille report on his hand, “That’s it. For now, immerse it in the liquid nitrogen tank, preserve it first. I’m going to be away for some time. For the zombie live specimen research work, we will continue when I return.”

“Understood.” Harutaka Oki nodded.

At this moment, Song Da came walking in from outside—as usual, Song Da had gone to take a look at the live zombie specimen Natasha.

“Blind Man, the car is ready. Han Residence is also prepared for departure soon.”

“Got it.” Mr. Blind nodded and then ‘looked’ at Harutaka Oki, “Do as I said.”

“Yes!”

…

Crimson blood slowly flowed from Song Haoran’s wrist.

It did not happen as Song Haoran had stated, if he didn’t arrive during this period, someone would still bring blood to Gloria—for this period, Gloria was really starving.

When Song Haoran arrived, Gloria was already limp on the bed, somewhat resembling an anorexia patient, as if she had lost weight.

Song Haoran didn’t say anything, he just walked to her, cut open his wrist, letting the blood drip from several drops at first to a steady stream, into Gloria’s mouth.

“Rest assured, for the upcoming period, there will indeed be someone delivering food to you.”

Gloria regained some spirit, but she didn’t attend to Song Haoran’s words—this period she was almost driven to the brink by this man. She not only revealed the secrets of the vampire world but also disclosed things she didn’t want to tell, defeated by the rationality and bloodsucking instinct’s clash.

“Miss Gloria, have you considered leveraging the power of someone like me as a human?” Suddenly, before leaving, Song Haoran chuckled softly, lifted Gloria’s chin, and said in a low voice.

Gloria was stunned as she looked at Song Haoran, not knowing where this man’s confidence came from—leveraging his power?

“With you?” This was the first word she uttered since Song Haoran’s arrival today.

“Regardless of how you try, in light of your mother’s situation, it’s impossible to save your mother who is suffering in your place, at most reduces her sentence,”

Song Haoran shrugged and said, “But sentencing, this kind of matter often doesn’t require a genuine crime. Since the punishment is held by the authority, you wouldn’t be so afraid of making mistakes that the punishment your mother is suffering under would extend… Right?”

Gloria bit her lips fiercely.

“Think about it.” Suddenly Song Haoran gently smiled, patting Gloria’s head: “I hope when I return, I’ll hear a good answer.”

The door confining Gloria slowly closed again; darkness and silence filled the cell.

…

…

“Young Master Qiu, the car is ready.”

The voice of a servant came from outside the room.

Soon after, Luo Qiu came out of the room, holding a stack of ten or so thread-bound books in his hands, “Would you mind placing them back in Old Master Song’s study? I’ve marked where they were taken from, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Young Master Qiu, just say the word, no need to be so meticulous!” The servant was surprised and hurriedly took the stack of books from Luo Qiu’s hand, simultaneously instructing another servant who had come along, “Why are you not helping Young Master Qiu with his luggage!”

“No need, I can handle it myself, there’s not much in the first place.” Luo Qiu just smiled slightly.

Indeed, when he arrived, his luggage was not much, just a small carry-on suitcase, and as he left, it was still the same small carry-on suitcase.

He let the servants carry on with their tasks, saying he remembered the way out well.

It was truly a pleasant place—Luo Qiu felt this way.

At that moment, a woman with long black hair came walking by with a simple suitcase in hand, and when she saw Luo Qiu approaching, she stopped.

It was Song Ying.

She didn’t know when she had dyed her vibrant pink-purple hair back to black and simply tied it in a ponytail.

“Why are you still dawdling around, everyone’s waiting for you!” Song Ying shouted from afar.

Luo Qiu quickly walked with his luggage, glancing at Song Ying.

“What’s up?” Song Ying glared.

Luo Qiu said, “A bit unexpected.”

Song Ying rolled her eyes, “Obviously! Since we’re going back to the ancestral graves for ancestor worship, naturally I need to be a bit more solemn!”

“Indeed.” Luo Qiu smiled and nodded, “Then let’s go, keeping them waiting wouldn’t be good.”

“Bl-black’s no good…” Song Ying asked, glancing askance with her fingers somehow twirling her bangs.

“Quite nice.”

“Thank you.” Song Ying smiled brightly.

Let’s end this South American journey with this smile, Luo Qiu thought this was quite nice.