I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 138 Multiple Gods, Multiple Paths (10K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

The slaughterhouse smelled terrible.

The abandoned old workshop deep inside the factory has long been out of use. The slaughtering workbenches, which have been idle for many years, are rusty and covered with a thick layer of dust. Now they have been casually cleaned and used as dining tables.

Seven or eight burly men covered in tattoos sat together, eating their food in silence.

Antonio looked at everyone with a grim expression; the situation was getting worse and worse.

He only has these few core members left, and if he continues like this, he's doomed.

He had only one last chance: to capture Dali, kill him, and take his place.

"Boss, when are we going to get revenge?" a burly man asked, his voice choked with emotion.

"Don't worry, I will definitely lead you back to victory." Antonio put his arm around his subordinate's neck and patted him hard, his voice heavy.

His subordinate's eyes were bloodshot; his brother had been killed two days earlier in a gunfight with the Ghost Gang.

The others looked numb.

They have lost too many brothers, and everyone has run out of tears.

The slaughterhouse owner, Fatty Barlow, was Antonio's brother whom he risked his life to save. He opened the slaughterhouse after losing a leg and has been running it for over a decade.

Fatty Barlow, true to his name, was chubby and as round as a ball. He walked in with a grin and said, "How are things, brothers?"

Everyone stood up to greet the fat man.

Antonio hugged Barlow.

Antonio wrapped his arm around Barlow's thick shoulder and patted him twice on the back, lightly but with great gratitude.

It's really not easy for anyone to still be willing to take them in.

They've been hiding here for three or four days and are perfectly safe.

Barlow said earnestly, "If you want to go back, boss, I can send you back. Back to Brazil, Cuba, Mexico, anywhere, as long as you leave this place you'll be safe. The situation is different now, get out of here."

He pleaded earnestly.

Everyone looked at Antonio.

Antonio remained silent for a long time: "How can I go back? So many brothers have died. They were all brought out of that hell by me. They believed in me, believed they could make a fortune by following me, that's why they came here."

"I can't go back. Their wives and children are waiting at home for money to eat. If we don't keep fighting, our fallen brothers won't have money to support their families."

He thought of the children and old people in that dilapidated city, his face darkening and grim.

"No matter what, we have to fight one last time. So many brothers have died, I can't go back and face them. Either we succeed, or I die with them."

"Alright," the fat man, Ballow, sighed. "I can't help you with anything else. But you can stay here as long as you want."

The NYPD and the Ghost Gang are both looking for Antonio, which shows how dangerous it is.

One of his men stood up, stuffed the half-eaten bread into his mouth, walked over, tugged at Balo's hand, and patted him on the shoulder: "Good brother!"

Another henchman stood up, pounding his chest: "You're our brother!"

Barlow was hugged by seven or eight burly men one by one before he left.

A moment later, Antonio knelt in front of a broken table.

The tabletop displays a cross, statues of Guanyin, Guan Yu, Muhammad, and even a printed photograph of Debbie, leaning against the wooden shelf.

Antonio prayed one by one: "Amen."

"Second Master, please help me." He said in very broken Chinese, "May Guanyin protect me."

His forehead rested on the edge of the table, his eyes were closed, and his lips moved rapidly as he recited all the names of the gods in one breath, then respectfully bowed to each one.

The subordinates were already used to it, and they laughed and followed along, bowing once more.

Whether it's useful or not, it's all the same; having more gods means having more options.

Who knows which deity will be able to help?

"Debbie, the Catholic, has become quite famous lately. Pray to her more often."

"What did she do? Why is she a little girl?"

"Who cares about her! Just pray!"

Of course, this is just for psychological comfort.

After his previous ambush of Dali failed, he lost three of his brothers and was chased by Dali for a while before he managed to escape.

After mentally preparing himself, Antonio looked at his seven remaining brothers: "No matter what, we must kill Dali. Use his Ghost Gang as the shell of our BG Gang. This is our last chance; it's either him or us."

"Yes," everyone responded.

"The three of you go out to search. Be careful when you come back today."

