Vonjo wiped his hands clean, flicking away the last fragments of metal dust as if brushing off the remains of the old Van.

The ground where the vehicle once stood was bare now, faint scorch marks left behind by the devouring process.

The twisted metal and shattered glass had been drawn into his hand and absorbed into his devouring ability, leaving nothing but the faint smell of burnt oil and singed rubber.

On his shoulder, the three-headed frog shifted, its three throats letting out a lazy ribbit-ribbit-croak in discordant rhythm. Vonjo tilted his head at it and smirked.

“You’re thinking about transportation too, huh?” he said with a lopsided grin. “Relax. I didn’t destroy the Van for nothing. I planned this.”

He started down the cracked street with easy strides, the frog hopping slightly to keep balance on his shoulder as the faint wind from the cursed zone’s outskirts blew grit into the air.

The city in this sector felt different—less alive.

Even the faint glow of runic street lamps was muted under the gray sky.

Vonjo stopped at a car store he had spotted earlier, its glass windows smudged with dirt and its sign hanging crooked, the words Silver Road Autos barely legible through grime. He knocked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No response.

Vonjo frowned and leaned closer to the glass. The inside was dim, almost unnaturally so.

Dust floated in the shafts of light that barely made it past the doorway. He knocked again, harder this time, the metal of his knuckles clanging against the glass.

“Hey! No guards, no staff, no… anyone? Is this a joke?” His voice echoed down the empty street.

The three-headed frog croaked softly, tilting one head as if to say, This feels off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Vonjo muttered, glancing up and down the quiet street. “This is weird. Feels like one of those setups where some idiot thinks he’s clever with traps. Or maybe they’re just lazy.”

He waited, tapping his foot, scanning the surroundings. The frog gave another series of ribbit ribbit croak, and Vonjo huffed a laugh.

“Right? Even you think this is shady. If this is a robbery attempt or some cheap ambush, they’re about to regret it.”

Finally, after what felt like an intentionally long silence, a shuffling sound came from inside. A figure appeared—thin, almost skeletal in a dull gray uniform that might’ve once been white. The man’s eyes were sunken, his skin pallid like he hadn’t seen the sun in months.

Vonjo blinked. “Uh… so you are open. I’d like to buy a car.”

The man’s voice was slow, like the words had to crawl out of his throat. “We’re… closed today.”

Vonjo stared at him, dumbfounded. “Closed? I literally just—Why did I scrap my Van then…?” He muttered to himself, rubbing his temples.

The man tilted his head slightly, and his lifeless eyes flicked to Vonjo’s shoulder. “What… is that thing?”

Vonjo’s pupils narrowed, his smile fading into a thin, sharp line.

He can see the frog.

No normal human should be able to perceive the three-headed frog. Only sorcerers, users, or those attuned to the cursed could. This immediately set Vonjo on edge. He stayed silent, letting the man speak.

“Anyway,” the man continued in that dreary tone, “we’re closed because of… accidents. People buy cars… drive off… and then the cars crash. Sometimes right outside. Sometimes a few streets away. Every one of them swears the engine or steering failed. Complaints stacked up. We lost… customers.”

He gestured vaguely to the rows of cars behind him. “Now, they just sit here.”

Vonjo arched a brow. “…Accidents?”

The man nodded slowly. And then he began to talk.

First came the story of the young couple who had bought a black sedan last week. Barely a block away, the car swerved into a lamppost without reason, killing the driver instantly.

Then, an old man who’d traded in his truck—the brakes failed as he drove down a gentle hill. Crashed into a ditch. Survived, but swore he saw “shadows” in the passenger seat moments before impact.

And then, the delivery driver. Bought a cheap van. Witnesses claimed they saw the vehicle “spin on its own” before flipping into an empty market stall.

Story after story droned from the man’s mouth, his tone lifeless yet disturbingly vivid in its detail. The frog croaked uneasily, and Vonjo muttered under his breath as he listened, his expression shifting from mild irritation to deep suspicion.

“Yeah… I hear you,” Vonjo said finally, nodding as the man paused. “I get the feeling. These aren’t just accidents. But you’re not a sorcerer, are you?”

“No,” the man said with the faintest curl of a smile. “I am… a user.”

Vonjo’s eyes narrowed. There are distinctions among curse sorcerers and users.

Sorcerers drew their strength from fallen angel blood—tainted divinity inherited by humanity.

Users, though… users bargained with the sins in their own hearts, summoning the shadows of demons to wield cursed power. It was dirtier. Riskier. Often more sinister.

The man’s voice sharpened slightly, though it never rose. “I won’t sell. You can… scram now.”

Vonjo felt the spark of annoyance flare into anger. This pathetic corpse of a man, denying him? His fingers twitched as he imagined shoving the man against the wall, tearing the keys from his belt, and walking out with a new car without a care.

He was about to step forward when the man added, in a voice that carried an eerie chill:

“…But I can give you a car for free. On one condition. If you die in a crash… we take your soul.”

Vonjo’s steps halted.

Behind the man, the air warped—and then a shadow bloomed, twisting into the horned visage of a demonic spirit.

Its jaws opened in a silent hiss, dripping darkness like ink into the air.

Vonjo’s jaw tightened. His aura flickered, the frog letting out a sharp, irritated croak.

He was pissed. Pissed at the audacity.

Pissed at the idea that some low-tier user thought they could throw a soul contract in his face. His lips curved into a sharp, dangerous grin as he muttered under his breath:

“…You picked the wrong guy to mess with.”

Vonjo’s grin widened to a feral edge, and the air seemed to grow heavier as his fingers twitched in anticipation. A thrill rippled through his veins—this was going to be fun.

The demonoid’s shadowy horns twisted higher, its inky form writhing in the dim shop light, and the thin, sickly man stepped backward instinctively.

Then Vonjo moved.

His fist snapped out like a cannon shot, slamming into the man’s gut with a thoom!

The man crumpled to the floor, wheezing, and the three-headed frog on Vonjo’s shoulder let out a startled ribbit! before leaping off, hopping frantically toward the corner of the store as if it wanted no part of what was about to happen.

“Oi, don’t look away, little guy!” Vonjo called after it with a laugh, his voice echoing in the empty, dust-choked showroom. “This is a free lesson in why you don’t mess with me!”

The demonoid lunged, its black claws extending toward him in a blur of shadow and malice.

Vonjo didn’t even dodge.

He let the attack pass through his body like mist, his devouring energy eating away at the spectral claws before they could solidify.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep