Vol. 7: Skilled at Winning People Over

Saint Josh is very good at interpersonal relationships.

Whether it was building cliques and cultivating relationships or cooking and preparing meals, both of these ways of being a person allowed him to thrive in Saladin, this remote border town.

This Caucasian man had thick body hair, very deep-set eyes, low cheekbones, and a flat forehead.

He had a high nose, thin lips, and a pair of reddish-brown eyes.

He looked to be between forty and forty-five years old, with a face full of wrinkles. He usually wore a woolen vest and rolled up the cuffs of his shirts. The skin on his forearms was smooth and delicate, and he had shaved off all his hair. His well-maintained hands were very dexterous, with large knuckles and no scars.

He is very handsome. In Chinese parlance, if he posts some selfies on social media, middle-aged women, aunties, and grandmas will immediately strike up a conversation with him. If he could post a few videos, he might even become a foreign scholar.

He is 191 centimeters tall with broad shoulders, which gives people a sense of security.

At this very moment, he is in his detached villa in the northeastern part of Saladin town, cooking and entertaining guests at his home.

"The recent psychotherapy doesn't seem to be working, Doctor Maguire."

Saint Josh laid out the kidney; it had been cleaned and was spotless when taken out of the plastic bag, which pleased the owner greatly.

"Could you tell me what trouble you've encountered? Has someone brought you new worries?"

Doctor Maguire waited in the restaurant, sitting upright with a burning rage in his eyes, as if he had made a grudge outside and couldn't find peace of mind.

"It's nothing serious, Doctor Jioris, if you're curious."

Saint Josh Joris immediately replied, "Indeed curious. As a psychiatrist, it is my duty to help my patients. Cases like yours are quite rare. I have already received a considerable amount of money from you, yet your hysteria has not improved—this makes me feel ashamed."

This cannibal has transformed himself into a specially appointed physician at the Saladin Town Clinic, primarily responsible for treating the psychological problems of members of various hunting parties.

He was completely open with his patients, setting the consultation fee as a portion of his physical essence. Every patient who received treatment from him had to have a meal with him, and the ingredients for that meal were human flesh.

You might wonder, didn't anyone discover the true form of this demon? Saint Josh Joris has even started eating human flesh, didn't anyone resist?

Let's turn our attention to the double-door refrigerator next to the kitchen counter. This refrigerator contains the organs and flesh of sixteen people, taking only the best parts. Saint Josh is a meticulous man; he never eats rotten meat and always saves the most delicious piece as a reserve.

In the past two years, sixteen patients tried to expose Saint Josh's cannibalistic practices, but were ultimately murdered. Moreover, it was not Saint Josh who did it; he instructed other patients and friends to help kill these "ungrateful" psychopaths.

Maquire paid for a kidney this time, which was nothing to him. He could easily obtain Universal Elixir in his clinic, and he could afford to pay even if it meant giving up his heart or liver.

Maquire: "I did as you said."

Saint Josh was quite surprised. He suddenly turned around at the kitchen counter and looked towards the dining room. "You killed Alfons?"

Maquire nodded, a hint of shyness in his expression.

"--Yes."

Although Saint Josh tried to appear serious, he couldn't hide the slight smile on his face, "How are you feeling? Has your anxiety and mania lessened?"

"That's right." Maquire nodded, looking relieved. "The Berloberg spirit on me has gradually quieted down and isn't so noisy anymore."

Turning the pages of the menu, Saint Josh's fingers moved swiftly, landing on the menu for the gravy, before closing the book and getting to work immediately.

"You told me that Alfons is a shameless scoundrel."

Maquire immediately replied, "That's right! He killed two members of the hunting party! One of them was a geologist!"

"Don't get excited. Don't get excited, my friend." Saint Josh began to prepare the ingredients, his exquisite knife skills evenly slicing them into translucent thin slices.

"Have you used the small sample bottle I gave you?"

This refers to the fennel root scraps and white peppercorns on Doctor Maguire's person, both of which are rare condiments in the underworld.

Maquire immediately replied, "Yes, I used it."

"How does it taste?" Saint Josh asked. "It must be delicious, right? A moment of upholding justice needs the right seasoning to bring you joy, doesn't it?"

Maquire nodded quickly and replied, "Yes, Doctor Jioris, I'm very happy with the little gift you gave me— Alfons may be a scoundrel, but he has a kind heart."

"So what else is bothering you?" Saint Josh asked. "The ghost of the [Gunsmith] in your head is no longer bothering you, is there anything else?"

Before the doctor could finish asking his questions, Maquire suddenly became agitated.

"Four bastards robbed the hospital! They're all remnants of the Zhan Gang! They almost killed the old Chinese medicine doctor! These damned, sons of bitches, they actually attacked a patient, they're utterly depraved!"

Saint Josh put down his cooking utensils and quickly came up behind Maquire.

