CHAPTER 157: THE NOSY ORACLE

Lethia’s gaze brimmed with excitement, and her grin gradually stretched wider at the sight before her eyes.

The woman Varrel called the oracle stood near the bed. Lethia stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind her, quietly.

The woman tilted her head, eyes narrowing in mild confusion.

"I think this is not your supposed room, miss. Are you getting lost?"

Lethia scanned around the room that used to belong to her father, then let out a mocking chuckle.

"And I think this is not your room either. You should know I used to be the owner of this mansion. It’s impossible for me to get lost."

Still dissecting the oracle from head to toe with her eyes while smirking, she walked over to the sofa and plumped onto it.

The oracle’s lips curled faintly into a knowing smile. She turned back toward the bed, tracing its edges with a glowing sapphire stone, her lips moving in whispered chants like she was performing some sort of ritual.

"Alpha Varrel struggles with sleep every night. I absorb negative energy using this sapphire stone so he can rest peacefully," she explained softly while continuing her murmurs.

["And the only negative energy here is herself. With all the disgusting demons she’s worshipping."] Whisney grumbled in her head.

Just as Whisney finished whining, the oracle froze mid-movement and turned her head, shooting Lethia a sharp, unsettling glare.

"There..." she whispered in a breathy tone. "You have the greatest wicked power inside you."

With a face lighting up like she’d just found buried treasure, the woman stepped away from the bed and began approaching Lethia.

"I’m not wrong at all. You... you are the power that could destroy the mountain and turn the earth into a hellfire."

The oracle stopped a short distance from Lethia, then bounced lightly on her toes like an overexcited child spotting a superhero at a theme park.

Lethia flinched, one brow arching high. ’What the hell is she rambling about?’

The oracle tangled her fingers together, her gaze fixed on Lethia as if she yearned to approach, but her hesitant steps held her back.

"I can feel it... I can feel your energy... You... what kind of creature are you? Can you show me your true form?" Her voice trembled with manic delight.

Lethia’s frown deepened, bewildered by the oracle’s behavior.

"I don’t know what you mean. I’m wolfless... how am I supposed to—"

"I’m not talking to your useless mortal form." Her thrilled smile vanished, eyes widening suddenly in fury. "I’m talking to the divine power inside you. I’m talking to the holy spirit that will wash your mortal sins. I’m talking to your real—"

Slap!

The harsh sound of flesh hitting flesh cracked through the room, and the oracle hit the floor, her body crumpling to the side.

’What...’

Lethia blinked, the stinging throb in her palm made her realise it was her hand that landed the slap.

She didn’t even remember standing up. Her body had moved on its own.

"You sure talk too much." Lethia’s voice shot up at the oracle.

"Arrghhh..." Lethia’s hand—still moving without her conscious control—grabbed a fistful of the oracle’s hair and yanked her head back hard.

She hauled the woman upright and hurled her along the floor, her back smacking against the edge of the bed.

"Argh..." the oracle gasped in pain, breath hitched, and collapsed.

’Whisney... what are you doing? Why did you suddenly take control of my body?’ Lethia screamed inside her head.

But it was like shouting at a brick wall.

Whisney didn’t respond. She kept yanking the oracle’s hair again.

Lethia’s body crouched down in front of her, and her other hand clamped tightly around the woman’s neck.

The poor oracle clawed at her with everything she had, her nails digging and dragging in desperation as she struggled for air.

It was useless.

The strength coursing through Lethia now—Whisney’s strength—far outweighed anything that woman could throw at her.

"What could a worthless being like you possibly know about me?" Whisney snarled through Lethia’s lips. "You dare possess this useless body and run around claiming you’re a prophet?" She let out a scoffing chuckle. "Who the hell are you trying to fool?"

Lethia felt her whole body heating up, humming, blazing even, as the grip around the oracle’s throat tightened.

It was suffocating, terrifying, and yet it thrilled her. She had never felt this much raw energy from Whisney’s possession before.

And what confused Lethia more was that the usual hatred she had for being overtaken... wasn’t there.

Because the moment she felt Whisney’s blazing power in her veins, the moment she felt the bones beneath her strangle grip, she felt alive. This surge of violence somehow fed her craving for power.

The oracle’s struggle began to weaken. Her pupils dilated, lips turning blue. Still, Lethia’s—no, Whisney’s grip didn’t falter.

’Whisney, you’re not actually gonna kill her, right? This is going to cause problems—I still need her!’

The chokehold only tightened. The oracle’s hands slipped from Lethia’s arm, falling limp.

’Whisney!’

No response.

Her hand didn’t budge.

’Whisney, we can kill her later. But right now, I still need her! Why are you so eager to just kill anyone? It’s not like her corpse will magically disappear if you murder her. It’ll just become a burden for the mortal—for me. Whisney... please...’

The grip loosened.

With heavy panting, Lethia’s fingers uncurled from around the oracle’s neck.

The woman collapsed onto the floor like a broken puppet.

Her eyes fluttered shut, a faint cough escaping her lips, but the way she gasped for air was enough of a sign that her struggling lungs were still working.

Lethia’s fingers instinctively rubbed her hand that had done the choking.

She felt the heat slowly faded from her body, gradually settling into a normal warmth again.

Not long after, she could feel her control returning.

Her mind re-entered her limbs like water flowing back into a dry river. She was amused by how the transition was smoother than before, so smooth she didn’t even stumble.

["What do you need her for?"]

Lethia crouched down, checking the pulse at the woman’s neck. A faint beat throbbed under her fingers. She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

’I researched the paintings in Reia mansion about spirit foxes. I read one of your powers is shifting appearances. And some foxes, those who’ve reached all nine tails, even have the ability to manipulate others’ vision. Can you make Varrel see this woman as me?’

["That’s..."]

Whisney’s voice sounded indifferent. Lethia had expected a mocking laugh or a snide comment. But nothing came. The usually unserious fox had grown unusually quiet ever since she returned to Lethia’s head.