"Don't worry, boss!" The three quick-witted henchmen left.

To be honest, this headless search method makes it almost impossible to find Dali's lair.

But as Antonio himself said, he was too ashamed to go back.

Either achieve success here, make money with your brothers, and support the wives, children, and elderly parents of your deceased brothers.

Either everyone dies here, there's no other way.

Antonio glanced again at the row of statues on the shelf, especially the picture of Debbie.

Among a group of wooden or metal statues, Debbie, a pretty little girl, was too eye-catching.

Antonio thought to himself.

"Saint-Debbie, if you help me get through this, I'll have a golden statue made for you!"

He had been worshipping other deities for over a decade or two, but none of them had helped him resolve his predicament, suggesting they were not particularly capable.

We can only try and see if the new god is reliable.

To be honest, Antonio was resorting to desperate measures.

While the Vatican is still debating whether Debbie is a saint, a mob boss has already deified her.

The gold content and weight of a statue depend on the sincerity of its believers, and Antonio's sincerity depended on whether he survived.

"Boss, I think you should take a look at this email," the blonde, black-stockinged secretary cautiously reminded him.

"What are you looking at? Can't you see I'm busy?!" David Hart was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan, completely unable to concentrate on eating.

The blonde secretary fled in panic.

The NFL is pressuring him, the FBI is pressuring him, shareholders are pressuring him, fans are pressuring him, broadcasters are pressuring him, and investors are pressuring him.

Even those idiot teammates dared to pressure him!

He held the cigar between three short, stubby fingers, and didn't shake it even though the ash had accumulated to half a finger's length.

The phone lit up again.

I glanced at it and saw it was a Google seller.

David Hart simply wouldn't answer.

What are you bragging about!

It's not like you can just decide on something without spending your own money. It's not that easy!

I need to think this through.

I need to think this through...

Money is a minor issue now; he's terrified that if he fires Debbie, some religious extremist will storm in with a bomb tomorrow...

Oh, Catholic extremists don't like explosives; they prefer playing with big trucks.

That's impossible to stop!

David is now filled with regret; he should have never let Langdon create a miracle to generate buzz.

Who knows if it could bring about a real divine revelation?

It's too late to regret it now.

Or... should I throw Langdon out?

So you're saying he did it all?

David thought about it without any shame, but then stopped himself from thinking about it.

Unreliable.

The key issue now is whether or not to pass Debbie's interview; sacrificing Langdon won't solve the problem.

Or, how about letting her play in the Super Bowl?

Fk!

Fk!

Fk!

I absolutely must never touch upon religious issues again, or I'll be a dog!

David Hart stood up and paced back and forth behind his desk twice, his steps quick and short, his shoes making a dull thud on the carpet.

David hesitated for another ten minutes or so, and the whole room was filled with smoke.

After smoking three cigars, he felt dizzy and couldn't take it anymore.

My head is throbbing so badly, I have to switch to DAMA to perk myself up.

What should I do?

What should we do?

I have read all the statements made by the Catholic Church and other denominations.

He dared not provoke either side.

David Hart couldn't make up his mind, so he resorted to opening the email from his secretary in an attempt to change his mood.

The moment he opened the email, he was stunned.

How much will it cost for three years?

$1.8 billion!

David Hart thought he had misread the decimal point.

He rubbed his eyes, pulled the screen closer to him, and looked closely; the numbers hadn't changed.

He counted the zeros again.

That's right!

David Hart quickly scanned the contract.

The Lutheran Church of Catholicism, through an exclusive sponsorship agreement, spent 1.8 million to cover all of the Giants' assets, from on-field to off-field, from jerseys to the bus.

All the GGs are included.

If they lose money, the Lutheran Church will give them 1.8 million; if they make a profit, the rest will go to David Hart.

David's breathing became heavy; it was a sure thing!

Since it's guaranteed to make money, what's there to hesitate about?!

Having Debbie dance on stage might certainly face backlash from Protestant extremists.

However, refusing Debbie will definitely lead to retaliation from Catholic extremists!

It's not a possibility, it's a certainty.

