Chapter 29: Smells Foul, Tastes Divine

Theoretically, Mr. Marshall’s symptoms were not difficult to treat; a single bottle of inhibitor would guarantee a recovery. However, upon seeing the ominous liquid churning with bubbles and emitting a pungent, acrid odor, he became extremely uncooperative.

"You... hahahaha, go find another, ha, way..."

Even as he gasped for air between fits of manic laughter, Marshall held up a hand to ward Ethan off.

Ethan had no choice but to consult his superior. However, when he turned, he realized Ivy had already retreated from the bedroom, joined at the doorway by Miss Chloe.

Miss Chloe was pacing anxiously at the door, several times attempting to enter, only to be driven back by the suffocating stench. She could only attempt to convey a message to Ethan through her eyes: *That is literal filth—do not make him drink it!*

Ivy, meanwhile, watched the beleaguered Ethan with keen interest, curious to see what action this usually eloquent subordinate would take. If it were her, she would most likely have knocked Marshall unconscious and forced the inhibitor down his throat.

Marshall was the branch manager transferred to Creekwood Town from the Imperial United Reserve Bank. His uncle was a nobleman in Gear City, and these five years as a manager were meant to pad his professional resume before he was inevitably promoted to the head office in the Imperial Capital.

To expect someone accustomed to gourmet delicacies since childhood to drink such an inhibitor was nearly impossible.

Ivy had heard that many frontline investigators, in order to adapt to the scents of inhibitors and exorcism agents, would take long-term medication to suppress their sense of smell and taste. This rendered them insensitive to odors, but the drawback was that the damage to their senses was irreversible; after retirement, they would find it difficult to derive any pleasure from fine food.

But then again... how many frontline investigators actually lived to retirement age?

"Mr. Marshall, in fact, human senses can be deceptive."

"Stay away from me—!"

Amidst his hysterical laughter, Marshall scrambled backward into the corner of the room. He pulled a pistol from his drawer and aimed it at Ethan, clearly prepared to perish together if Ethan took another step forward.

"Mr. Marshall, I heard you come from a distinguished family. Your ancestor was a high-ranking officer in the Royal Army who participated in the brutal Apostasy Wars."

Hearing the glorious deeds of his ancestor, Marshall steadied himself slightly, trembling as he shifted the muzzle elsewhere.

"So, have you heard the story of 'stinky tofu'?"

Ethan kept his tone gentle and remained where he was. His words worked; even the manic laughter ceased. Marshall, only a few steps away, shook his head blankly.

The golden hair on top of Ivy’s head stood up as she listened intently. This proved that Ethan had been thoroughly prepared on his way here, having studied Marshall’s background.

Could it be that this guy intended to use family honor to manipulate Marshall? It was certainly not a bad strategy.

"It was at the beginning of the Apostasy Wars. The First King was ambushed by cultists during a campaign and engaged in a three-day skirmish in the forest. When they finally defeated the cultists, all that remained outside the forest was an empty village. The soldiers of the Royal Army, starving and parched, searched the entire village but found only a local specialty called tofu. Because it had been left for too long, most of the tofu had spoiled."

As Ethan narrated, the bedroom grew quiet, save for the sound of steady breathing. Everyone gradually grew accustomed to the pungent smell of the inhibitor.

Ethan continued, "The spoiled tofu was inedible, but if they didn't eat, they wouldn't have the strength to return to town. So, the First King made a decision. He had his men light a fire, boil a large pot of oil, and fry the spoiled tofu. The oil pot almost immediately released a pungent odor, and many soldiers questioned whether such food could truly be eaten. Amidst the skepticism, the First King set an example. He was the first to taste the fried, spoiled tofu and was surprised to find that the flavor was actually quite good."

"Years later, after the Apostasy Wars ended, the First King revisited the site. Recalling the incident in the village and how that spoiled tofu had helped the Royal Army survive a crisis, he ordered the locals to mimic their method, creating this snack. Because of its characteristic of smelling foul but tasting fragrant, the First King named it 'stinky tofu.' Today’s enthusiasts prefer that pungent odor, as it is only through such stark contrast that they can taste the true charm of this snack."

Ivy’s expression grew increasingly solemn, eventually mirroring Marshall’s own. She had never imagined that the First King of the Empire had such a story behind him!

Ethan observed that Marshall was wavering, a sign that his strategy was working. He had read the Containment Bureau’s assessment of Marshall, which noted his penchant for the traits of the old-school nobility: an intense regard for family reputation and honor.

"The full name of the inhibitor is 'Light-as-a-Feather Mental Inhibitor 2.0.' As the name implies, it has undergone several version iterations since its inception to become the version you see today."

Ethan spoke in a resonant voice, "The Bureau’s R&D department gathers the brightest scientific minds in the Empire. This is the crystallization of their wisdom and hard work. Could it be that these brilliant people have never received feedback? That they don't know the inhibitor’s smell is daunting?"

Although these words were directed at Marshall, they gave Ivy pause. She had never thought about it from this perspective.

Ethan’s image in her eyes suddenly grew taller. Every word he spoke felt like a heavy hammer striking her heart, forcing her to reflect—it reminded her of the mentors at the Enlightenment Society, all of whom were the most learned scholars in the Empire. Compared to them, Ethan was far too young; she found it hard to imagine someone of her own age possessing a temperament so similar to those mentors.

"The R&D department certainly knows. They know of countless ways to eliminate the odor, but they chose not to. They can accept feedback from investigators to change the taste of the solution, but the smell and appearance must be retained."

Ethan gave Marshall time to digest and reflect. Seeing that Marshall seemed to understand, he continued, "When stinky tofu enthusiasts smell that pungent odor, they think of the arduous years the First King spent during the Apostasy Wars. Likewise, the R&D department wants to send a message to every investigator trying the inhibitor for the first time: this profession is not a dinner party. Only those with a willpower exceeding that of ordinary people can survive in this industry."

Ethan walked toward Marshall step by step. This time, Marshall did not speak; he stared fixedly at the glass in Ethan’s hand.

Too many thoughts occupied his brain. He thought of his ancestor, the First King, and that fierce, grand Apostasy War.

Then, the glass bottle was placed into his hand.

Ethan’s low voice sounded like a devil’s whisper, "The only question is, are you, like your ancestor, a person of firm will?"

Marshall’s brain raced, extracting several key points from the complex information.

That was it. The pungent odor was kept to remind investigators of the nature of their work. But in reality, the taste issue had long been solved; just like stinky tofu, it had become a snack accepted by most people over time.

With that thought, Marshall tilted his head back and downed the inhibitor in one gulp.

Then, all thought ceased.

His vision blurred, and his body swayed. He looked at Ethan, only one thought remaining in his mind:

*Damn it! A lying swindler!*

"That story just now..."

Ivy entered the room and tapped Ethan on the shoulder from behind. She felt the scene before her was somewhat surreal, shattering the gravity brought about by the story.

She looked at Ethan, and Ethan looked at Marshall...

Marshall’s eyes rolled back, his tongue, stained black, lolling out; only empty sockets remained. *That tongue is ruined,* she thought, reading the subtle message in Marshall’s expression.

"I made it all up," Ethan glanced at the empty glass bottle on the floor and remarked, "Not even a dog would drink this stuff."