Robert, Robert, Robert

The strange, dizzying syllables that could make an ordinary person dizzy rang out, forcing Robert Edison to cover his ears.

Transparent ripples appeared in the air and became increasingly viscous. In an instant, Wilbur felt as if he were stuck in a quagmire, unable to break free, and even raising his hand became difficult.

The greatest resistance came from the black-robed man's blade, which was forced to stop after merely slicing through Wilbur's skin.

Its speed left Wilbur no time to react when he swung his scimitar.

But in the face of this stagnant air, speed becomes meaningless.

Wilbur struggled to breathe; the surrounding air rushed into his respiratory tract through his nose, but it was thick and gel-like, only making his Affliction worse.

Old Whateley, lying on the bed, laboriously raised his head; this was clearly his incantation.

He looked at Robert Miller:

"Dear Mr. Robert, the the Whateley family and the Miller Family have been cooperating for over a decade, and I have known your father for ten years as well."

"I think we have some friendship, but Wilbur is too young, he's only seventeen, and there are many things he doesn't understand. I apologize on his behalf."

Robert remained motionless, still covering his ears.

Wilbur realized that his situation was the same as his own, and the stagnant air was having an even greater effect on him than on himself.

It's not that he doesn't want to move, it's that he simply can't move.

"How about this?" Old Whateley continued without waiting for Robert.

"After my father died, the the Whateley family's situation became increasingly difficult, and in recent years it has been only with the help of the Miller Family that they have not completely declined."

"But we've left behind something interesting that you might like. How about using it to replace my grandson's head?"

Old Whateley waved laboriously toward the other side of the bed:

"Lavinia, stop looking for food. Wilbur will cook for you in a bit. Go get me that box from the bedside table."

Lavinia slowly rummaged through the items, opening the first cabinet, glancing inside, then opening the second cabinet, which was empty. Finally, she returned to the first cabinet, but instead of touching it, she asked:

"But why won't you give this to me? I really like it."

"Alright, Lavinia, stop being so stubborn, or your little Wilbur will be in big trouble."

Lavinia reluctantly took out a wooden box slightly larger than her head and placed it on Old Whateley's chest.

The sudden weight made Old Whateley cough a few times, and he became even weaker.

Old Whateley paused for a few seconds, then opened the wooden box, inside which was a complete human skull that had turned yellow.

"This is my grandfather. My father cut off my grandfather's head and made this thing. It's a pity that my father didn't have time to pass on his skull-making skills to me."

Old Whateley said:

"It's a decent contraption; my grandfather had already undergone four transformations before he died. Although only some insignificant tricks remain in this skull, it's still somewhat useful. Sir, it can store a soul. How about I exchange a real soul vessel for my grandson's life?"

The tension finally eased, Robert nodded as much as he could, his head bobbing up and down twice.

The next moment, the air resumed flowing, and Wilbur was finally able to breathe fresh air again. He jumped back, panting heavily, clutching his bleeding neck, and warily watching the black-robed man's bone blade.

The bone blade didn't pursue him any further. Robert remained calm, breathing slowly, and didn't rush to take the skull from Old Whateley.

Wilbur guessed he was just putting on a brave face; Robert's face was flushed, yet he was pretending to be calm.

"Does it have a name?" Robert asked, stroking the skull, seemingly quite pleased with the object.

"It's completely undecorated, but it's simply a work of art, absolutely beautiful. I've never seen such a perfect skull."

"My father was a master in this field," Old Whateley replied. "Robert, his name is Robert, my grandfather shared your name."

"I will keep it safe."

Robert handed the wooden box to the man in the black robe. He took the syringe, gestured it on Old Whateley's arm, and looked at Wilbur beside him:

"I'm going to draw a vial of his blood now. This was agreed upon with him by the Miller Family long ago. Or are you going to refuse on his behalf? If so, I'll return the skull to you."

"Please make yourself at home," Wilbur said nonchalantly, leaning against the wall.

No human blood is like that.

A pale pink liquid flowed from Old Whateley's body.

Wilbur had excellent eyesight; he could see that they were actually two liquids, bright red and milky white. The two liquids were not mixed together, but were clearly separated like water and oil, and their form resembled two intertwined ropes.

Having lost this vial of blood, Old Whateley became even weaker. Robert nodded and looked at Wilbur:

"From this day forward, you are the head of the the Whateley family?"

"Maybe it could be me?" Lavinia whispered, but no one paid her any attention. She had just found some leftover bread from yesterday, stuffed it into her mouth, and spoke indistinctly.

"The collaboration between the the Whateley family and Miller Family will not end. Please convey this to Mr. Carl Miller; he will soon see results, within a year."

The two men, who were just moments before ready to fight to the death, are now calm and collected, as if nothing had happened.

"That's good," Robert replied. "What do you need this year? The Miller Family will bring it to you."

His tone was incredibly arrogant, as if he were asking a homeless person if they wanted some leftover bread, specifically mentioning that there were teeth marks and saliva residue in the bread.

But Wilbur remained calm and handed Robert the letter he had prepared beforehand:

"It's all written inside. Please give it to Mr. Carl."

The envelope was meticulously sealed with a ram's horn pattern; the sealing wax itself was impeccable—standard, beautiful, and a perfect circle.

Robert touched the sealing wax. "You're much more troublesome than Old Whateley."

He immediately opened the envelope and casually tossed the exquisite sealing wax onto the ground.

He was stunned for a moment:

"I thought you'd need cattle as usual... The Miller Family can certainly get what you want; death row inmates and vagrants are everywhere, but you have to give them a reason."

"I told you, we'll see results soon," Wilbur said. "But before Dunwich disappears, we need some appetizers."

Robert laughed:

"Very well, but what about your damn brother? Will he agree to this? He wouldn't be so cooperative if you didn't have those residents under your control."

"His consent is not needed; he will become one with Him."

"Could you leave me a piece of bone as a souvenir?"

"I'm sorry, he won't leave anything behind."

"What a pity. I'll be back then," Robert said, walking towards the door. "At least I want to see how he dies."

The only sound in the room was Lavinia eating.

"How are you feeling?" Old Whateley asked.

"Robert?"

"Um."

"Not bad, he'll be a good partner."

"That's good." Old Whateley gasped, "Call Hope over, let him see me one last time."