Chapter 63 – Hank's Family
"Spell ritual? The world in danger?"
Gideon Black raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
Seeing the priest wasn't buying it, Sadie pleaded for him to at least move her away from the stinking pit first.
Once she drew in fresher air again, she began her explanation.
"I was born in Louisiana… grew up in the South, only later moving West."
She spoke of her family—a long line of hunters. From childhood, her parents had told her that near their hometown lay a cursed land.
Years ago, a plague broke out there. The soil itself grew twisted; monsters crawled from the waters, livestock mutated, and even humans began to change.
The plague spread with terrifying speed, shattering families and consuming entire villages.
Only when a local tribe performed a forbidden spell ritual was the disaster contained.
But it was never destroyed—merely bound. To this day, the corruption still festers. Every ten years, the seal weakens, and families like Sadie's bear the burden of entering the blighted land to restore the ritual.
Only then can the people of Louisiana survive another decade.
And the sacred oil would shield them against the corruption's touch.
Gideon tapped his chin. "The market is flooded with holy oil. Why must it be the Church's vial?"
Sadie hesitated, then spoke with resolve:
"Because… only oil that has aged beyond a certain number of years retains its true potency."
Gideon understood. Much like relics, the vial stored under Bishop Julius must have been preserved for decades.
From the look in his eyes, Sadie could tell he would not agree easily. That was why she had hesitated to confess earlier.
"Father Gideon," she tried again, voice softening. "I can help you find Sasha. Afterward, I'll pay you handsomely for the oil."
"No interest." His refusal was immediate.
The clues were his—he wouldn't hand them over. His questions had only been to test whether she was an enemy sent against him. Now that the misunderstanding was cleared, he had no intention of wasting more time.
Besides, America was already crawling with spirits and demons. Did the land really need more ruin? Was it not already a wasteland?
"This oil is vital to me! Hey!" Sadie shouted after him.
But Gideon didn't even slow his steps.
"At least untie me!" she demanded.
A dagger sheath dropped at her feet. By the time she looked up, the priest was gone.
"That man… utterly insufferable." She ground her teeth.
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Leaving Sadie behind, Gideon soon reached a small lumber mill.
Scattered cabins sat near the yard, beyond which stretched a dense forest. Many of its trees had already been felled, leaving stumps, with stacks of timber waiting on open ground.
Following the address he'd been given, Gideon found one such cabin.
In the yard, a man was splitting logs with steady swings of his axe.
Spotting the stranger, Hank set the axe aside and walked over.
"We're not looking to join any church," he said before Gideon could speak. Though he had dealings with the clergy, Hank himself was no believer.
"Hank Bayek?"
At the sound of his full name, Hank narrowed his eyes. "You're here about Sister Sasha, aren't you?"
"Oh?" Gideon's brow lifted. "So someone else came before me?"
"Days ago. Every merchant tied to St. Jevoha has already been questioned."
Realizing Gideon was just another seeker of Sasha, Hank shrugged and returned to chopping wood.
"My answer hasn't changed. I only ever saw her when I delivered timber. Beyond that, I don't know where she went."
The axe came down hard, splitting the log clean in two.
Gideon shifted the subject. "I heard from Renia that you once mentioned whispers in the forest nearby."
That made Hank pause. He glanced up, surprised.
"Yes… but it's nothing. Likely just the wind moving through the trees."
"And you mentioned this in Sasha's presence?"
"Father, are you interrogating me?" Hank's tone carried a hint of annoyance.
"Not at all," Gideon replied smoothly. "But Sister Sasha has been missing for days. Since you've seen her, you understand—everyone is concerned for her safety."
A small figure flickered through Hank's memory. He shook his head.
"I'm sorry for what happened to her. But that day I was too busy hauling lumber to make idle talk."
"I see."
From his coat, Gideon drew out a small cloth bundle.
"You're an expert with wood. This charcoal was found in Sasha's quarters. Can you identify its source?"
Hank's curiosity got the better of him. He set the axe aside, took the piece, and examined it closely.
"Judging by the burn patterns, it's pine. Likely from timber I delivered myself." He gestured toward the forest.
"What's wrong with it?"
So Gideon explained carefully—how the charcoal might be tied to Sasha's disappearance—and asked whether anyone nearby had fallen suddenly ill.
Hank frowned. The suggestion puzzled him, but when the question about illness landed, his expression wavered.
Gideon didn't miss it.
"The Church also offers aid to the afflicted," he prompted gently.
Hank sighed. "Follow me."
He led Gideon into the cabin and down a narrow hall. Stopping at a door, he pushed it open.
The bedroom was small. Wooden toys lined the window sill.
On the bed by the wall lay a little boy.
When Gideon stepped inside, his brows furrowed.
The boy's skin was covered in festering sores, the bedsheets beneath him stained crimson with blood. His breathing was shallow, frail.
Hank entered the room, picking up a small wooden axe from the table.
"Jode carved this for me… back when he was still healthy."
The lumberyard, Hank explained, had been passed down from his father, who had started it with a few friends. To save costs, the partners had worked as both owners and laborers, and Hank had inherited not only the business but also the craft of carpentry.
After marrying, he often made toys by hand for his son.
But with each passing year, taxes grew heavier, and profits from lumber dwindled. Out of necessity, Hank even took contracts from the Church—jobs he once disdained—just to keep the mill afloat.
For a time, he thought they might weather the storm.
Until Jode fell ill.
"It happened so suddenly. One day I came home—he was vomiting, writhing, and then the sores began to spread…"
Hospitals offered no answers. Scans and treatments did nothing. Day by day, Jode wasted away, his body betraying him.
At last, Hank could only bring his son home.
His wife, Avena Knight, once a woman full of warmth and laughter, had loved tending the flowers around their home. She had long, silken hair that gleamed like the sun.
But now, to cover their mounting debts, Avena had secretly cut it all off, selling it cheaply to a wigmaker.
Hank's voice faltered. "I couldn't stop her. And I… I can't do anything for him anymore." He wiped at his eyes with a rough hand.
"If there really is a God in this world… why would He let my child suffer like this?"
From the doorway, Gideon finally spoke, his voice low and steady:
"Evil brings pain to mankind. Salvation… belongs only to the Light."
In Gideon's eyes, the boy was shrouded in a malignant aura.
Its source was not Jode's body, but the row of wooden toys on the windowsill.
The same taint clung to them—identical to what he had found in the charcoal inside Sasha's room.
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