I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

[Effect: After digestion, you will gain the full Demon Hunter class.]

Digestion progress: 168 hours.

[Did you reverse the side effects?]

"Twist!"

[Reversal progress: 88 hours.]

After confirming the information on the panel, Evan bent over, clutching his stomach with both hands, large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"Goodness, that hurts!"

Hill was still immersed in the sadness of inheriting his master's legacy, but seeing Ivan's reaction, his sadness was instantly replaced by shock.

She crouched down and leaned closer to examine Evan's face and arms more closely.

"No ulceration, no vomiting blood, no black blood vessels all over the face, no mutations."

Her voice grew louder and louder, and her golden vertical pupils widened in shock.

"Just... a stomachache?"

Ivan leaned against the tree trunk, his face flushed, sweat pouring down his face, and his voice was squeezed out through clenched teeth.

"Master, do you have any painkillers? I can't stand the pain."

Hill snapped out of her daze, straightened up, put her hands on her hips, and switched back to her mentor mode.

"This is part of the transformation trial, and painkillers cannot interfere with it."

"The Demon Hunter trait will modify your gastrointestinal system, giving you a stronger digestive ability to cope with the corrosive effects of more potions in the future."

"It is a painful but rejuvenating process that usually lasts for seven days."

"Over these seven days you will gradually digest its extraordinary properties, and your body will gradually evolve."

She thought for a moment, then added another sentence.

"By the way, adequate nutrition and high-intensity exercise can help you absorb nutrients faster."

Upon hearing this, Ivan, covered in sweat, struggled to his feet from the tree trunk.

"Then I understand. I can persevere."

Humans become significantly more accepting of pain once they realize that the pain they are experiencing is not harmful to their bodies and can even bring benefits.

This is a worthwhile deal, so be it if it hurts.

Seeing that Ivan had not mutated and that he had finally successfully inherited his master's extraordinary characteristics, Hill visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

Her shoulders slumped, and her entire demeanor shifted from "serious witcher mentor" back to "carefree young girl".

"You can digest this slowly from now on. My current status makes it inconvenient for me to have direct contact with you."

She patted Evan on the shoulder, this time with much less force.

"But I'll be watching you from the shadows, don't worry."

"Just continue with your current life and don't let anyone else notice anything unusual."

Ivan was sweating profusely from the pain, but he still nodded seriously.

The two walked one after the other along the dirt path under the moonlight towards the city.

Hill walked ahead, her long silver hair swaying gently in the night breeze. The hilts of two swords protruded from behind her shoulders, drawing two parallel dark lines in the moonlight.

Ivan followed behind, clutching his stomach. With each step, it felt like his stomach was being twisted, but he didn't stop.

At an intersection on the edge of the city, the two parted ways.

Hill waved to him, his figure quickly disappearing into the shadows beyond the reach of the streetlights.

Evan walked alone into the lights of Guding Street.

……

Chapter 24: The Price of the Curse, Ten Out, Twenty Back

Northwest of Bolton City, in the Back Bay area, on Federal Avenue.

As the enclave of Bolton's newly emerging elite, this neighborhood is a completely different world from Gooding Street.

A wide, tree-lined avenue leads directly to Central Park, lined with detached or semi-detached villas on both sides.

The exterior walls are made of brown sandstone, the railings are made of cast iron, and the pillars of the porch are covered with neatly trimmed ivy.

The streetlights are electric, bright and steady, illuminating every single stone slab on the sidewalk clearly.

There was no smell of coal smoke or horse manure in the air, only the fresh scent of the mowed lawn and the occasional sound of a piano drifting from one of the windows.

The people who can live here are generally from the finance, law, medical and education industries.

The family's annual income is between four thousand and ten thousand US dollars.

In front of a semi-detached brown sandstone villa, a brass nameplate is engraved with the surname Le Bang in cursive script.

Ah!

A piercing scream came from the second-floor bedroom, pierced through the tightly closed window, echoed for a moment on the quiet street, and was then dispersed by the night wind.

The man who was reading the newspaper in the downstairs living room suddenly stood up, scattering the newspaper all over the floor.

The woman in her pajamas rushed out of the walk-in closet, clutching a red shirt in her hand.

The two rushed up the stairs almost simultaneously and pushed open the door to the second-floor bedroom.

A blond youth knelt on the floor, his body trembling uncontrollably.

His back was inexplicably soaked in sewage, which corroded his skin beyond recognition.

The left eyeball protruded from its socket, hanging on the cheekbone, connected to a thin optic nerve, swaying slightly with trembling.

A large crater was smashed into the left side of his skull, and blood covered half of his face.

There was a fist-sized hole on the right side of his neck, with charred edges, as if it had been burned by some kind of high temperature.

Blood gushed from the hole, pooling into a dark red puddle on the floor.

"Jimmy! Jimmy! What's wrong with you!"

The respectable father rushed over and hugged his son's shoulders, his hands immediately becoming soaked in blood.

His voice trembled, and the color drained from his face at a visible speed.

The man turned and rushed downstairs to make a phone call, shouting the private doctor's name as he dialed, his voice trembling with tears.

The woman, who had some nursing experience, knelt beside her son, suppressing her fear, and pressed gauze tightly against the wound on his neck. The gauze was instantly soaked with blood and turned dark red.

LeBon knelt in the pool of blood, his eyes filled with terror.

He tried to speak; his lips moved, but only gurgling bubbles came from his throat.

Blood foam spilled from the corner of his mouth and dripped down his chin.

His vision began to blur, and the colors of the world faded little by little, from colorful to grayish-white, and then from grayish-white to black.

He regretted it.

He shouldn't have listened to the fraternity leader and gone to find that witch to curse that damned wild dog.

The man downplayed it, saying, "It's just a little bad luck for him, a bit of embarrassment."

He believed it.

He spent ten dollars, using his anger as a medium, to buy a curse.

He should have had a bright future ahead of him.

His father's business was booming, and his grades were good enough to make him a lawyer. After graduating, he opened a law firm in the Back Bay area and married a daughter from a good family.

He should never have crossed paths with someone like Evan Arkham.

He should have...

"Jimmy!!!"

The mother's heart-wrenching cries echoed through the villa, across the corridors and stairwells, drifting out of the half-open windows and dissipating into the quiet and dignified night of Federal Avenue.

A young life has ended just like that.

The curse backfired.

They went out ten times and returned twenty times.

The price paid by the caster of a curse is always heavier than that paid by the cursed.

the other side.

Central Bolton, south of Copley Square, Clarendon Street.

A six-story upscale apartment building stands on the street corner, with light gray limestone exterior walls, dark oak window frames, and uniformed doormen guarding the ground floor porch.

The monthly rent here is enough for a family on Guding Street to live on for half a year.

In a spacious suite on the fifth floor, Price sat in a dark leather armchair, holding a stemmed glass in his hand.

The liquid in the glass was dark red and viscous, gleaming dimly in the firelight of the fireplace.

After listening to the young man's report, he nodded in response.

"This is not your problem. Go on."

The young man, who had been humiliated by Hill, bowed his head respectfully and silently left the room.

After the door closed, the female assistant emerged from the shadows beside the fireplace.

"I think Arkham is lying."

Her voice was low and flat, as if she were stating the conclusion of an experiment.

“Adolf’s demon-hunting faction only moved here from Germany ten years ago, and they are not doing well.”

"With a shortage of funds and a dwindling workforce, there are no more than five active members in Bolton City today."

"Given their current situation, it is unlikely that they would plan ahead to place a reserve officer at the University of the Wise."