Mysterious Awakening - Chapter 73: The Way to Survive

Discovering the roots and pinpointing the puppeteer were mere sideshows. In this crucial moment for Miles, survival took center stage. His immediate concern was to find a method of avoiding a fatal encounter with the reawakening vengeful ghost.

Nevertheless, he didn’t press the issue with Writing right away, despite the mounting pressure. It would only be when these individuals comprehended the terrifying capabilities of the ghost tamers that they would give up their resistance and willingly offer the information he required.

“A strategy to halt the resurrection of the vengeful ghost?” Upon hearing this, Writing was initially startled, then broke out in laughter. “There actually exists a technique, passed down from an unidentified land. It was considered a stroke of luck. A ghost tamer, possibly graced by divine fortune, managed to endure for a full year without falling to the reawakening of the vengeful ghost.”

A whole year of survival?

Miles’ eyes lit up with sparked curiosity.

A ghost tamer’s lifespan was tied to the speed of their internal ghost’s revival. Even if a tamer refrained from using their ghostly powers, Miles deduced their lifespan would barely cross the half-year mark.

The frequent use of such abilities accelerated the ghost’s resurgence, thus curtailing the tamer’s life. A ghost tamer surviving past a year was nothing short of a miracle.

“What’s the specific technique?” Miles queried, his eyes locked on Writing.

“You wouldn’t want to know,” Writing responded with a mischievous lilt in his voice. “It’s a rarity. Perhaps, out of a thousand ghost tamers, only one might achieve this. It’s nearly an impractical approach. Your kind is fated for brief lives. After all, you’re living on borrowed time, kept alive by the ghost within you.”

“Whether it’s feasible or not isn’t for you to decide, but for me. You’re down to your last twenty seconds,” Miles said, glancing at the timer on his phone.

“You’re really desperate to survive, aren’t you?”

A chilling smile stretched across Writing’s face. “Then, let us leave first. Once we’re safe, I’ll be more than happy to share this information.”

“You’re in no position to negotiate. Ten seconds to go.” Miles asserted, “You only have two choices: to speak or keep silent. Whether you get to leave is my call.”

“Boss, spill it. This guy’s nuts. He’s not playing with a full deck. Just look at the number of people he’s slaughtered without batting an eye. He’s probably on the brink of his own revival.”

“Indeed, there’s no sense in antagonizing a madman. Tell him what he wishes to know, and let’s make our exit. We’re quitting this job.”

Before Writing could utter a word, his underlings quickly tried to sway him.

The countdown timer on the coffee table kept their hearts racing. This man was not like Ethan; his ghost was extraordinary.

“I don’t trust you. I’ll only speak when I’m out of danger. That’s my term. Otherwise, we all go down together,” Writing said, his face contorted with tension. Then to everyone’s astonishment, he produced a military-grade golden baton.

Miles cast him a glance, “Your reach is surprisingly wide, getting hold of such a dangerous item. But do you think it will work against me?”

“We won’t know until I give it a shot. You’re a menace. Even if I speak, my survival isn’t guaranteed. I’d rather take a gamble,” Writing retorted.

“Your threats don’t intimidate me. Remember, you’re not the only one privy to this information. Summit is under my custody. I can just extract the details from him.”

At these words, Writing sagged slightly. He had nearly forgotten that he wasn’t the only ace up Miles’s sleeve. Summit, now in custody, could be grilled for the same data.

“That incompetent fool, failing his mission and landing me in this mess,” Writing internally grumbled about his bumbling ally. But the situation hardly seemed conducive for indulging in blame games.

Without wasting more time, he conceded, “Alright, I’ll divulge what I know. Whether you accept it or not, is your choice.”

“Fair enough,” Miles responded.

“From what I understand, a ghost tamer perishing due to the resurgence of the vengeful ghost inside them is inevitable — that’s what all the data I’ve collected suggests. Yet, there exists an audacious method that could potentially extend the survival duration.”

“Continue.”

After a brief pause, Writing proceeded, “Some have realized that only a ghost can truly counter another ghost. Consequently, a desperate individual, on the brink of demise due to the reawakening of the vengeful ghost, dared to invite a second ghost into their body.”

“Manipulating two ghosts simultaneously?”

Miles’s eyebrows shot up, “That would accelerate death.”

“Indeed, that’s the general hypothesis. However, there’s an alternate outcome: the two ghosts might counterbalance each other, establishing a fragile equilibrium. This equilibrium could significantly decelerate the resurgence of the vengeful ghost,” Writing explained seriously.

Miles laughed softly, “A fascinating and insane strategy. So, they sought life in the jaws of death? Truly, only a madman would dare such a thing, but it apparently worked.”

“Yes, they managed to succeed. However, as far as my knowledge goes, this is the sole instance of success. Ghost tamers from various nations attempted the same feat, and all of them met with failure, enduring horrendous deaths,” Writing elaborated.

He carried on, “Therefore, this singular success is viewed as an anomaly. All countries are aware of this method, yet they’ve classified it as highly confidential, absolutely prohibiting its disclosure.”

“Highly confidential, you say? It seems they fear that ghost tamers might recklessly attempt it upon discovering this method, thus leading to a significant decrease in their ranks and ultimately destabilizing national security.”

Miles quickly grasped why the authorities would suppress such information.

Facing an imminent demise, ghost tamers would naturally gamble their lives. However, the downside to that risk would be to expedite their end.

The implications would be far too severe, undermining the greater good. Hence, the necessity to keep it concealed.

“How you interpret that is your call. I’ve merely revealed the technique. But, after having shared this, would you dare to give it a shot?” Writing queried.

“I’ll give it some thought,” Miles answered pensively.

The technique sounded simple, yet it was immensely perilous in reality.

Which ghost tamer would willingly invite a second ghost into their body?

Should things not pan out as anticipated, if the two ghosts failed to neutralize each other, only one outcome awaited: instant death.

Nonetheless, this method could be perceived as a final resort in the face of impending doom.

Triumph, and you’d be on cloud nine; fail, and you’d be doomed.

“I’ve said all there is to say. Am I free to go now?” Writing abruptly inquired. Miles glanced at the phone on the table and rose, “I’m a man of my word. What’s fair is fair. Even though you’ve disclosed all I wanted to know, by rights, I should let you leave. Regrettably, your time is up.”

He gestured towards the countdown timer on the table.

It had struck zero.

“So, the three of you may die together. Oh, by the way, are you certain what you’re clutching is genuine? Couldn’t it just be a Kinder Surprise Egg?”

Writing’s eyes bulged in shock.

He peered at the golden baton in his hand; at some point, it had indeed morphed into a Kinder Surprise Egg.

“Miles!” In a state of shock and fury, Writing brandished the supposed weapon in his hand, intent on charging and smashing this loathsome man to death.

From start to finish, he had been a mere puppet in this audacious youth’s game, with escape a mere illusion. The ensuing conversation was a ruse, a tactical charade spun by Miles to extract invaluable information. There was never an inkling of intention to grant them freedom.

“Adieu!” With a cheerful wave and a glinting smile, Miles bid them goodbye.

The living room’s red light flickered in a subtle yet perceptible shift, and their surroundings underwent a staggering transformation in the blink of an eye.

The bodies had evaporated into thin air – including the man grotesquely melded into the wall along the two living henchmen. Even Writing, who had been in the middle of a charge, vanished without a trace, leaving only a solitary golden baton on the plush carpet behind.

The living room was eerily untouched, the remnants of a chaotic scene wiped clean.

There was no physical testament of their existence left behind. Other than a few stray possessions, all traces of them were eradicated as though they had been mere figments of an unrecorded history.