Banshee of Bewitchment.
A few familiar terms drifted into Chen Che’s ears.
This was the world’s supernatural power.
Besides things like the Demon Pattern, the Other Shore Flower on An Nishang’s body, that could grant extraordinary abilities—
Decades ago, this world began developing Catastrophe Potions.
They’d process all sorts of unique materials scavenged from the Wasteland, brew them into potions by "scientific" means, and gulp them down.
As long as you could survive the initial catastrophe.
Drinking different Catastrophe Potions would give you different Catastrophe Abilities.
Banshee of Bewitchment—that’s the name of the third stage of the Banshee Calamity potion.
The reason it’s called the Banshee Calamity, is because over 95% of those who survive this potion are women.
This catastrophe grants extraordinary powers that turn women into enchanting beings, like banshees possessing Charm Power—just one glance, and that woman is seductive as a demon from legends.
It could also give them demonic physical fitness.
The greatest power at the third stage, Banshee of Bewitchment, is the ability to ensnare hearts, weave illusion realms and memories.
Stay close to a Banshee of Bewitchment long enough, sleep with one, and you’ll spiral into addiction, bewitchment biting into your mind.
Before you know it, you become a slave to the Banshee of Bewitchment.
For even better control, the Banshee of Bewitchment has the power to weave memories.
They often implant a special memory in the bewitched, making them feel boundless gratitude and tenderness toward the banshee.
The bewitched will never notice a thing.
Just like Moore right now.
The miserable Moore saw that number 9, and he started laughing hideously.
"Hahaha...it’s all fake...it’s all fake...I actually got charmed...turns out everything was a lie!!!"
The blood in the heart of the bewitched preserves a toxin; this device, jammed into your chest, draws a drop for testing.
The tested will suffer intense pain, with their body cells aging anywhere from several to over ten years.
So normally, this testing method goes unused—no one would willingly accept it.
Yet, it’s the most accurate way to test.
Nine levels of bewitchment.
It means the person’s fallen completely under the Banshee’s skirt.
Even knowing the Banshee betrayed him, knowing he’s been bewitched, he’ll still submit, let his slave instincts rise up.
Only a rare few can resist.
Even after realizing memories in his mind were fake, even knowing the woman was a Banshee of Bewitchment, Moore was still on his knees, knocking his head to the floor at An Nishang, bang bang bang.
"Chief! It’s my fault, I dropped my guard, got caught by a Banshee... no matter what, it’s all my fault, Chief please let her go, let her go...no! Chief, kill her, kill her for me! She dared trick me, she deserves to die! ...She can’t die, she can’t die...she’s innocent, she must’ve been forced...aaah!"
"Ah...it’s all a lie...my head hurts, my head hurts so much...Chief! Let me die!"
Moore’s pleas oozed blood, horrifying as a vengeful ghost.
He crawled, trembling in pain, to An Nishang’s legs, praying to her.
This was the Banshee’s backlash.
The cost of resisting bewitchment.
The higher the bewitchment level, the more painful the backlash if you resist.
Clearly, for Moore, level nine bewitchment meant the backlash was fatal.
An Nishang’s face was cold as stone.
Xia Na glanced at her. That girl was carrying a Tang Blade on her back; she slowly reached behind, drawing a blade with a shimmering violet sheen, just about to finish Moore herself.
In every way, no matter how you looked at it,
Moore had to die today.
First: betrayal. Second: he’d been so thoroughly bewitched that, frankly, he was no better than useless.
An Nishang waved off Xia Na—this was her own man, she’d do it herself.
Chen Che saw the Other Shore Flower on An Nishang’s thigh begin to bloom, giving off a blood-red shimmer.
As far as memory served, An Nishang only did this when she was killing or at the peak of passion.
An Nishang grabbed Moore by the throat, and the big man was slowly lifted, hefted up in the air.
The black man’s skin began to blossom with red Other Shore Flowers, one after another.
Surging blood nourished the tender, alluring flowers.
A burly black guy close to two meters tall shriveled in less than 30 seconds into a dried-out husk of one and a half meters, a single dazzling flower blooming atop the corpse’s head.
An Nishang’s pale fingers plucked a streak of blood-red energy out of the flower, sending it to her sultry crimson lips.
There was a flash of blood red in her eyes, making them even more demonic.
The flower withered away, slowly.
The spectacle was so horrifying, the corner of Chen Che’s mouth twitched.
Would you call this eating people?
This woman was seriously terrifying—honestly no different from a real banshee, sucking people’s lifeblood so effortlessly.
How many billions had those scarlet lips destroyed... Chen Che fantasized in his head.
And only now did things finally settle down.
Chen Che checked—maybe it was because he’d performed decently this time, An Nishang’s real-time killing intent toward him had dropped to 45%.
An Nishang ordered someone to send Chen Che back.
But it wasn’t over yet.
They’d only uncovered a single traitor.
An Nishang’s stolen armaments were still missing.
Throughout all this, Moore had just been a pawn.
In a way, An Nishang had lost out big time this round: a huge shipment of arms stolen, toyed with by someone’s schemes, and a subordinate down the drain.
The worst part was she could only swallow it in silence.
Even though they all knew Tasting Commerce Association was behind it, An Nishang couldn’t just go knocking on Tasting’s door, full of righteous fury.
It wasn’t how the game was played.
Politics, gangs, business—they each have their own rules.
Nobody dumb enough to rip the mask off and tear up the ground rules like that.
And besides, An Nishang had no evidence.
She wasn’t stupid enough to try anything reckless.
She’d have to find a way to save face elsewhere.
Chen Che knew this was just the start of another storm.
Yet for these top dogs, their power plays had nothing to do with a nobody like him right now.
He’d already delivered 120%.
Just to walk out the front door alive—Chen Che felt light as a feather.
Goddamn, what a shitshow.
Ever since he’d ended up in this world, it was one goddamn death trap after another.
Nearly got killed three times in a row.
Good thing he had his cheat code handy.
So tense it made Chen Che hungry—he fished out a flatbread and munched on it.
Bobby, waiting outside, saw it was Chen Che who’d survived and came out, his toadying grin stretching wider than a daisy blossom.
He watched Chen Che gnawing his bread and quickly took out a can of meat, thrusting it toward him: "Master Chen, just bread? Got no taste, man! Gotta have some meat."
"Yo? Braised pork and actual pig meat? This thing’s gotta cost a few hundred a can, right?" Chen Che glanced at it, poking fun.
Bobby’s heart ached, but he slapped his thigh and declared, "For Master Chen? Forget hundreds—tens of thousands, I’d never mind!"
Chen Che didn’t refuse, smiling, and with Bobby escorting him, got in the car, cracked open the can. Braised pork made from genuine, unmutated pork, with a still-hot flatbread? The taste... no need to even describe.
He knew exactly what Bobby was up to.