At the entrance of the alley, Donald grinned. It was still raining and dark clouds were deposited, but this did not affect his mood.

Win the bet!

Although things seemed to be going well before, they were based on the premise that all the processes were just right.

For example, when he got on the bus first, if Donald had not thought in advance, and had thrown out his identity as a demon contractor, he hesitated and said a word of begging for mercy or other words, he would have basically had to go in and out horizontally.

Augustus would not have any mercy on Donald Grant, who is an ordinary person, even if he kneels down and cries.

Get rid of danger.

Not only did they succeed in making the cult give up their silence actions in the short term, but in turn they turned them into a special transaction transfer station.

"Talented potions and supporting ritual magic circles... Is this the real key to the alien disciples? Could some of the materials that Sherlock asked me to translate are some of the materials in the talented potions?"

Talent can be obtained through the cooperation of potions and ritual magic circles. This is the key cognition of the journey to the cult stronghold, but what is the nature of this talent itself?

Why can demonic knowledge answer those words? Could it be that the so-called lost stone slab is actually something left by the demon?

It seems that you should try your best to cover up the matters you can translate texts... Otherwise, it is likely to attract sanctions from the church. After all, anything about demons is an object that must be cleaned in their eyes.

The ups and downs of just one week have made Donald grow at an astonishing speed.

Thinking is the key to human progress.

But there was one thing he might not have thought that if all the demons or gods could translate those words, how could the cult leave behind lost stone slabs and rubbing documents?

Human talents have different aspects, and demons also have their own strengths.

I can only say that Donald Grant is lucky...

**

Once again, he came to the study room in his mind. This time, Donald walked towards the desk with a familiarity. Of course, the meditation method of clocks can enter meditation while awake, but the effect is far less than the complete devotion of consciousness.

Focusing on drawing the clock pattern on the desktop, watching the blue light flowing from the tip of the pen seep into the paper page, the mind becomes more and more comfortable. This is another function of the clock meditation method. During the meditation process, the practitioner's spirit will be fully rested.

It can be compared to a spa bath in the spiritual aspect.

Donald likes this feeling, abandons all his worries, and just quietly feels the growth of his own mental power.

However, from a certain moment, sounds that shouldn't exist began to appear in your ears.

All the things are ~ All the things are ~

It seemed as if someone was whispering randomly, his voice was extremely light but quite penetrating. The focused Donald was awakened and his mind could not be concentrated. The pen in his hand immediately paused.

He did not leave his spiritual space, and an inexplicable force drove him to find the source of the sound, so he stood up and began to wander in the study.

Looking for something that you don’t know why you confirmed that it exists, and should be incompatible with it.

There was a fog rolling under his feet. It was obvious that it was just fog, but Donald felt a cold feeling. The sound in his ears was still wandering. He stopped in front of a bookcase, and the sound seemed to come from above.

"Iris Street Map... "Enemy of Religion", "Exorcist Evil", are these information I have seen?"

The books on the tall bookcase seem to be full of rows, but they are more of them similar to blank notebooks. There is no mark on the spine, and there is no content in it casually. There are not many books that can really see the words on the spine.

I took out the book "Exorcist Evil" I had read before, and the cover was exactly the same as the one I hid in the drawer of the desk, but when I turned on the first page, the content was missing, and only one-third of the text was still on it.

This is a book that appears according to his memory. In other words, what is recorded in this book is his memory.

So where did this weird sound come from?

I took out all the books with marked positions on the spine one after another, and it was not surprising, but the slight whispers in my ears never stopped.

His eyes moved up from the area in front of him, and over several layers of dark racks. On the bookshelf more than three meters high from the ground, he saw strands of gray mist overflowing from the inside, which was the source.

How to get up? This height cannot be caught by relying on one's own bounce.

Since it is his own spiritual world, it is very simple. Donald fantasized about a small lifting platform under his feet. He closed his eyes and stretched out his hand. The next second he touched a small rocker. He pulled it back and his body rose.

It was not stopped until the right place. The books in this row were all without any content numbers. Donald did not understand why there was a fog.

Just pull out these books from left to right, and when I draw the book with a burgundy cover in the middle, a half-folded piece of paper pressed against the back of another book in the air, and gray fog kept emerging from the center of this piece of paper.

Holding the two sides of the paper slowly spread out, Donald had an impression of it, the page spread out on the notes beside him when he woke up in the sewer.

The smeared sacrifice array was exactly the same, and the fog and sound were all heard from it.

Thorn!

Donald pulled the paper without hesitation, and he felt the unknown and darkness above.

The sound stopped, and the flow of the gray fog seemed to stagnate. Donald breathed a sigh of relief and finally calmed down.

"Do you think this is over?"

"who!"

With a sudden sound, Donald turned to look at the desk where another he appeared, but he had just appeared in the mirror that night after he came out of the sewer.

Dark and evil.

"Do you think this is over?"

Repeating words, this time, he stared at Donald, holding a pen in his hand, and swung it towards the side of his body. The black ink flowed out of the tip and did not dissipate, but stayed in the area opposite the desk.

It spread and condensed, and finally formed a black desk, and the entire wall behind it began to turn black. Donald's eyes turned to him. On the bookshelf there, the books he saw, regardless of whether there were or not, all had the appearance of the books he saw, changed from brown, burgundy to black, and dark green!

This is pollution...from the power of the demon!

"Donald Grant? Souls from another world...It's not over between us!"

Another person was sitting on a metal chair burning with dark green flames. On his side were two white bone lamps, with faint blue light flashing at the top, holding a large and dark classic in his hand. He was clearly an evil demon, but there was an inexplicable calmness on his body.

At his feet, the black and brown floor collide in the midline of the room, storming, which is invading Donald's spiritual world.
Chapter completed!