Chapter 72 — The Hunter and the Prey
The moment Vincent heard his own name shouted, surprise flickered across his eyes—
and then turned into sheer delight.
The man across the street was cloaked in black.
A priest.
Vincent's gaze burned with greed.
He had been searching desperately for such prey—
and now, the prey had delivered itself to his doorstep.
At first, he thought it might just be another unlucky traveler who had wandered into Ambrose looking for help.
It happened often enough.
And it always ended the same way:
their arrival merely expanded his "supply of materials."
But then Vincent's sharp eyes caught sight of the figure lying at the stranger's feet.
"...Lester?"
He frowned.
Hands bound, blood on his clothes...
Vincent muttered to himself, quickly drawing a conclusion—
his brother must have been exposed while luring in victims.
Which raised a more dangerous possibility:
Was this priest far stronger than he appeared?
Vincent studied him carefully.
When he had researched church rituals and sacrifices, he learned that true clergy often carried distinctive relics—bronze crucifixes, episcopal talismans, sacred insignia.
But this man bore nothing of the sort.
Meanwhile, Lester's presence in town was clear: he was calling for rescue.
Years ago, before embarking on their bloody trade, the brothers had established rules.
If Lester were captured, he would feed false information to lure enemies into the town.
Vincent would then appear as a helpless "victim" and strike at the right moment.
If strangers entered town without Lester, that meant the ruse had succeeded,
and Vincent could approach them under the guise of a "helpful survivor."
The system was flexible, flawless—
it had never once failed.
And now?
The intruder had spared Lester's life and dragged him openly into the street...
Vincent thought for a long moment.
The man seemed reckless, maybe even a fool.
Perhaps he was one of those pampered brats from the church—born with a silver spoon and given authority he hadn't earned.
Still, caution demanded restraint.
If this priest carried a powerful relic, facing him head-on could be dangerous.
Vincent narrowed his eyes.
"But why did Lester give him my real name?"
That was irritating.
For now, he would borrow his brother Bo's identity.
After all, Lester had no photo of the three of them—
so Vincent could still play the part of a victim.
All he needed was to get close.
Once he was near, he was certain he could take the man down in an instant.
Across the street, Gideon Black called for a long while with no answer.
"Did he leave town...?"
But he quickly dismissed the thought.
Vincent might have wandered off,
but Bo—the disfigured brother who rotted away in the wax museum's basement—never left.
As Gideon prepared to call again, a figure suddenly staggered into view on the street.
"Sir! Help me!"
It was Vincent.
His clothes were in disarray, his face pale with terror.
He stumbled forward, glancing frantically behind him as if some horror pursued him.
Then—crash.
He tripped, slamming face-first into the ground.
Blood trickled from his nose as he scrambled to his feet.
To any onlooker, he was the very image of a desperate victim.
"Sir! You— you were tricked into this place too? This town... something's wrong here, the people here—"
His voice cut short.
He froze, staring in "shock" at the ground near Gideon's feet.
Lester lay there, bound hand and foot, gagged, eyes blindfolded.
Vincent's eyes widened in feigned horror.
He staggered back, as though realizing he had just begged the wrong man for help.
Gideon's lips twitched.
"So, Simo wasn't the only one who learned to overact, huh..." he thought to himself.
Not far away, behind cover, three others crouched in silence—Sadie, Carly, and Wade.
They had been waiting for some time.
Seeing Vincent's sorry state, Carly turned to Sadie.
"Ms. Cooper, maybe that man knows something! We should ask him!"
Wade nodded quickly.
"Yeah, what if there are more survivors in the town?"
Sadie shook her head.
"Not yet."
Once, she might have agreed with them.
But after spending time with Gideon, her instincts had sharpened.
Now, she distrusted everything at face value.
Carly sighed and turned back toward the gas station.
Meanwhile, Gideon himself faced a decision.
Vincent had not yet stepped fully into the trap.
If Gideon exposed him too soon, he risked spooking him—
and that could create new, dangerous variables.
Besides...
Vincent clearly harbored his own doubts.
Gideon glanced at Lester.
The man had been present when the holy wards were set up,
so Gideon had gagged him to prevent him from blurting out anything dangerous.
Now, watching Vincent's performance, Gideon made his choice.
Feigning confusion, he narrowed his eyes at the man and demanded:
"Who are you?!"
Then, with sharp suspicion:
"You… you're one of them, aren't you?"
Vincent didn't answer—only pointed wildly at Lester with trembling hands, voice trembling with "fear."
Gideon almost chuckled.
"Good actor..." he muttered inwardly.
But he wasn't new to the game.
He knew exactly what Vincent was planning.
Still, he raised his hands, playing his part.
"You misunderstand! That man—he attacked me in the forest!"
Words tumbled from him in a hurried, desperate explanation—
the story of an innocent missionary ambushed out of nowhere.
His eyes were wide, earnest, as if he longed to rip open his own chest to prove his sincerity.
On the ground, Lester twisted violently.
Tears welled in his eyes.
His brother had come to rescue him—he was touched, of course.
But this priest—
this priest was lying!
He moaned frantically into the gag, thrashing as if to shout the truth.
But his desperation only added weight to Gideon's performance—
making him seem all the more credible.
And from Vincent's perspective—Lester's frantic thrashing, though meant as a warning, only served to give Vincent the perfect excuse to "lower his guard."
Both Gideon and Vincent, in their own minds, gave silent praise.
What a convenient performance!
"Ah... so that's how it is," Vincent muttered with a sigh of relief.
"Do you have any way to contact the outside world? We need to call the police."
As he spoke, he began inching toward the priest, step by careful step—
unknowingly walking straight into Gideon's carefully laid trap.
Meanwhile, Lester's struggles grew more violent, his muffled cries sharper.
Gideon narrowed his eyes suddenly, snapping out a sharp command:
"Wait! Do you have a weapon on you?"
From a distance, Vincent might not have noticed his brother's agitation.
But now, with the gap between them shrinking, Lester's behavior could draw suspicion.
So Gideon chose to strike first by feigning caution.
Vincent froze for a moment at the priest's stern tone.
He wasn't close enough yet. After a brief pause, he decided patience was safer.
"Yes... a knife. I picked it up earlier, just to protect myself."
In truth, he needed no such thing. When the time came, his own strength would be more than enough.
So he had no reason to lie.
"Take it out—slowly. Put it on the ground," Gideon ordered, his voice cold and firm.
"It's for everyone's safety."
Vincent nodded.
"All right..."
So cautious... but that's all it is, he thought with quiet disdain.
Clang.
A small knife clattered onto the ground.
Vincent nudged it aside with his foot, then looked up, eyes full of helplessness.
"...Satisfied?" he asked, his gaze searching the priest's expression.
"Good. Now, come closer."
Gideon's brows finally eased, his face softening into a look of guarded relief.
On the ground, Lester's muffled cries broke into sobs.
His heart ached as he watched—
the brother he had always relied upon for cold caution was now hurrying headlong into the priest's trap.
"My poor brother... just endure a little longer. Soon, you'll be free."
Vincent lowered his head, as if unable to meet the priest's eyes.
But in truth, it was to conceal the murderous hunger burning within them.
He could hardly restrain his thirst for blood any longer.
At this range, in his mind, the priest was already a dead man.
At the same time, Gideon's eyes narrowed to slits.
Finally... he's taken the bait.
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