Becoming a god by raising witches

"1 silver mic, and I need to think about it. After all, I don't live alone. My family members are followers of the Life Church, and believers generally think that a house where someone has died is not a place to live because it represents bad luck and misfortune."

Locke stood up, making it clear he was about to leave without any hesitation.

His words had two meanings: first, he felt that even 1 silver coin was expensive and he was already feeling the pinch.

Secondly, most of the people in Kosork are followers of the Life School, and if news of a death in this apartment gets out, he probably won't be able to rent out his apartment anymore.

Rupert Shea felt threatened, but he was eager to rent out the house to prevent the other residents of the building from moving out as well.

The neighbors were unaware of the death. In fact, after discovering it, he immediately called the police and bribed the sheriff to keep the news quiet. Even the neighbors thought it was just a theft.

If no one lives there for a long time, it will always arouse suspicion.

After mentally cursing the young sheriff's parents and relatives, Rupert Shea said...

"For 1 silver coin, you need to sign a contract for at least one year. I do not accept short-term rentals."

"Okay, but I need to go back and discuss it with my family. Don't worry, I won't reveal that anyone has died here."

Locke said with a smile.

Rupert Shea stood up, reiterating his dissatisfaction with Locke's failure to immediately sign the contract.

"You are a very shrewd sheriff."

In Kosork, calling a sheriff shrewd is not a compliment; it usually means that the person is calculating, cunning, and despicable.

Locke shrugged.

"Thank you for your compliment. I hope we can get along well in the future."

"Hehe, there isn't another apartment like this on the entire Wutong Street. If the sheriff doesn't get me to sign a contract soon, the only option will be for those real estate agents to list the apartment."

"I will reply as soon as possible, within three days."

The two walked out of the apartment, said their polite goodbyes, and went their separate ways.

"Eileen, how about it? We'll stay here, so you can sunbathe and have the sofa all to yourself."

Locke said in a good mood.

The black cat patted his shoulder with its paw. "I want to sleep in a warm bed. The sofa is for the servants, of course."

"Well, okay, if you put it that way, without three rooms, I can't even have a bedroom."

Locke said dejectedly, while thinking about how to quickly reach 100 in favorability.

"Doesn't the master deserve to have a bedroom of his own?"

Eileen retorted haughtily.

"Yes, of course it's a good match."

Locke did not refute, but spoke in an admonitory tone,

"But if you don't want Hannah and other people to notice that you're different, you'd better really be like a cat."

"Don't worry, the bedroom will still be yours when other people are around. At most, Hannah will think you've developed a strange habit of sleeping on the sofa, which will make her feel even more sorry for you. Even if you make unreasonable demands of her, she won't refuse."

Eileen said with certainty.

"What unreasonable request?"

Locke asked.

"For example, when moving, you throw away those old newspapers. They're mostly moldy from the dampness, so they have no collectible value at all, but the smell is unbearable."

"That's certainly true. I'll remind Hannah, and she'll agree."

When a person and a cat share the same keen sense of smell, they can achieve a tacit understanding in many things.

"I've noticed that your nose has become more sensitive lately."

"No, I was just trying to be considerate of your feelings."

"lie."

Eileen exposed Locke without hesitation.

"Okay, it is indeed a tiny bit more sensitive."

"You don't happen to have the blood of some witch flowing through your veins, do you?"

Eileen looked at Locke suspiciously.

Locke waved his hand. "Then I don't know. You need to ask my mother if she's a witch."

"No need, I only need a drop of your blood to make a diagnosis."

As Eileen spoke, she bit Locke's finger, drawing blood.

She licked her lips, savored the taste, and shook her head. "You don't belong to any witch. You're a freak."

"Xiao Ai, can you please not be so barbaric?"

Locke quickly withdrew his hand, which was in pain; there was a small hole in his finger.

"Your blood tastes good; demons and vampires would love it. Be careful they don't target you."

Eileen said with lingering satisfaction, "Luckily, I'm not a vampire and don't have a particular craving for blood, otherwise I might have drained Locke dry."

"Thank you. I've been targeted by a demon named Rebecca. She's in the form of a young girl. Is there any way to make her give up on eating me?"

Locke asked.

"Kill her."

Eileen made a throat-slitting gesture, her eyes resolute.

Locke wiped the sweat from his brow. "The problem is she's the director's contracted demon. I'm afraid I can't do it."

"Kill your director first. With the demon's contract master dead, its power will be reduced by half. Then hand it over to me, and I'll take care of it for you."

"How could that be? I don't want to be wanted nationwide. Besides, I can't beat the director at all. I can't even beat Boyd, a bronze-level investigator from the Bureau of Paranormal Investigations."

Locke said helplessly.

"Oh, never mind."

Eileen leaned on Locke's shoulder and yawned, seemingly unconcerned that Locke was being targeted by a demon.

Locke guessed that this was most likely related to the fact that the health bar above his head had not changed.

In other words, no matter how much trouble Rebecca causes, she can't eat herself.

Of course, we cannot let our guard down around her.

With some time to spare, Locke decided to go to 32 Treybridge Street.

An advertisement appeared in the Kosovo Morning Post for a young inventor named Leibá Riedel who was looking for investors.

Locke now has a relatively stable job, and he is confident that he can stay. Even if he doesn't work as an investigator, he can support his family by working as a cook. He decided to invest the money Lucy left behind, otherwise the money would only depreciate if left idle.

Furthermore, this young inventor, Leibniz Riddell, was actually Locke's classmate at the vocational high school. He graduated with an A and was an outstanding student. Everyone originally thought that he would go to the alchemy factory or other companies after graduation, but unexpectedly, he chose to stay at home and do research.

Locke didn't care what inventions he made; he only wanted to use his technology to realize his ideas. In this era, there were no fax machines, telephones, bicycles, or radios. No matter what they invented, Locke and his classmate with the technology could make a lot of money.

Locke took another car ride to Leibá Riddle's residence.

This old classmate now shares an apartment with several other people in a youth hostel near Trey Bridge.

He could only afford a single room, but he still did not give up his research and invention. When he opened the door and saw Locke dressed smartly, he was obviously stunned.

"Rock Bemon?"

He called out uncertainly.

Locke nodded. "Yes, I hope I haven't disturbed your research."

"No, is there something you need from me?"

Leibniz and Locke were not very close. When they were in vocational high school, Locke, being a poor student, was out of place among the academic elites, so the two hardly spoke to each other.

In addition, Locke came from a poor family and had a bad reputation, earning him the nickname "Unreliable Locke." The young inventor Leibniz Riddell did not have much affection for Locke.

“I saw the advertisement you placed in the newspaper.”

Locke said.

Leibniz Riedel was slightly taken aback. "What?"

"I'm here to invest, so of course you have to have an invention that can impress me."

Locke chuckled and said, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"what?"

Leibá Riedel couldn't accept it for a moment: how could his former underachiever classmate become his potential investor?

Locke has always respected technical talents, especially those who dare to call themselves inventors.

He patted Leibá Riddle on the shoulder, opened the door familiarly, and went inside.

The black cat had already slipped away sometime ago, and the bachelor's place certainly didn't smell very good.

Locke could only rely on the hydrosol he brought with him to alleviate the complex smells in the air.

Leibá Riddle's room contained only a single bed and a workbench, on which various models were displayed.