Lazy Belphegor.
Bologue didn’t expect to witness the Devil that Nesanel spoke of so soon. He started to suspect whether the life-and-death chase he had just experienced was secretly orchestrated by this Devil.
Belphegor signed a Blood Contract with the Order Bureau. He has since resided deep within the Cultivation Room, and the Order Bureau thus obtained his seat, participating in the rivalry among Devils.
"I’ve wanted to et you for a long ti, Mr. Lazarus."
Belphegor walked ahead, leading Bologue through the corridor filled with doorways, "But you know, I can’t directly interfere with the mortal world. Not to ntion, after signing the Blood Contract with the Order Bureau, according to the contract, I can’t leave here without the Decision Room’s permission."
Just as Nesanel said, the Order Bureau had bound this Devil... but only temporarily.
"Finally, I et you."
Belphegor glanced over, his expression fanatically joyful.
Bologue’s expression grew even more solemn. Unlike the Zongge Orchestra that attacked him, Bologue guessed that they were influenced by the devil’s Protection, enabling them to maintain such a pathological sense of zeal at all tis.
They called themselves his fans, more as a kind of mockery and jest. But Belphegor in front of him was different; Bologue could genuinely feel that fervor in him.
In this state, Belphegor was extrely similar to Palr when he shouted at him, holding a newspaper of the new book by Crowned Blue Jay; there was hardly any difference between the two.
At this point, Bologue could confirm that Belphegor truly was his fan.
Bologue tentatively asked, "You don’t think I’m the ’Red Dragon,’ do you?"
"Oh..."
Belphegor’s steps faltered for a mont, then he continued forward, "You actually know about these things. It seems Nesanel really trusts you."
He continued, "No, I’m different from my siblings. I don’t care about the ’Red Dragon,’ just as I don’t care about the outco of this conflict."
Belphegor had no reservations; even regarding the secret of the devil’s conflict, he was utterly indifferent.
"As for you, there isn’t any complex motive. I really just like you; I’m your fan."
Bologue halted his steps. In the face of Belphegor’s candid words, Bologue felt no relaxation and instead felt increasing pressure.
The more passionate and devoid of ulterior motives Belphegor’s words were, the more pressure Bologue felt inside. If Belphegor had sothing to gain from him, he could start from interests and find a way to counter Belphegor.
But, in reality, Belphegor was purely acting as a fan, as if he could derive so sort of pleasure from Bologue.
Facing such an unclear-purpose, madly bizarre existence, Bologue couldn’t think of any responsive asures, let alone the fact that he had no ability to oppose the Devil.
This sense of powerlessness, beyond his control, greatly annoyed Bologue.
"A Devil fan... truly flattering," Bologue said, "Do you want to obtain my soul?"
"Soul? How could that be? That’s too boring."
Belphegor clarified his purpose, "What I crave is to capture your gaze."
It was the first ti Bologue encountered such a strange request, "It sounds like a perverted voyeur."
Belphegor responded with a smile, "I prefer to call myself a tasteful audience."
"This inn is full of people... what’s behind the door?"
Bologue didn’t want to dwell on Belphegor’s perverted hobby and instead started inquiring about the inn.
As a fan of his, Belphegor was very willing to explain his doubts. Bologue needed to seize this opportunity to explore more secrets as much as possible.
This inn was extrely peculiar. It was situated within the Cultivation Room; however, Bologue felt that this inn wasn’t part of the Cultivation Room; it was independent.
Just like the Perplexing Intersection to the Tyrant, this inn might also be so Devil’s domain, governed by sinister rules, entirely under Belphegor’s control.
"Behind the door are my guests," Belphegor said, "those interesting souls will eventually enjoy eternal rest here."
Bologue asked, "Are they considered your ’collection’?"
"Hmm... more like derivatives of the collection," Belphegor was eager to show sothing to Bologue, beckoning him, "Follow ."
Bologue didn’t have many options; he followed Belphegor, walking through the bustling corridor.
At a certain mont, Bologue felt a sense of absurdity.
The anomaly of the Cultivation Room, the life-and-death run, the re-encounter with Light’s Blaze, and the Devil before him...
This series of events took place within an hour, continuously impacting Bologue’s nerves, even numbing his consciousness, making his inner calm seem devoid of any emotion.
