After clearing out that utterly pathetic millennia-old creeper...
While still staring at the now-unrecognizable pile of flesh that had once been a monster, the police began questioning the teachers and students on the bus about what had happened.
Their first three questions cut straight to the point:
Why did they encounter this creature?
What exactly is this creature?
Why were they attacked?
Naturally, none of the students or teachers could give a clear answer. Only the cheerleading captain, who had so limited knowledge of the events, was able to offer a rough explanation.
Even with most of the information missing, the police didn't push them too hard. After all, everyone on the bus was either studying or working at Grint High School—locals of Briarwood County, for the most part.
Orsaga, however, wasn't so lucky.
As a stranger with striking and unusual features, he imdiately beca the subject of more thorough questioning.
Facing the calm and composed man before him, the deputy chief of police quickly realized that Orsaga wasn't soone who would be easy to get answers from.
Flipping through his docunts with a frown, the deputy asked, "So what exactly are you doing here?"
"I'm not really sure," Orsaga replied casually.
"This afternoon, I sort of 'woke up' and found myself by the side of Route 9. I walked for a bit and stumbled upon this school bus. I didn't feel like walking anymore, so I figured I'd hitch a ride—and then, well, the monster showed up."
The deputy chief blinked. "What do you an you 'sort of' woke up?"
Shrugging, Orsaga answered in an utterly matter-of-fact tone:
"Exactly what I said. You know—I'm an exorcist. Weird stuff tends to happen around . This is all pretty normal, wouldn't you say?"
"..."
The deputy exchanged a long, speechless glance with the nearby officer.
Even though what Orsaga had said sounded like complete nonsense, there wasn't really anything to argue against. The man had just burned a regenerative nightmare into ashes in front of them—clearly not just blowing smoke.
And if monsters were real… well, wasn't randomly waking up sowhere just another day in the life of a so-called exorcist?
Still, they couldn't shake the feeling that they were being taken for a ride.
Just then, a docunt they hadn't noticed before slid into view.
[Professional Exorcist License — Issued by the International Association of Exorcists]
It was among the stack of papers Orsaga had casually handed over.
The deputy squinted at it. "...You guys have licenses for this kind of thing?"
"As long as you've handled a few cases and—well—survived, you qualify," Orsaga said dryly.
This information ca from the fragnts of mory the Matrix Purgatory had implanted in him. They were sparse, but enough to help him navigate basic checks like this. He had no idea how he'd even passed the exorcist exam himself. All he knew was how to contact the Association and so other surface-level knowledge.
Probably to stop Purgators from mooching off other people's exorcist credentials.
The deputy chief raised an eyebrow. "...Pretty straightforward vetting process."
Orsaga replied nonchalantly, "There's really no way around it. In this line of work, either you've got it or you don't. If you don't, nothing will save you."
---
Half an hour later.
Acting on the deputy's orders, Orsaga hitched a ride in one of the police cars headed toward the nearest town.
"This is my hotown," said the officer driving. "Nice place, good environnt. You might enjoy walking around a bit."
While chatting, he glanced at Orsaga through the rearview mirror. "Where do you want to get dropped off?"
"A net café would be best," Orsaga replied. "I need to use a computer."
Just as he finished speaking, sothing on the side of the road caught his attention.
It was the front gate of a luxurious mansion.
Under the glow of a streetlamp, a striking blonde woman—perhaps in her forties—was having a conversation with a man in his thirties.
By reading their lips, Orsaga easily deciphered their conversation.
The woman was the man's stepmother. She was trying to diate a conflict between him and his father.
But what piqued Orsaga's interest wasn't the content of their conversation.
It was the woman herself.
At a glance, she seed like a well-preserved middle-aged beauty—but as she spoke, Orsaga clearly noticed sothing off about the movent of her facial skin.
As a seasoned expert, Orsaga was very familiar with the muscular behavior of the human face—how certain syllables pulled certain muscles in predictable directions, how expressions changed based on subtle shifts.
And this woman? Her movents weren't human.
Her throat moved as she spoke, yes—but it was chanical, unnaturally consistent.
Her pupils didn't dilate or contract at all. The expression in her eyes was entirely simulated by her eyelids.
A few seconds later, the police car drove past the mansion and out of sight.
Orsaga leaned forward and asked the officer in the front seat:
"Are there any creepy local legends around here? Especially about dolls or puppets?"
The officer visibly stiffened at the question, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel.
"…Why do you ask sothing like that all of a sudden?"
"I just saw a pretty impressive doll," Orsaga said casually. "Got curious."
The officer hesitated for a mont, then slowly replied:
"…Actually, yeah. This town does have a legend about a doll."
"The story centers on soone whose na I can't say aloud. She was once the most famous ventriloquist doll master in the town—and she even owned her own theater."
"But after she died—under mysterious circumstances—she turned into a vengeful spirit. Since then, she's haunted the town. People have been dying ever since the 1940s, and every single victim had their tongue brutally ripped out…"
"We've brought in exorcists—many of them. Tried everything: holy water, crosses, prayers.
None of it worked. If she didn't only target specific individuals, this town would've been abandoned years ago."
At that point, the officer fell silent for a mont—thinking about how Orsaga had incinerated that unkillable creeper earlier.
After so hesitation, he added:
"If you think you're up for it, you could head to the town library and dig around for more information. If you can deal with that spirit—I'm sure the townspeople will give you a very generous reward."
He put extra emphasis on the word reward.
Clearly, this spirit had been tornting the town for a long, long ti.
After a few seconds of quiet, the officer added:
"But if you're not confident—don't go looking for her. Over a dozen priests and self-proclaid exorcists have died in ways no one could explain…"
Orsaga just gave a lazy smile at the warning.
A doll made of flesh. A spirit whose na couldn't be spoken. One confird to exist but never successfully exorcised.
This vengeful spirit… seed a lot stronger than that sorry excuse for a monster they just dealt with.
_____
T/N:
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