Exorcism in Progress...

Bang!!! Bang!!! As Anderson descended one step after another, the sound echoing beneath his feet seemed louder than before.

The cold and deathly silent basement seemed to amplify every sound, turning it into a deafening cacophony.

For an ordinary person, the sight of the darkened space combined with the echoing sounds might induce fear. But Anderson remained indifferent, simply transferring the small bag hanging from his shoulder to his chest for easy access.

He had no storage space, so this small bag served as his makeshift storage, containing all the essential items he needed.

The Bible, which increased his magical power through recitation, showcasing a 1+1 effect.

Fifty rounds, all enchanted, capable of delivering specially made salt bullets.

Three bottles of holy water, and three consecrated crosses for direct use.

"Finally understand why basements are a staple in horror movies."

Carrying the Winchester M1897, Anderson descended the stairs and turned on the lights, surveying the surroundings. Indeed, the basement seemed like the perfect setting for a horror movie, with all the necessary elements of terror.

In the dim light, the moderately sized basement was cluttered with wooden furniture, an old bed covered in cobwebs, and various articles of clothing strewn about, covered in dust...

While it might seem mundane under normal circumstances, combined with the cold atmosphere and the knowledge of the unholy presence lurking within, the terror factor was multiplied, sending shivers down one's spine.

However, Anderson remained unfazed. After scanning the area, he walked to the center of the basement.

To him, the place was thick with resentment, like a dense fog permeating the basement.

Unfortunately, despite reaching the center, there was no sign of any activity.

"Not coming out?"

Anderson rubbed his eyes and observed the lingering resentment in the air with his magical sight, raising an eyebrow.

Though spirits and demons roamed the mortal realm, they also had their own designated spaces, akin to being imprisoned within a certain range. They could only move if someone was cursed by them and transferred, allowing them to follow...

This was why the Roger family's situation hadn't changed despite leaving the place...

"Fine, if you won't come out, then I'll force you out." Anderson gripped the Winchester M1897 with his right hand and reached into the small bag on his chest with his left, retrieving a bottle of holy water.

In the Western world, holy water was effective against all manner of evil beings, be it demons, spirits, or undead. To them, holy water was like lethal poison.

Anderson easily removed the bottle cap with a flick of his thumb.

"I've given you a chance!"

With that, Anderson hurled the bottle forward. As the holy water splashed out, the thick fog of resentment recoiled as if encountering its nemesis, avoiding the area where the holy water landed.

"Come out!!"

Anderson continued to throw the holy water to the left.

Just like before, the dense resentment dissipated as if melting away upon contact with the holy water, gradually thinning the once thick fog.

"Come out!!!"

Still no response. Anderson moved to the right, hurling the holy water. With enough holy water to cover all directions, if the mother's malevolent spirit didn't show itself, it was only inviting trouble upon itself.

"Come out!!!"

As Anderson shouted, he continued to throw the holy water to the right.

Just then, Anderson abruptly turned around, aiming the Winchester M1897 in front of him. He sensed a change in temperature and movement behind him.

There, sitting on a piece of wooden furniture, was a plump woman wearing a tattered dress from the 18th century, her back facing Anderson, holding a blood-stained knife.

A rough, beast-like voice emanated from her.

"She made me do it..."

"She made me!!!"

...

Anderson clenched the bottle in his left hand silently, keeping the shotgun aimed at the spirit, or rather, the soul.

If he guessed correctly, this plump woman was the mother who met a tragic end in the basement. After all, she didn't exude the intense malice characteristic of evil spirits.

"Where is she?" Anderson asked calmly.

However, before he could finish speaking, the plump woman trembled, her form becoming more elusive and ethereal.

Clearly, she was extremely afraid of "her," Bathsheba, so much so that her form couldn't remain stable.

"No!!!"

"I don't want to!!!"

Suddenly, the plump woman's form began to tremble even more, and a rough, beast-like voice emanated from her.

"No!!!"

With a roar, the plump woman's fading form disappeared in an instant.

At the same time.

Anderson sighed inwardly. With a snap, the bottle in his left hand burst open, holy water flowing from the seams of his hand. As Anderson shifted his stance, he viciously swung his left hand to the right.

Like a true boxer, his punch, combined with his large stature, was powerful and forceful.

The spirit of the plump woman, who had just vanished, reappeared from the right side, wearing a tattered white nightgown covered in black liquid, holding a knife.

"Roar!!!"

With a roar, accompanied by the sound of bursting air, the plump woman's form exploded, disappearing without a trace.

"You asked for it!"

With this punch, Anderson remained calm, his eyes showing a hint of fierceness. Ignoring the fragments left in his left hand, he swiftly retrieved another bottle of holy water and hurled it toward the gathering resentment.

In that instant, while the bottle was still in the air, Anderson raised the Winchester M1897 in his right hand, pulled the trigger, and fired.

Boom!!!

As the Winchester M1897 spat out salt bullets, the bottle of holy water also burst, splashing holy water in all directions.

While everyone in the upstairs living room was startled by the gunshot, activity stirred in the basement.

"Roarrrrr!!!"

As beast-like roars echoed, the sound of taut ropes being pulled tight followed, accompanied by a rapid drop in temperature throughout the basement.

Click!!!

Anderson swiftly pumped the Winchester M1897's lever, aimed at the gathering resentment, and fired.

The timing was perfect. Before the Winchester M1897 could shoot out the specially made salt bullets, the direction of the barrel was aimed at a figure floating in mid-air, wearing a rust-stained white nightgown, her hair disheveled.