The Lutheran Church has already slapped 1.8 million on its own face, the meaning is clear: if you don't accept the toast, then you'll have to drink the penalty cup.

David and everyone in high society knew that those extreme conservative religious fanatics loved to train suicide soldiers in secret monasteries—and they were real suicide soldiers.

Those extremely devout ascetics who are trained from childhood, never leave the church, and only teach doctrine and train their bodies.

Those guys are willing to give their lives for their beliefs at any time, and even enjoy it.

The exact number is unknown, but there are probably 1 to 200 people.

With modern technology, this kind of power is not enough to overthrow a country or even disrupt a city, but it is far too easy to kill a businessman.

What else is there to think about?

He picked up the phone and dialed NFL Commissioner Phineas Beckett: "I want Debbie on the field!"

"What the fuck? Are you crazy?" Phineas Beckett screamed, as if someone had stepped on his tail. "No! Absolutely not!"

David Hart bluntly declared, "Debbie has to play!" For the sake of a stable income of $1.8 million over three years, he didn't hesitate to retort.

"Get her out of here!"

"You make it sound so easy that you're dealing with threats from extreme Catholic groups. Why don't you be the chairman of this Giants club? You try it!"

"coward!"

"If you're so brave, then go ahead and issue a press release in the name of the NFL refusing Debbie a chance to play!"

"Those are your team's cheerleaders! What does that have to do with the NFL!"

"Why are you meddling in this if it's none of your business!"

The two exchanged a few insults.

Phineas-Beckett sighed. "Looks like you received an email from the Lutheran Church?"

David was a little confused: "You received it too?"

"What terms did he offer you?"

"No conditions, just threats!" Phineas-Beckett exclaimed angrily. "He claims he'll sue us for fifty years! Fifty years!"

Phineas Beckett was furious.

In this regard, he had great faith in the credibility of extreme conservative sects, believing that if they said they would kill your whole family, they would kill your whole family.

If I say I'll sue you for fifty years, I'll sue you for fifty years, no exceptions.

A lawsuit that lasts for fifty years is enough to drag any company into the abyss.

That group of clergy had a group of elite lawyers, all of whom were the most devout believers. These believer lawyers were willing to dedicate their lives to this cause, even without spending money.

Therefore, such retaliation would be of negligible cost to the Lutheran Church.

That's a completely different story for the NFL.

Even though the NFL is unlikely to lose this case, the mere mention of it makes it clear that they've been targeted by the extreme conservatives of Catholicism.

The stock will drop by at least 20% that day!

If the Catholic Church actually initiates a lawsuit and is pursued by those litigious priests, the stock price will drop by at least 30%!

He could imagine the NFL board's fury upon hearing the news; they would absolutely skin them alive.

The two remained silent on the phone.

This once-important figure is now like a lamb to the slaughter.

Choosing east means certain death, choosing west means certain death.

"Choosing Catholicism might save you from death, but not choosing Catholicism almost certainly means certain death," David Hart said with a pained expression.

Since that's the case, the two knew there was only one way: to let Debbie take the stage.

"So how should we write this announcement? I can imagine the kind of impact we'll face if we release it."

"What do you mean 'we'? I'm the one facing the shock, okay?" David almost laughed in exasperation. "I'm the one recruiting cheerleaders. Damn it, why do football need cheerleaders?!"

He launched into a tirade, then said with a bitter expression, "I think we should use the name of religious tolerance to ensure that all religions can have a fair chance to speak. Since every religion has the right to freely and fairly express its voice, then suppressing Debbie is also suppressing religious freedom."

"It should be possible, but Debbie cannot question the empty cross in public."

"This request is reasonable, and the Lutheran Church should be able to agree to it."

The two of them quickly completed the first draft of the press release, and the rest was handed over to the lawyer and the public relations director for review to see if there were any omissions.

Just as the two were discussing, the blonde secretary in black stockings rushed into the room in a panic: "Boss! Boss!"

David remained calm: "What's wrong?"

What could be more outrageous than Debbie performing a miracle and smashing an empty signboard?

