Chapter 36: The Prize Money Is Secured, But…

The caster wheels beneath the cart rolled across the carpet with a dull rumble as Sera stopped in front of the viewing room door.

Knock knock!

She raised her hand and rapped lightly. Without waiting for a response from inside, she pushed the wooden door open.

The chandelier inside cast crystalline reflections across the carpet. The ventilation window was open, and the breeze from outside made the tassels on the sofa’s armrests sway gently.

But the young master Cyril, who should have been inside, and that irritating nun were nowhere to be seen.

Where did they go?

Sera’s eyes instantly sharpened. Her hawk-like gaze swept across the entire VIP viewing room.

Could it be that nun had taken young master Cyril and—

“Why did it take you so long to get back?”

A gentle voice suddenly cut off Sera’s speculation from behind. Evelyn appeared at the corner of the hallway, pushing Cyril’s wheelchair. “Was something holding you up? Or did you get lost?”

Her tone was mild and considerate, the very picture of thoughtfulness.

But to Sera’s ears, every word grated unbearably—like blatant mockery.

No, this nun was mocking her!

As a perfect head maid, making such a mistake—going to the wrong viewing room, taking this long just to fetch some wine—was utterly unforgivable.

Yet Sera could only force herself to swallow her frustration and maintain her signature, statue-like perfect smile.

“Miss Nun, may I ask where you took our young master Cyril?”
Her gaze swept over the damp tips of Evelyn’s hair. “And you seem… slightly disheveled.”

“Looks like the corridors here really are too confusing.”

Evelyn smiled brightly and forcibly redirected the topic back to Sera. “It was just a trip to fetch some wine, yet you didn’t return until the race was already over.”

She couldn’t let Sera keep talking—one more sentence and the truth would spill.

It hadn’t even been two minutes since she’d climbed out of the river. Cyril had only just crossed the finish line. The two of them had immediately rushed to change clothes at top speed, then each grabbed one of Puchi’s feet and used its flight to get back to the bridgehead.

Evelyn hadn’t even had time to wipe the water droplets from her hair.

Honestly, poor Puchi—just a tiny blue bird, yet forced to carry the weight of two adults all the way back to the viewing area.

“Unable to bear the weight of demons,” indeed.

Even rushing as they did, they still failed to make it back before Sera returned.

Fortunately, Sera herself had only just arrived.

“Um!”

Cyril, sitting in the wheelchair, weakly raised his hand. “I wanted to go down to the public viewing hall, so I asked Miss Evelyn to take me there…”

Sera turned her gaze to young master Cyril, scanned him from top to bottom, and found nothing amiss.

Only then did she finally relax and withdraw her eyes.

After all, the delay was ultimately her own fault. She could only hope the young master wouldn’t come to dislike her over something like this.

Suddenly, a deafening roar rose from outside the window—mixed with cheers, frustrated curses, and the sound of fireworks.

Sera glanced down toward the bridgehead below. It seemed the race had already reached the award ceremony.

A racer in a red trench coat, helmet on, named Dante, stood on the podium holding a trophy, looking somewhat at a loss.

It seemed young master Cyril and this Evelyn really had gone to the lower viewing hall.

They couldn’t have participated in the race—otherwise, with young master Cyril’s skill, he should be down there popping champagne on the podium right now.

“Um… the race is over.”

Cyril spoke up weakly again. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.”

Sera nodded, walked over to Cyril, naturally squeezed Evelyn aside, and took hold of the wheelchair handles. “I’ll escort you back.”

Only after the master and servant’s figures completely disappeared down the hallway did Evelyn irritate­ly slam her fist into the wall.

“Damn it!”

She cursed under her breath. The wall let out a dull thud as spiderweb-like cracks spread from beneath her knuckles. “If I’d known, I never would’ve brought that guy along—nothing but trouble!”

“Wasn’t that your own choice?” Puchi flapped in through the ventilation window and landed on the sofa’s backrest.

“Shut up!”

Evelyn irritably raked her long hair into a bird’s nest. “You’re driving me crazy!”

Letting Cyril participate in the race had been her way of adding an extra layer of insurance to securing the prize money—and also a test, to probe his true abilities.

Who could’ve imagined that at the very end, he’d suddenly turn on her?

A half-demon—naïve to this extent?

Talking about saving Cage… what a childish idea!

“Let’s go.”

It took Evelyn quite some time to calm herself down.

Cyril had won the championship. The prize money was secured. But that came at the cost of her having to waste a command seal.

And the price for using a command seal was still waiting to be paid.

Thinking about it only made her more irritated. Who would’ve thought that she—Evelyn—would be tripped up twice by Cyril?

It was infuriating enough to drive someone mad.

No—she needed to find a way to kill him as soon as possible! And that original demon behind Cage had to die too!

That said, objectively speaking, Cyril’s abilities actually meshed quite well with Evelyn’s.

Evelyn’s exorcism style had always followed three core rules: apply psychological pressure, force the target to reveal their demonic form, then exorcise them with a single lethal blow once their mental state reaches its limit.

Put bluntly: intimidate them first, scare them until they crack—then shoot them dead.

All this time, the hardest part of that methodology had been how to apply psychological pressure in the first place.

Evelyn usually observed her target’s behavior, deduced their latent personality traits from subtle clues, and then tailored her approach accordingly.

While the results were often good in the end, the process itself was still inefficient.

But if Cyril could first read the target’s memories, wouldn’t Evelyn know from the very beginning what they feared, and what would make them crack?

Using memory-derived information to design a psychological pressure strategy would drastically increase exorcism efficiency.

It would eliminate Evelyn’s early-stage observation and deduction entirely, while guaranteeing that the plan would work.

After all, once you’ve seen someone’s memories, you more or less understand them completely.

There was nothing more terrifying than an opponent who knew you better than you knew yourself.

From that perspective, Cyril was actually far more useful than Puchi.

Not only was he extremely capable in combat, his abilities also provided Evelyn with excellent support.

The only pity was that he wasn’t a true familiar—but a half-demon destined to be personally sent back to hell by Evelyn someday.

Honestly, even Evelyn felt that this would normally be the moment to show a bit of appreciation for talent.

But if she really did that—would she still be Evelyn?

…

Behind the podium, bright fireworks continued to erupt. “Dante” stood there with a champion’s wreath around his neck, trophy in hand, staring blankly at the champagne the host was offering him.

I’m not really Dante!

I’m just a gangster filling in as pit crew!
Sure, making a little money off the employer wasn’t exactly honorable—but why am I the one standing here impersonating the champion?!

The gangster screamed internally, while outwardly forcing himself to appear calm and composed.

Where are those two?

I’m not going to get exposed as a fake and executed on the spot by the organizers as a warning example… right?

This gangster—who had never flinched even when facing rival gangs—suddenly felt his legs go weak.