--This psychologist is very professional; he knows that at this time, the patient needs a warm and comfortable environment and a suitable listener.

He put his arm around Maquire's shoulder and looked down at the enraged bull—yes, Maquire now looked just like a furious, belligerent bull.

"Speak slowly, Maquire, speak slowly."

He acted like a father, like an older brother, his eyes revealing an ambiguous affection, even like a lover, gently placing his hand on Maquire's neck.

Speak slowly.

As if under a spell, Maquire's out-of-control emotions subsided, and he unconsciously developed a sense of dependence, prompting him to press closer to Dr. Saint Josh's abdomen. From this position, he could hear strange gurgling sounds—

The sound of water, originally the undulating insect nest of the Vita Imprint, sounded to Maquire like returning to his mother's womb, filling him with a strange longing.

"Before I killed Alfons, a priest stole the poison. I was going to poison Alfons to death."

"Hmm?" Saint Josh was immediately displeased, because poisoning was hardly a sign of carnivorousness, but he managed to suppress his emotions.

Maquire continued, "I wasn't originally that brave. I wasn't ready. I wanted Dannie to do it. It was because of this priest's actions that I killed Alfons with my own hands."

"I cut a piece of flesh from this beast's heart. I was afraid he would regain his senses, afraid he would hear something. If he knew I was eating human flesh, I'd be finished."

"Doctor Jioris"

"It's this guy's fault, isn't it?"

Maquire suddenly acted like a child and started to sulk.

"It was all because of this priest's interference that I was forced into becoming a murderer, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't me, it wasn't me!"

"It's all the priest's fault. It wasn't that he was meddling. If he had left that bottle of poison, the murderer would have been Dannie, right?"

Maquire gripped Saint Josh. Josh Joris's hand tightly, feeling a sudden, powerful force strike him.

"No." Saint Josh hooked Maquire's chin, turning the young man's head back to its proper position. "No, no, you're wrong."

The ogre pressed hard on Maquire's head, rubbing his hair and temples, and whispered in his ear.

"No, don't question yourself, Maquire Copenhagen—don't question the decisions you make."

"You did nothing wrong. The person who died on the operating table was just a criminal who abandoned his fellow countrymen for selfish gain. You did nothing wrong."

"As for that bottle of poison, it represents your weakness. That priest was a messenger sent by God; he eliminated your weakness and filled you with determination."

"You did nothing wrong, my child. You did nothing wrong."

Saint Josh slowly released Maquire and walked gracefully back to the kitchen counter.

He continued cooking, urging Maquire to finish the story.

"Tell me about this priest, my child."

Although the address changed from "guest" to "my child," Maquire didn't find it abrupt at all; he was completely controlled by this ogre.

"His Zhang Congfeng, he's Chinese, and he came with the VIPs—I've inquired about him; it seems he came from Brenwell and went to the Hot Spring Market to treat a father and daughter."

At this point, Maquire quickly added.

"Oh, he's a psychologist too."

The main course was marinated in lemon juice, and Saint Josh began preparing the side dishes. He also put the frying pan on the stove. When he heard the word "psychiatrist," his eyebrows suddenly twitched, as if a fighting spirit had been stirred within him.

Do you dislike him?

Maquire: "I hate him! He covered for criminals and stole my car!"

"How did you cover it up?" Saint Josh asked curiously.

"He stole my car keys and handed them over to these robbers. Although..." Maquire paused, his tone changing, no longer as agitated as before. "Although he saved the old Chinese medicine doctor, I suspect he's in cahoots with the robbers."

Now that the four brothers of the War Gang have fallen into the hands of the militia, this is clearly not what Saint Josh wanted to see.

The cannibal only offered advice to the four brothers without providing any real help. According to Saint Josh's original plan, the four brothers were supposed to die at the hands of the militia, and then he would find an opportunity to steal some supplies from the supply depot—after all, the flesh of the blood-granting units was much tastier than these Homo sapiens.

The four brothers, led by Big B, were completely unaware of how much the "benefactor" of Hercules wanted them dead. They were kept in the dark from beginning to end.

They survived the robbery entirely on their own merits, and they still had to negotiate their share of the loot with Saint Josh. Even the dead weren't left behind; their bodies had to be put in Saint Josh's refrigerator.

"Go on," Saint Josh said calmly, and began frying the kidneys.

Maquire: "These thugs overturned their car in the cave, and when the militia brought it back, I was furious—all I could think about was getting revenge on them, eating them, eating these cannibalistic monsters!"

After preparing the main course, Saint Josh began tidying up the side dishes. "And then?"

After recounting the story of Big B removing the insects, Maquire went on to describe the details of how he carved a cross and sent it to the prison as a declaration of war.

