Demon Hunter and His Cabin
Chapter 293 - Chapter 293 Chapter 293 Black Box

Chapter 293: Chapter 293 Black Box Chapter 293: Chapter 293 Black Box He closed the door behind him, and a frail-looking Caucasian youth with glasses walked to the front.

Everyone noticed the black box he held in his hands.

“Since you’re all here, you must have some degree of belief in what I’ve said before,” he began.

The bespectacled youth, known as Jansen, belonged to a family involved in long-distance shipping, “I suppose you’ve all come across some strange occurrences in life, things that simply can’t be explained by common sense.”

His low voice suddenly heightened.

“There are unknown facets of this world still hidden from us.”

His gaze swept over everyone’s faces, particularly focusing on Famke and the others who had once seen a mermaid on the isle; naturally, they agreed wholeheartedly.

Jansen’s eyes finally rested on a dark-haired woman sitting in the back of the meeting room, a tall and fair beauty with her black hair casually draped over her shoulders, yet not appearing disheveled.

Her eyes were a pale green, like two dazzling gems.

He placed the black box on the table.

The box was made of a very special material, neither stone nor wood, and appeared as though it had been soaked in sea water for a long time; its raised surface reminiscent of the slippery skin of an animal.

Jansen opened the box and took out an old piece of parchment.

“What’s this?”

Everyone’s breathing became a bit more rapid.

“Magic, Spell?”

A woman sitting next to Famke spoke up.

If Roger were here, he would have recognized her as the woman he had saved before, the one who wore a bikini.

Jansen shook his head, unfolding the parchment in his hands.

“This is a treasure map, a map that marks the location of the wreck of the Mary Celeste.”

“A treasure map?”

Upon hearing his words, the others in attendance couldn’t hide their disappointment.

“Hey, buddy, you’ve made us wait so long just to show us this?”

“Don’t tell me some antique dealer conned you, who still believes in treasure maps these days?”

“Ha ha!”

“Among all those present here, who really needs money?”

Famke spoke out loud.

His words triggered laughter from the crowd.

But Jansen’s expression turned serious, “Family assets belong to the family; how much really belongs to us personally?”

Then he pushed the box forward, “More importantly, this box.”

On the inside of the box, in the opened upper half was embedded an oval copper mirror that somewhat distorted the reflection of one’s face, giving it a slightly eerie look.

The lower half was flat, with a piece of papyrus placed in the center, and next to it lay a quill pen.

The tip of the pen was sharp enough to be compared to metal, with vividly colored feathers that turned a blood-red shade near the middle.

Jansen pushed the box closer to Famke, who was nearest to him.

“Pierce your finger with the tip of the pen and write a question only you know the answer to on the paper,” he instructed with a serious expression.

“Pierce my finger?” Famke hesitated.

“Just a little blood,” said the man sitting next to him. He grabbed the box with a carefree gesture, seizing the quill pen and piercing his fingertip.

Hisss!

A strange suction came from the hollow quill pen, causing a slight change in the man’s expression; in an instant, the tip of the pen was soaked with blood.

His expression grew solemn.

“Write it on this?” the man asked, looking up.

Jansen nodded, “Remember, you must write a question whose answer only you know.”

The man looked around, and Famke, sensing the situation, moved back to give him sufficient space.

He dipped the blood-soaked quill onto the papyrus and wrote down a line.

“Who was the first woman I slept with?”

After doing all this, the man lifted his head, looking expectantly at Jansen not far away.

“What now?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the man stood up in alarm.

“WTF!”

In front of him, the red letters on the papyrus wriggled as if alive, and then the letters began to rearrange themselves.

Hearing his exclamation, people nearby couldn’t help but crowd in to see the moving letters, and everyone’s face turned pale.

“Emily Wilder.”

Someone read out the letters on the papyrus.

“Your sister’s name.”

Famke glanced at the man beside him, “What question did you write?”

But the man didn’t answer; instead, he looked at Jansen in the distance with a face full of horror, and in the next second, he charged like a wild brown bear.

“Damn it, what did you do to me?!”

He swung his fist and smashed it forward.

“Calm down.”

Jansen dodged the man’s fist.

“I haven’t done anything.”

He lifted the parchment in his hand, “Do you still doubt the authenticity of this?”

The man panted heavily and walked towards the door with clenched fists.

“What the hell is this, it’s too weird, I’m out!”

Jansen adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Are you sure you want to quit the game?”

No one noticed the strange glint that flashed through Jansen’s eyes when he mentioned the game.

“To hell with your game!”

“FU!”

The man extended his middle finger and left with strides.

The atmosphere in the room turned somewhat cold and silent for a moment.

“Does anyone else want to quit?”

Jansen said languidly.

“I want to give it a try!”

Yet Famke took the initiative to stand up, realizing something extraordinary from what happened to his companion.

For people like them, ordinary beauties and pleasures were no longer enough to arouse any interest.

He picked up the quill from the box.

At this moment, the quill had not a single drop of blood in it.

It was as if the pen had magic power, being able to sense in advance the question that the writer wanted to ask.

It had already sucked enough blood to write the entire question.

Famke took a deep breath and pierced his finger with the tip of the pen.

A second later, he wrote his question on the paper.

This time he was very careful, holding the box in his hand and stepping back a few paces, then once again he witnessed that magical scene.

The letters moved, and the answer to the question appeared on the paper.

Famke’s face changed wildly.

“Snap!”

He closed the box without hesitation and looked at Jansen with a face full of terror–the impulse to draw his gun nearly took over him.

“This…”

Famke opened his mouth but said nothing.

After a while had passed and he opened the box in his hand again, the writing on the paper had already disappeared.

He let out a long breath.

“Are you leaving too?”

Jansen asked.

Famke shook his head and sat down on a nearby chair.

The performances of the two had pushed everyone’s curiosity to the breaking point.

The box was passed from one to another, and each person who tried could not hide their amazement.

During this process, some stayed while others left.

Soon, the only person who hadn’t tried remained–the black-haired woman sitting in the back row of the conference room.

“Goway, it’s your turn.”

Jansen’s voice slowed down; his attitude toward this woman was clearly different from the others.

Everyone looked at her.

The woman named Goway shook her head, her green pupils without a hint of hesitation.

“No need, I already know.”

Her voice was soft, reminiscent of the wind in a valley.

After speaking, she stood up, pushed the door open, and left.

Seeing this, Jansen’s expression darkened slightly.