When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost Chapter 27: Knife on a Platter

At last, Kant was invited into Sector C. He was led to Victor Hale’s office and told to wait for the cult leader.

There were guards in the hallway and outside the sector’s doors, but none in the office.

"So, what exactly is this scopo-drug that the cult uses?" Gabriel pondered, sitting on a nearby drawer with his legs crossed.

"Devil’s Breath," Kant replied, keeping his voice low.

"Huh? Sounds familiar..." Gabriel bounced his foot, digging through his mory. "Oh, I think I’ve seen it in the news before. Is it the drug that robbers and rapists slip into drinks to incapacitate their victims?"

Kant gave a nod, refraining from speaking too much. Although he doubted there’d be a listening device hidden there, the possibility was never zero. It was best to keep his words to a minimum.

"Do you think it’s the sa thing that was slipped into my drink at the Red Tail bar?" Gabriel questioned.

It was likely. Before Kant could nod again, the door opened and a man in white robes and a serene expression of superiority entered.

[TARGET: VICTOR HALE. MALE, 55. FOUNDER OF LAZARUS BLESSING.]

A woman with a little cart followed right behind. There was a silver platter, a tea set, and utensils. As she set the platter on the table and removed the cover, Kant almost scoffed.

A cake and a knife. The opportunity was presented to him with such convenience that there might have been a red carpet rolled out for him. It was ridiculously easy.

All he had to do was grab the knife and take Hale hostage while Hunter took out the guards at the exit. In about five minutes, there would be a racket outside, which would allow Kant to slip out after finishing the job.

Except, he was going to slip out with the "job" to take him ho. Not once did Kant consider working from ho in his sphere of work.

"I heard heaven has spared you, child," Victor Hale regarded Kant with a smile, while the lady poured them tea into small cups with painted flowers, sitting neatly on a little porcelain plate.

The humble, round cake was cut by the cult leader himself, with the blade scraping against the platter. "We must celebrate with round-shaped food—it symbolizes wrapping up the old cycle and beginning a new one."

Hale glanced up with an unreadable gaze. "I spoke to Sarah, the nurse that witnessed your revival, however, I would like to hear it directly from you. What did you see in the place between life and the afterlife?"

Kant studied the white-haired man’s face. Did he sincerely believe in resurrection or was it all a sham? It was difficult to tell whether the look in his eyes was of deep interest or incredulity.

Three minutes. He had to act unsuspicious until then.

"It was quite an out-of-body experience," Kant replied evasively, glancing at the teacup, although he had no intention to drink from it.

He had added another fear to his shelf of paranoias: being poisoned by drinks.

Victor Hale smiled serenely. "The out-of-body experience... a taste of death, yeah? Few receive such a blessing, child, and it’s not to be taken lightly." His eyes held a strange intensity as he leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

"The gods of fate have smiled upon you. Whatever your path was before, it’s ti to set it aside. The past—your mistakes, your sins—can all be left behind now. Use this opportunity to forge a new path."

Kant stayed silent, listening as the cult leader’s words grew more personal. It almost made him think twice. A new path? Life wasn’t easy on those who committed sins. Why should Kant be an exception? He had a list of criminal records long enough to use as wallpaper.

"Lazarus Blessing is not only a physical rebirth but a spiritual one. If you allow to guide you, we will reach new heights, unseen by others."

Hale tried to push his rehearsed speech, but seeing Kant wasn’t too engaged, he shifted the conversation to engage him. "Tell , what made you seek Lazarus Blessing?"

Kant glanced to the side, enough to catch Gabriel in his peripheral vision. He was now standing by the door, fidgeting and cracking his fingers with a tight-lipped expression.

"Kant, he’s talking to you. Answer him. You’ll make him suspicious," the ghost urged, his voice unnerved.

"As everyone else here, I seek to bring back soone special," Kant gave Hale a response.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether the weight of what they were about to do was dawning on Gabriel. Now that they were nearing the ritual, it seed even the ghost was reconsidering the value of a human life.

Kant wanted to tell him there was no need to be concerned—Victor Hale was a manipulator, the person who drugged the mbers of his cult to retain control over them. rcy was the last thing he deserved.

Who knows how many people had already died from scopolamine poisoning?

Kant’s fingers hovered near the knife, his heart pounding against his ribs. He kept his gaze steady, tracking Hale’s every movent.

One slip-up, one wrong twitch of the cult leader’s hand, and this whole delicate facade would shatter. The hum of Hale’s voice droned on, but Kant heard nothing.

Ti stretched, his body coiled like a spring.

Then, a shout echoed from outside. The signal.

In an instant, Kant’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the cool tal handle. The soft scrape of the blade against the platter sounded deafening in the still room. Hale’s head turned, but it was too late.

Kant lunged. His arm wrapped around Hale’s chest, yanking him back as the knife pressed to the cult leader’s throat with cold precision. The man’s serene mask cracked, his eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-breath.

"Don’t move," Kant muttered, his voice low and steady, though his pulse raced like crazy.

It was weird. Usually, he didn’t get nervous. Was it a bad sign?