At the entrance of the alleyway, Donald grinned, it was still raining, and dark clouds were depositing, but this did not affect his mood.

Bet won!

Don't look at the previous things as if they were going well, it was based on the premise that all the processes were just right.

For example, when he got into the car first, if Donald hadn't thought about it in advance, threw out his identity as a demon contractor, hesitated a little, and said a word begging for mercy or other words, he would have basically gone in vertically and came out horizontally.

Oguf would not have any mercy for Donald Grant as an ordinary person, even if he knelt down and wept bitterly.

Fall on one's feet.

Not only did it succeed in getting the cult to abandon its extermination operations in the short term, but it in turn turned them into a special trading hub.

"Talent potions and matching ritual circles...... Is this the real crux of the aliens, some of the materials that appear in the text that Sherlock asked me to translate, could it be some of the materials in the talent potion?"

Talent can be obtained through the combination of potions and ritual circles, which is the key cognition of the trip to the cult stronghold, but what is the nature of this talent itself?

Why can demonic knowledge answer those words, could it be that the so-called Lost Slate is actually something left behind by demons?

It seems that I will try to cover up the fact that I can translate the text as much as possible...... Otherwise, it is likely to attract the sanction of the church, after all, anything related to demons is an object that must be cleaned up in their eyes.

After a week of ups and downs, Donald is growing at an astonishing rate.

Thinking is the key to human progress.

But there was one thing he probably didn't think about, if all the demons or gods could translate those words, how could the cult leave behind the lost tablets and rubbings?

There are different aspects of human talents, and demons also have their own specialties.

It can only be said that Donald Grant was lucky.....

**

Coming to the study in his mind again, this time Donald walked to the desk with ease, the clock meditation method can certainly enter meditation while awake, but the effect is far less than the full engagement of consciousness.

Concentrating on the pattern of the clock on the table, watching the blue light flowing from the tip of the pen seep into the pages, the mind becomes more and more comfortable, which is another function of the clock meditation method, which will allow the practitioner's spirit to get a full rest during the meditation process.

It can be compared to a spiritual hot spring bath.

Donald liked this feeling, abandoned all his worries, and just quietly felt the growth of his mental strength.

However, from a certain moment, voices began to appear in my ears that should not have existed.

Si Xi Suo ~ Xi Xi Suo ~ As if someone was whispering indiscriminately, the voice was extremely soft but quite penetrating, and the focused Donald was awakened, unable to concentrate, and the pen in his hand immediately stopped.

He didn't leave his mental space, there was an inexplicable force that drove him to find the source of the sound, so he stood up and began to wander around the study.

Look for something that you don't know why you know why it exists, and that should be out of place here.

There was a gray mist rolling under his feet, it was obviously just fog, but Donald felt a coldness, and the voice in his ears was still lingering, and he stopped in front of a bookcase, and the sound seemed to come from above.

"Iris Street Map...... "Enemies of Religion", "Expulsion of Evil", these are the materials I have read?"

The books on the tall bookcase seem to be full, but more of them are just some similar to blank notebooks, there is no mark on the spine, and there is no content in it when you pull it out, and there are not many books that can really see the text on the spine.

Pulling out the book "Expelling Evil" that I had read before, the cover was exactly the same as the one I hid in the desk drawer, but when I turned the first page, the content in it was missing, and only about one-third of the text was still on it.

This is a book that appears according to his memory, in other words, what is recorded in this book is his memory.

So where did this weird sound come from?

It was not strange that he pulled out all the books marked on the spine and flipped them over, but the whispers in his ears never stopped.

His gaze moved up from the area in front of him, past several layers of gray shelves, and on the bookshelves more than three meters above the ground, he saw wisps of gray mist spilling out from the inside, which was the source.

How do you get there? It's not something you can catch with your own bounce.

Since it is his own spiritual world, it is very simple, Donald fantasized that there is a small lifting platform under his feet, closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, and the next second he touched a small rocker, pulled it back, and his body rose.

It didn't stop until it was in the right place, and the row of books was all unnumbered, and Donald couldn't understand why there was a gray fog.

Simply pull out these books from left to right, and when you draw the book in the middle of the burgundy cover, a folded piece of paper clings to the back of another book in the middle of the void, and gray mist is constantly emerging from the center of this paper.

Pinching the two sides of the paper and slowly spreading it out, Donald had an impression of it, the page spread out on the notebook next to him when he woke up in the sewers.

The smeared sacrificial circle was exactly the same, and the gray mist and sound were all coming out of it.

Sting!

Donald didn't hesitate to shred the paper, sensing the ominousness and gloom on it.

The sound stopped, and the flow of the gray mist seemed to froze, and Donald breathed a sigh of relief, finally subsided.

"You think that's the end of it?"

"Who!"

Suddenly, Donald turned his head to look at the desk, where another one appeared, nothing more than the one he had appeared in the mirror the night he had just come out of the sewers.

Dark and evil.

"You think that's the end of it?"

Repeating the words, this time, he stared at Donald, pen in his hand, and flung it in front of him, black ink flowing from the tip, not dissipating, but remaining in the area opposite the desk.

Spreading, condensing, and finally forming a desk that was pitch black, and even the entire wall behind it began to be dyed black, Donald's eyes turned over, and on the bookshelf over there, the books he saw, with or without words, all changed in shape, and the color changed from brown, burgundy, to black, dark green!

It's pollution...... From demonic power!

"Donald Grant?a soul from another world...... Between us, it's not over yet!"

The other sat on a metal chair burning with dark green flames at some point, with two white bone lamps on his side, the top of which flashed with a faint blue light, and a large black tome in his hand, clearly an evil demon, but there was an inexplicable silence on his body.

Beneath his feet, black and brown floors collide and pour over the midline of the entire room, which is invading Donald's spiritual world.

No...... I can't say whose it is in this spiritual world!