A Man in Marvel, Working for the System
He had two reasons for not killing people:
First, he did not want to draw the attention of Demon Hunters.
Among high society, the existence of Demon Hunters was no great secret. Grow stronger, then do whatever he pleased—that was the path Harold had laid out for himself.
But this was clearly just Harold's wishful thinking. Just as Vampires could not restrain their bloodlust, the longer Wraiths remained in the human world, the less rational they became, eventually turning into slaves to their instincts.
If Ghosts were another form of immortality, why would humanity fear death?
Second, Harold could draw energy from the fear of others to grow stronger. This special ability allowed him to develop without killing anyone.
Compared to killing, his method of leveling might have been slower, but it was steady and sustainable.
Yet plans could not keep up with change. The Demon Hunter had still come.
Fortunately, this Demon Hunter was far too young, looking naive and easy to fool.
They say a Demon Hunter's soul tastes better than an ordinary person's. Harold struggled inwardly.
"Is something wrong?" Geralt asked.
"No, nothing." Harold hurriedly composed himself. "I just didn't expect Mr. Demon Hunter to be so reasonable."
"Haha, people can be good or bad, and Ghosts are transformed from people, so naturally they can be too." Geralt smiled. "Other than old fossils, no one starts fighting the moment they see a Ghost. Hmm, how should I put it... Oh, humanized demon hunting! That's what it's called!"
"Sit, sit over here." Harold gestured toward the luxurious sofa with the air of its owner.
The two sat down.
Facing each other.
Seeing Geralt raise his left hand with a smile, Harold thought he wanted a handshake. Just as he extended