Gone!

David Hart possessed a composure that remained unfazed even when Mount Tai collapsed before him.

There's nothing we can do; everything that needed to be changed has already been changed.

The blond secretary exclaimed in horror, "Just now, our lighting technician, Soren, was interviewed by Fox News, and he claimed that the lighting miracle was faked by Langdon-Jacobs for $1000. The internet is in an uproar!"

"WTF?!!" David Hart's voice suddenly rose, as if someone had stepped on his tail.

"Holy shit!" Phineas Beckett, who was on the other end of the phone, had just received the news: "I think we're in new trouble."

Things happened so fast that the two frantically refreshed the webpage, and soon saw that the top three trending topics had changed to:

#ArtificialSaintess#

#FakeLightsMiracle#

#Are the other miracles real?#

Protestants have already started partying online.

The Catholic Church was devastated, and some began threatening to kill Soren.

"What on earth happened?" Phineas-Becket was furious. "David, you have to tell me the truth. What exactly happened that day?!"

"I want to know what happened too!" David Hart said. "Although I've told many lies in my life, this last sentence is absolutely true, I swear. That flower ball, and that miracle of the empty cross falling, weren't done by my men! I'm 100% sure! Either it was a coincidence, or... it was a miracle!"

David Hart lied with utmost sincerity.

The two remained silent for a long time on the phone.

David suddenly realized, "Wait, this seems to be a good thing for us?"

"It's turned into a good thing?" Phineas-Becket laughed angrily. "David! Your cheerleader saint is fake! It's all over the internet now, she's a fake! And you're telling me this is a good thing?"

"It's definitely a good thing," David suddenly realized.

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, as if he had settled the last item on the ledger.

"Soren said miracles were man-made, so Protestants who are willing to believe miracles are man-made will naturally say miracles are fake."

The saintess is a fake.

"Since the saintess is fake, they have no reason to protest that I let Debbie play. Of course, they will deliberately ignore the issue of the broken empty cross, or insist that the empty cross incident was also faked, but what does that have to do with us?"

"The Catholic Church, on the other hand, firmly believes that the saint is real, even if the miracle of the light is fake, the falling of the empty cross must be real, especially the extremists."

"Then for the extremists, there is no room for retreat this time. They must let Debbie step up and declare the authenticity of the divine revelation."

"Under these circumstances, having Debbie play would still be highly controversial, but it wouldn't be a life-or-death struggle. It wouldn't be a conflict between us and either side, but rather a dispute between conservatives and other sects about the authenticity of the miracle. Let them argue, what does it have to do with me?"

Phineas-Beckett was stunned for a moment before finally realizing what was happening: "You're right. Protestants believe miracles are fake, so the saintess must be a fake."

Since the saintess is fake, there's no need to resist her.

In order to prove that the miracle was real, the Catholic Church had to support the saint even more firmly and make sure she came to power.

In this situation, both sides are actually in a position to compromise.

When Debbie goes on stage to perform, some Protestants will surely say that the Catholic Church has sent a fake saint to deceive people, while the Catholics will shout the name "Saint Debbie".

"Will this cause a disturbance at the stadium?"

"No," David said with a grin. "All spectators will be thoroughly searched upon entry, and they will not be allowed to bring fireworks or anything that could threaten their safety. They will be separated into two sections on either side of the stadium, with security personnel in between."

"Give them different entrances and exits, so they don't have to go in and out of the same place, and separate parking lots as well."

"Just like the city derby, when isn't it always a fierce rivalry? So what?"

"This time, we'll generate a lot of buzz. Even believers who don't usually watch sports will come to support Saint Debbie, or deny that she's a saint."

"Debbie will be under tremendous pressure."

"What does that have to do with me? She's a saintess, why would she be afraid of this little bit of pressure?" David said confidently, thinking to himself, "Your Highness, you can definitely handle it, right?"

After confirmation by the public relations managers of both parties, the NFL Board of Directors approved it.

The press release was eventually issued: "From the perspective of religious tolerance and equality of belief, all religions should have a fair space for public expression."

