Oliver stared at his fingertips in disbelief, his face contorting in shock as he watched his finger almost be bitten off. The skin was shredded, revealing bone, and fresh blood dripped steadily into the water basin before him, the drops rippling across the surface before vanishing.

“My God… the bite mark on his face… it can bite back?” he gasped. “What is happening? Is this some kind of curse!” “Is there a ghost here?”

In an instant, the courtyard, once filled with people lighting candles, erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air, and people scattered in panic, some stumbling and falling in their haste to flee. The lively scene moments before was now eerily empty.

Oliver stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

“Godfather,” a woman’s voice cracked, tears streaming down her face. Her hands shook with anxiety. “Last time you told me to make a wish, to bring back the child in the painting… was it really a stillborn? Where is he? Where’s he buried? Can you tell me?”

When the producer had told her the story, she hadn’t believed it. But after the slap—the way the bite mark appeared on Oliver’s face, only to bite back and injure his hand—everything had fallen into place. She believed wholeheartedly.

“Who told you this?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed, suspicion crossing his face.

He had intended to use the ghost of the stillborn child to manipulate her, to make her miscarry and fuel the child’s vengeful spirit, hoping it would strengthen his control over it. With enough power, he would be able to use it as his personal tool, consolidating his position in Crownridge, where his abilities were starting to fail. Now, with Odalys emerging as a rival, he was losing followers. His situation had become desperate. The necklace she had given to Hannah, something he had hoped to claim, was another setback. Odalys’s rejection had revealed her superior power, and witnessing her effortlessly resolve the Tillery family crisis intensified his fear. Now, he had no choice but to resort to dark means to secure his future.

"Was that child really stillborn? If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll go to the police,” the producer threatened.

“I’m not interested in who told you. Just tell me the truth—was that child really stillborn?” Oliver stood motionless, the tension in his eyes thickening. His carefully constructed energy field in the courtyard was at risk. If the authorities came, he would have no escape.

“Looks like someone’s been stirring the pot, trying to sow discord. Yes, that child died, but I’ve already guided his soul, helping him choose to reincarnate in your womb. You’ve been struggling with fertility, but the gods have answered your prayers. That’s why you’re pregnant now. So why worry about whether the child was stillborn or not! Life and death are an endless cycle. Even if you don’t want this child, the next one born to you will just come from another form of death,” Oliver continued, his words almost hypnotic, manipulating the woman’s emotions.

The producer’s wife listened, conflicted, his words resonating with a twisted logic that almost made sense.

But the producer remained resolute. “I don’t want to hear your nonsense. Just tell me—where is the child buried?” His voice was firm and unyielding. He had seen enough in his business dealings to know when someone was deceiving him.

Not far away, Orson leaned casually against a tree, his eyes gleaming with amusement. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he whispered, “He sure knows how to brainwash people.”

“Tell me about it,” Odalys replied, her voice low and confident.

Orson almost dropped his phone, startled by her voice. He quickly turned around, finding Odalys standing there, leisurely biting into a cucumber, her posture relaxed as she casually observed the unfolding drama.

Chapter 471

“Odalys, what are you doing here!” Orson whispered, surprised.

She handed him the cucumber, and he took a bite, glancing over at Percival, who stood nearby, eyes closed in meditation, clearly waiting for Odalys.

“I’m just here for the show,” she said with a grin. Her eyes flicked over to Oliver, who appeared increasingly anxious. She couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Oliver, despite all his scheming, was nothing more than a coward.

“That bite mark… how did it transfer to Oliver’s face when the producer slapped him? And then it actually bit him back!” Orson said, excited. He had been utterly stunned by the bizarre turn of events. He had seen some wild things before, but this was on another level. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Oliver uses the souls of dead infants to create puppets—mindless tools that only listen to him,” Odalys explained, taking another bite of her cucumber. “The truth is, his powers are weak, so he resorts to these tricks to make himself appear stronger. Unborn children are easiest to control—they’re more pliable, and their spirits are far from afraid of death. When one dies prematurely and is brought back, their vengeful energy intensifies, feeding Oliver’s power.” She paused. “In short, he uses these infant souls to stir up trouble, to make his energy field seem more powerful. Then, he swoops in to clean up the mess, gaining credibility.”

Orson nodded slowly, starting to understand.

“Isn’t this just a scam!” Orson gasped. “All these rich fools in Crownridge—how could they believe in him!” He had once been a guest of the elite families, invited to events where he performed energy field readings for millions. Everything was done with fanfare, and they treated him like royalty.

“Exactly,” Odalys said, amused. “If he wasn’t a fraud, then why couldn’t he even deal with something as simple as the Bennett family’s issue? He couldn’t even handle that small problem with Hannah and ended up on bad terms with them.” She sneered. “Oliver’s methods are nothing new. People like him have been running these scams for years. And yet, no one sees through him.”

Orson looked at Oliver, feeling disgust. “So he’s been lying all along! How has no one figured it out!”

Odalys shrugged, her gaze never leaving Oliver’s increasingly desperate face. “It’s just like the entertainment industry—creating fake personas. As long as your name is big enough, no one cares about your past. It’s all about the image you build. That’s why so many so-called ‘rich second-generation’ types have fake identities, and no one ever questions them. The truth is, their credentials and backgrounds are fabricated, just like Oliver’s. His powers aren’t as great as they seem, but his branding has made him a big name among the elite.”

Orson hesitated, unsure whether he should keep filming. “But this guy—he’s still using dark arts. He must have betrayed his master, or else he wouldn’t be dabbling in all this evil stuff.”

Odalys nodded. “Exactly. People who walk the righteous path don’t resort to these kinds of methods.”