Bologue asked coldly, "Was it you?"
"What are you referring to?"
"Everything I just experienced," Bologue said, "now that I think about it, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence."
"Sorry, did I scare you? I had no choice, the Order Bureau forbade from contacting you. Without so extraordinary ans, I really couldn’t et you."
Belphegor answered without reservation. He turned around with an apologetic expression and bowed to Bologue.
"What should I do to extinguish your anger? Commit seppuku?"
Before Bologue could answer, Belphegor grabbed his hair with one hand, his neck slightly stretched, and under great force, his flesh tore, distorting his features.
After a teeth-gritting, spine-chilling screech, Belphegor pulled his own head off and held it in his hand, blood gushing from the severed neck, soaking his clothes instantly.
Belphegor continued, "Is this enough? Or do you need sothing more drastic?"
"Stop it, this is aningless."
Bologue shook his head expressionlessly; the Devil is not bound by human values, and so-called dignity ans nothing to them.
Belphegor wasn’t really apologizing, he just thought this would be amusing, or maybe he anticipated Bologue’s reaction to the scene.
Bologue’s indifference left Belphegor a bit disappointed, but he imdiately felt even more hopeful about Bologue.
Holding his head, leaving behind a bloody trail, he walked forward, reaching a fork in the corridor, then turned towards a white door.
"You’ll like what’s inside."
Belphegor said cryptically, clamping his head under his arm, and slowly pulled open the door with both hands.
Bologue stood in the empty space, he had to admit, Belphegor indeed surprised him. Looking at the gigantic screen as tall as a wall, Bologue never imagined that deep within this inn was actually a theater.
"Give a mont."
Belphegor positioned Bologue in the most suitable viewing spot, placing his head on the seat next to Bologue, and then his body swiftly disappeared into the darkness at the back, rummaging through sothing unknown.
"What do you think? This should be the best cinema in all of Oubos City, no, in the entire world."
Belphegor’s head said with excitent.
Bologue did not respond. He sat in the audience seating, observing his surroundings. Besides the seating and the screen, there was an expanse of darkness, as if the theater’s space was larger, mostly obscured by shadows.
In the corner, stacks of dark boxes piled up. So were damaged, with film strips spilling out, tangled together like seaweed stranded on the shore.
Belphegor’s body returned, holding a heavy box in his hands, then opened it in front of Bologue, taking out one film tape after another.
"What do you want to watch? Mr. Lazarus, I’ve collected every film since the invention of cinema."
Belphegor was extrely confident in his collection. "Whether by renowned directors or student projects, it’s all here."
The box seed bottomless, and soon the videotapes piled into a small mountain beside Belphegor, yet he hadn’t stopped digging.
"And these rarities," Belphegor took out a few movie posters, "these are signed by directors themselves. I went through great lengths to get them."
"Those damned vendors just wanted to inflate their prices," Belphegor continued to complain, then chuckled, "Of course, they paid the price for it."
Bologue found it unbelievable, "You’re a movie enthusiast as well?"
"To be precise, I’m an enthusiast of all artistic creations."
Belphegor placed the box aside, reattached his head to his body, and sat down next to Bologue.
"Whether it’s music, comics, books, movies... even scripts from afternoon radio shows, I have them all."
Belphegor snapped his fingers, and a popcorn appeared in front of Bologue, along with a soda.
"Oh, wait, I rember you prefer orange juice, right?"
Belphegor said as he snapped his fingers again, turning the soda into a chilled orange juice.
"I find it hard to understand what you’re up to?"
It was true; facing Belphegor, Bologue constantly felt a sense of absurdity. There were no conspiracies or evil intentions; Belphegor simply seed like a pure enthusiast sharing his collection.
A fan showcasing his treasured items to his idol.
The most damnable thing was, in so ways, Bologue shared common interests with Belphegor. If he weren’t a devil and their relationship wasn’t so complicated, Bologue might even be willing to chat with Belphegor.
"Oh? You’ll soon understand, this is why I went through all the trouble to invite you."
Belphegor found the remote, pressed the switch, and the projector started up, casting a flurry of snowflakes on the screen.
Under the hazy light, Belphegor spoke softly.
"Mr. Lazarus, do you like poetry?"
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