Protecting the right of all religions to express their views equally under the law is an essential aspect of religious freedom. Restricting Debbie from expressing her religious views in public is tantamount to unduly suppressing freedom of religious belief, etc.

'

After the press release was sent out, the Giants simultaneously posted a news article on their official website: Let's congratulate Debbie Dixon on joining the cheerleading squad.

In an instant, the internet exploded.

"Debbie is a saint!"

"Debbie is going to be on the NFL stage!"

"A true saint would never dance with her legs exposed in public!"

"The miracle is fake!"

"The Giants are faking it!"

All sorts of news flooded the media.

The comment section scrolls at a visible speed, with hundreds of new replies appearing every minute.

An hour later, the situation did not worsen significantly, and David finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He knew, of course, that the conflict had only been temporarily suppressed and the fire was still burning.

Despite his confident words to the NFL commissioner, he actually had no idea what would happen during the game.

In the past, even the most intense city derbies were just a competition between the loyal fans of the two teams. Now that religious conflict has been involved, who knows what will happen?

Let's take it one step at a time and postpone the conflict.

Maybe once the hype dies down, they won't pay as much attention anymore?

It's only early January, and the Super Bowl isn't until February. There's still a month in between. We can find a way to sacrifice a few celebrities, gather some dirt on them, and divert public attention. Things should be much better then.

Knock, knock, knock—there was a knock on the door.

When Langdon-Jacobs pushed the door open, he first leaned halfway in before moving his whole body in.

He looked at David's face, then shrank back and said, "Boss, I really don't know anything about Soren. He's lying!"

Langdon is lying through his teeth.

David said coldly, "Very well, that's it, refuse to admit it! You absolutely cannot admit that the miracle was fake, that every word Soren said was a lie!"

I'll assemble a legal team for you. You'll have to sue Soren, drag that bastard down, bankrupt him, and turn him into a vagrant!

"Yes, yes..."

"And you remember this: if you let slip even a whisper of this—" David Hart narrowed his eyes, "I'll tell the Lutherans the truth. Langdon, you don't want to face assassination attempts by radical conservatives, do you?"

"I—" Langdon shuddered.

"And if you betray me..." David said viciously, "I'll take out a hundred million dollars, a hundred million! Specifically to sue you, I'll ruin you! No matter if someone offers you a few million, you must refuse! Otherwise, I'll definitely take out a hundred million dollars to destroy you! Understand?"

The Lutheran Church's threat of litigation was so effective that David used it against Langdon.

Langdon was covered in sweat.

David scoffed, wrote a check for $100,000, and handed it to Langdon: "Keep the secret, and the $100,000 is yours. Don't keep the secret—"

"Boss! I understand!" Langdon was overjoyed and went out.

Isn't it just refusing to admit mistakes?

Anyway, there was no evidence at the time, so what could anyone do to me?

Even if someone tries to bribe me, how much money could they possibly offer?

That's a million.

Langdon faces the enormous risk of $100 million in legal fees!

The grudge of a billionaire is terrifying.

He knew how to choose.

When Richard arrived at the blood collection point for the second time, only Chloe greeted him.

Richard smiled and waved: "Hello."

Tiffany snorted coldly.

Richard was equally too lazy to pay her any attention.

He came wearing a mask today. Debbie has been getting so much exposure these past two days, which has also brought him into the spotlight.

White and Black people might have some difficulty recognizing Asian faces, but it's still best to be careful.

There were relatively few people getting their blood drawn this morning. Richard spent the entire morning collecting blood from only 26 people, accumulating one unit of "fresh flesh and blood".

It's getting slower and slower...

Richard sat in his chair, pondering.

He had tried animals before, but the amount of fresh flesh and blood they provided was very limited, for reasons unknown.

I wonder what about large animals, like cows, or more intelligent animals, like chimpanzees or monkeys?

However, there may still be trouble, as shriveled animal carcasses can still attract unnecessary attention unless they are burned every time.

Moreover, one cannot absorb dead meat; otherwise, one would have absorbed enough by buying several tons of beef.