Saint Josh had a bad feeling when he heard this, a feeling that came out of nowhere—like Inspiration that had saved Saint Josh from imminent danger. But this time was different; he was desperately craving the flesh of a blood-soaked unit, and it had been far too long since he had tasted anything good.

"Did you write a sentence on the cross?"

Maquire: "Yes. I was really angry. That ungrateful priest was definitely helping criminals—how could he do that? He's a psychiatrist, just like you!"

"No, no, no," Saint Josh quickly denied. "We're not the same, Maquire. I'm unique."

Maquire immediately brightened up when he saw Saint Josh bringing over a plate—his mouth watered, even though the plate contained his kidney.

"Let's eat first." Saint Josh gestured. "The main course is seasoned with chopped celery, lime juice, and lemon with a touch of vinegar. This vinegar is very special; it's a specialty of the Hot Spring Market."

"The side dish is sliced onions and heavy cream, fried in peanut oil, it's very fragrant."

"Beef liver has a slightly rusty taste from the iron, and I imagine your kidney is the same. You're strong and healthy with a powerful blood-producing function. I don't know how you disposed of this kidney, but it was perfectly clean when it came to me."

"The main dish was just bread slices coated in whole egg liquid and toasted. I didn't separate the egg yolks and egg whites. The honey at home is still frozen. Your arrival was too sudden. Remember to make a reservation next time."

"Wait a moment, child."

Saint Josh was like a kind and gentle father, and a caring and tender mother. He taught Maquire how to tear bread, wrap the ingredients tightly, stuff in the seasonings, and slowly put it into his mouth.

"Don't eat too much at first. It's fresh out of the pot and very hot. Let your taste buds savor its sweetness first."

Maquire put the food in his mouth, and his eyes immediately lit up.

He chewed on the piping hot bread slices, savoring the unusually sweet and bouncy texture from the coarse bread fibers and the crispy outside and tender inside of the egg.

"Take that second big bite," Saint Josh advised.

Maquire hugged the bread slice, wrapped it around the main course again, and took a big bite. He felt a warm current rush out of his mouth and nose, and the fresh and fragrant taste permeated his entire esophagus.

"Wow! Doctor Jioris, your cooking is amazing!"

"Hey," Saint Josh Joris smiled, revealing two rows of white teeth, squinting his eyes, and lightly tapped his wine glass with his fork, signifying, "I'm eating too."

After completing this action, he used the fork as a pointer again. This "mini-lesson on how to be a good person" was over, and he was about to talk about the murals in the restaurant.

"What you told me about the nameless man terrified me, especially the gunsmith."

Saint Josh makes no attempt to hide his inner vulnerability, exposing all his fears to Maquire —a form of mimicry that helps the patient lower his guard.

"The spirit of Berloberg within you is my nemesis; it is my nemesis."

Maquire quickly said, "I won't hurt you, Mr. Saint Josh. You've shown me that there are such gentle and kind blood donation units in the world. You're a good person."

"Many people say that, but they don't really think so," Saint Josh said, pointing to Jason Megan in the mural. "I've always idolized the Nameless Blue-Gold Werewolf— Jason Megan, his cooking is unparalleled."

"Every Saturday, he teaches cooking in a streaming classroom."

"I'm his number one fan, you know that, hahaha."

"A Blood-giving Monster actually recognizes Lapis Lazuli as its teacher, hahahahaha!"

At this point, Saint Josh couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Maquire didn't know why Mr. Joris was laughing, but emotions, when manipulated by others, can immediately trigger a chain reaction.

He started laughing too, as if to play along with the other person's performance.

"Hahahaha, um... hahahahaha"

By this time, Saint Josh was certain that Maquire had let his guard down and become a puppet.

"--I might need your help with a small matter, Maquire."

Maquire replied while eating, "You may."

Saint Josh: "I want to kill these four criminals. They deserve it, don't they?"

Maquire: "Indeed, they don't treat patients in hospitals like human beings—they deserve to die."

Saint Josh: "They're in the cell, it's a safe environment, you don't have a chance to do anything."

Maquire: "The militia are protecting criminals! That's absurd!"

Saint Josh: "I'll help you, don't worry. There will always be a chance."

Maquire: "What about the priest?"

At this point, Maquire hesitated, as if the harsh words he had carved on the cross were merely an impulsive act born of anger.

Saint Josh was waiting for this very sentence.

Saladin doesn't need two "psychologists." If he had more professional counselors, what would happen to his business? Could he continue living such a good life?

"Maquire, if this priest truly confuses you, causes you pain, drives you mad—as your best friend, I will find a chance to kill him; it is for the sake of our friendship."

"But..." Maquire suddenly became agitated. "Doctor Jioris, you've lived in anonymity for so many years in Saladin, just wanting a peaceful life. You can't let me make you stained your hands red again!"

"You are my patient, and a doctor's heart is like a parent's." Saint Josh interrupted Maquire.

"Don't waste food."