I'll try it when I have the chance...

Chloe also had some free time, and a photo popped up on her phone: "Analyzing Saint Debbie's Asian boyfriend."

It's full of various photos of Richard.

As Chloe looked around, she suddenly noticed that Richard's face looked a lot like Debbie's boyfriend.

Chloe stared at Richard, looking him up and down, but since Richard was wearing a mask, she couldn't immediately recall what he looked like.

The two had only met once before.

She looked at the photo, then at Richard, and walked over to him, whispering, "You look like Debbie's boyfriend. And he's also named Richard."

Richard glanced at him and said dismissively, "Maybe white people have some face blindness when it comes to Asians. I don't look like him at all."

"Really?" Chloe looked at her phone with suspicion, then at Richard, feeling that he was trying to fool her.

Then a group of people came to have their blood drawn, and every blood drawing spot was filled.

Tiffany deliberately shouted, "Hey! Get to work! Don't slack off!"

Richard frowned as he looked at Tiffany, completely baffled as to why this black woman was always picking on him.

Chloe explained softly, "She wants to be the manager."

"What supervisor?"

"She's the manager of this blood donation center. This position changes very frequently; sometimes it's replaced every year or two. She's been keeping an eye on this position the whole time."

Richard was speechless: "What does this have to do with me?"

Chloe said softly, "Most of the managers are men."

Richard glanced at Tiffany's retreating figure, said nothing, and turned back to continue organizing the lancets.

He couldn't be bothered to stay in this group of women and scheme against each other over such trivial matters; it was too boring, and the "fresh flesh and blood" he gained was far too little.

He no longer really wants to work part-time here.

The situation here was completely different from what he had imagined.

At Dongda University, a nurse can usually collect samples from 100 people in a morning, which for Richard is 4-5 units of fresh blood and flesh.

In extreme cases, a fast-handed nurse can collect blood from as many as 200 people in a morning, which is 8-10 units, a very substantial amount.

Here, everything is a bit slower.

Another reason I came today was to see if I could run into Lia, observe the progression of her illness, and assess the effects of the [Parasitic Seed].

Or, see if you can find other people who also have the parasitic seed.

Unfortunately, I didn't meet him.

Forget it, I won't come again. Richard picked up his phone and texted Christina: "How's the Manhattan Anti-Aging and Metabolism Lab going?"

This is a newly established facility under the immortality project, which specializes in collecting blood from healthy individuals at high prices to provide experimental materials for the immortality project.

Richard is currently drawing blood, 400ml, but he can only secretly convert about 80ml into [fresh flesh and blood].

Richard then ordered Christina to design a batch of special metal blood boxes, which were completely sealed so that donors could not see the blood inside and would not know how much blood they had collected.

Richard could steal 400ml of blood without anyone noticing, and even a little more wouldn't be a problem.

As for whether it will cause physical harm to the blood donor...

Richard could only say, "I'm here to collect debts on behalf of the Empress Dowager. This is also an anti-imperialist, anti-feudal, and anti-hegemonic movement."

Meanwhile, Christina deliberately created unnecessary procedures, wasting most of each batch of blood, to help Richard cover up the blood theft. She claimed to be selecting blood using very strict standards.

As for the standards... that's confidential.

Christina responded, "I was just about to tell you that we can open normally tomorrow. The renovations are all done, the location has been found, and all the equipment is ready. The main trouble is going through the IRB ethics assessment and some other key procedures."

These procedures are very lengthy; even for someone of Christina's status, it took nearly fifteen days to complete all the steps.

If someone else were to apply, it would probably take two months to complete the process.

Richard laughed: "Very good!"

He had long since stopped coming to this place, to be scheming against a bunch of random women.

"The Manhattan Anti-Aging Lab has set up five blood collection points throughout New York City. One of the blood collection points is very close to the Baytop Lodge, so you can go there anytime."

"On the surface, it's a part-time job. I've already chosen the store manager, Heather Green, who is one of my doctoral students. She's working there part-time to help with her tuition. She's under a lot of pressure with her dissertation, and I'll make sure she fully cooperates with you."

"OK." Richard nodded in satisfaction.

Finally, there is a stable and abundant supply of fresh flesh and blood.

Each person draws 400ml of blood, which Richard steals entirely, and he can obtain 0.2 units of [fresh flesh and blood].

Five people make one unit, and 100 people are enough to fill the [Blood Box]!

"Are there enough blood donors? I don't want to wait."

"No problem, just pay more. The Manhattan Anti-Aging Center only accepts blood from healthy individuals, so the price is relatively high, and there should be many blood donors. Whenever you want to have your blood drawn, I'll arrange an emergency discount: a 50% increase, and I'll definitely fulfill your request as quickly as possible."

"Very good." Richard was satisfied.

Having your own blood collection point is convenient.

Christina said, "I just received a confidential document from the CDC that describes the final stage of the Ivan virus, along with a set of pictures. You might want to take a look."

Yes, this virus was ultimately named the Ivan virus, even though Ivan-Lee was unwilling to accept it.

They created a virus and named it after someone from Tokyo University. Richard could only say that's very American.

As for Ivan Lee's body, it has been taken to the laboratory, placed in a formalin glass case, and labeled Patient Zero.

Richard opened the document.

Christina continued, "The CDC has clearly stated that the transmission was through bodily fluids, unprotected sex, or the use of unclean needles. As for how Ivan was infected by the virus lab, it's unknown. It's very likely that during the virus lab's pre-employment physical examination, they secretly put some virus on the needles and used Ivan Lee as a test subject. Edgar is lucky; he's in excellent condition and shows no signs of infection. I've asked him to isolate for another week, have another blood test, and only return to the lab after confirming there are no problems."

Using one's own employees as test subjects for poison might seem appalling to people from Tokyo University, but it's perfectly normal in the United States, and people are even used to it.

Christina's words were completely calm and composed.

Richard narrowed his eyes as he looked at the illustrations in the document.

When Ivanovirus-infected individuals reach the end of their lives, their muscles atrophy drastically, and their skin dries out, making them resemble mummies.

Yes, this state is very similar to the appearance of a corpse whose "fresh flesh and blood" have been drained.

When Richard used Liam, who secretly filmed Helen, for his experiments, Liam shrank into this grotesque shape.

In other words... Richard's heart stirred.

Once the Ivan virus has spread, I can simply kill someone and throw them on the ground. At that point, most people will assume the corpse is infected with the Ivan virus.

As for why the virus couldn't be found on the corpse?

Perhaps the virus has mutated?

What does this have to do with me?

Christina explained the inside information she had just received: "Based on the current data, the course of the illness is approximately ten days."

"For the first five days, the patient only had a severe cough and body aches, which didn't seem much different from a regular cold or fever."

"But starting from the sixth day, when the virus reaches a certain density throughout the body, it will frantically devour various tissue cells, especially muscles, causing patients to become extremely thin and suffer from severe pain all over their bodies."

Richard walked out of the blood donation station and headed towards the parking lot.

Chloe quickly walked out and quietly followed Richard.

.

She's certain that Richard is Debbie's boyfriend!

Richard had already spotted Chloe, but he was too lazy to say anything. Since he wouldn't be coming back anyway, he got into his Panamera, started the engine, and drove away.

Chloe stood next to the trash can, watching the Porsche turn the corner, its taillights flashing briefly before disappearing into the traffic.

He drives a Porsche?

Chloe was surprised.

She initially thought he was a student from Tokyo University who was there to work and study, but later discovered he was Debbie's boyfriend. Then she found out he wasn't working and studying at all; he was just a rich kid who was there to experience life or gain practical experience for university.

How could an ordinary person afford such a luxury car?

Chloe's eyes are shining.

She finally understood why Richard could stay by Debbie's side: because he was rich.

If that's the case, she had a vague feeling that Richard couldn't talk to Debbie for too long.

But as Debbie became more and more famous and was gradually recognized by the public as a saint, the Catholic Church became increasingly unable to accept that an Asian man kept appearing around Debbie.

Therefore, it won't be long before Richard breaks up with Debbie.

And this is my opportunity!

Chloe's eyes lit up.

Next time I come to the blood donation center, I'll dress up nicely!

Those idiots at Tiffany's have absolutely no idea what they're doing.

Richard is so rich, how could he possibly fight with you for a blood collection point manager?

Only black wild dogs would stare at the leftover bones in front of them.

Richard returned to No. 1200, Wanding Mountain Villa.

The room has been cleaned much cleaner; these things can be solved quickly if you have the money.

The air still carried the scent of cleaning agent, not strong, but a lemony fragrance.

The windows were all open, and the afternoon breeze blew in from the north, carrying away the last trace of musty smell.

The property manager smiled and nodded to Richard. For Franklin's sake, even white people could bow and scrape to Asians.

Some equipment was replaced today...

'

He wanted to introduce it.

Richard refused outright: "Just give me the final list and quote, and I'll give it to my advisor's accountant. He'll do the calculations."

"Okay." The property manager was very disappointed.

Is there someone specifically assigned to do it?

He thought that since this rich second-generation from Dongda University was negotiating the price himself, he could take advantage of the fact that the boy didn't know the market and squeeze some money out of him.

But if you entrust it to a professional accountant, you'll have to be more careful.

Richard watched the property management staff leave, then calmly withdrew his gaze.

The other party's little schemes could not escape the fire of desire.

The lingering musty smell in the air was mostly dispelled by ventilation, the windows were cleaned until they shone, and the afternoon sun shone on the floor without obstruction.

The newly replaced gray sofa is placed in the center of the living room.

An abstract painting I bought online hangs on the wall. It didn't cost much, but it's enough to make the room look less empty.

The endocrinology textbooks we used before were also delivered and neatly stacked on the bookshelf.

The progress of "Soul and Desire" has reached level 2, 58%, and the speed at which I gain knowledge from reading is getting slower and slower.

Richard didn't care.

His biggest goal right now is to build the [Skeleton Nest], so he needs to take Hart Island first!

Richard turned to look at the cape, which was blocked by cliffs and trees.

Behind the cape is Hart Island.

That factory is still growing its own super-large diamonds, at a very slow pace.

He needs to get all the preparations done first.

The Ghost Shadow Gang is about to make a deal; it's time to end all of this.

And why isn't my knowledge increasing at all in the "Pain and Plague" branch?

Am I to be sent to spread the plague?

Just then, Richard's phone rang. He looked at it and saw it was Helen's cousin, Emily: "Hey Richard, I promised you a big meal last time, are you free tomorrow?"

"Of course I have time to eat."

"Then come to my house and I'll send you the address."

"Okay, thank you."

A family dinner is usually a more elaborate and thoughtful affair.

Unlike dining out at a restaurant, where you can easily spend a little money, a family dinner requires the host to spend a lot of time preparing.

Emily said a little shyly, "By the way, could Debbie come along? We are both Catholics and would very much like to meet Her Highness the Saint."

"No problem," Richard agreed on Debbie's behalf.

Debbie is feeling really cooped up at home and definitely wants to get out and about.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief: "Then... shall we await the arrival of the Holy Maiden?"

Richard said:

OK.

""

Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

As a devout Catholic, she longed to meet Saint Debbie.

There's been so much news about her these past two days, including the miracle last night where she rebuked the empty cross, causing it to break, which greatly shocked Emily's whole family.

She believes this is a very clear divine revelation!

Furthermore, it seems that the saintess has taken Helen's place?

But why is it possible for a saint to fall in love?

Shouldn't a saint remain holy?

In short, whether from a religious perspective, a cousin's love, or a concern for the saint's purity, Emily really wanted to meet this girl.

The sky gradually darkened.

Alger sat in the large armchair, listened to the man in the suit's report, and nodded slightly: "So, so far, Richard seems to be behaving normally?"

"Yes." The man in the suit leaned forward slightly. "Richard and Leon are both under our surveillance. Leon doesn't seem unusual, but he's clearly planning to run away, probably within the next day or two!"