Chapter 51: There's a Mole; The Deal is Off
Dewen was tossed around in the air by Weija as though he were the most pitiful clown in a circus.
The Demon simply could not endure Weija's humiliation, scheming every mont for a way to escape.
Weija always loved dangling a thread of hope—letting Dewen bolt for so distance before hurling him back to where he started.
The pitch-black Giant Eagle circled overhead, then perched upon a tree as though it had grown bored of the ga, a single eye glinting with blue light as it stared down at Dewen—the gaze of a predator sizing up its prey.
At last, unable to bear the indignity any longer, the Demon used Dewen's body to drop heavily to its knees before Weija, pleading desperately:
"Divine Lord! Please let go!"
"There is nothing to be gained from keeping here for amusent—you are only wasting your own ti."
Weija chattered and laughed, its voice shifting from sharp and shrill to low and heavy.
"Why would I let you go? What value do you have that would make release you?"
"None. You have none. So entertaining is the only value you possess."
With that, Weija snatched up one of Dewen's legs and flung him into the air, letting him fall freely.
Just as he was about to slam into the ground, Weija swooped down, scooped him up in its beak, and hurled him skyward again.
Like a bungee jump with no safety equipnt whatsoever.
Until Weija tired of it, then set Dewen down gently on the ground, rolled its neck, and said softly:
"Boring. You may go."
"Really!?"
The Demon could not believe it—its mind had already been ground down to agony by the tornt.
The mont it heard Weija say it was free to leave, it did not stop to think. It ran imdiately.
But how could Weija possibly let it go so easily?
First, it let Dewen sprint a hundred ters. Then, with a single beat of its wings, Weija closed the distance, seized Dewen from behind with two enormous razor-sharp talons, and began viciously shredding at his backside.
"Faster! Run faster!"
Weija hounded him from behind without relenting, leaving the Demon no choice but to keep moving, dragging its aching body forward.
Even as it pushed past its limit, with the Giant Eagle looming at its back, there was no other option.
It ran—how far, it did not know—until the scenery around it began to look familiar.
That tree—I passed it just monts ago! And now it's appeared again!
This creature never intended to let go at all!
It's a loop!
This was an illusion. There was no escaping it—not unless the caster chose to dispel it.
The Demon could not fathom how such a grotesquely sadistic creature could exist.
A god? It had never once heard of any god so insufferable as this wretched Crow.
But Weija seed to read its thoughts. With a sweep of both wings, a violent gust of wind sent Dewen crashing to the ground.
Dewen was too frightened to make a sound. Weija, for its part, looked at his crumpled form and erupted into laughter:
"What are you so unhappy about? The strong are supposed to thoroughly humiliate the weak!"
"Don't like it? Then go and beat my Envoy!"
The Demon froze.
A single image flashed through its mind.
Viktor's silhouette—seared into its consciousness.
It stood completely still.
That human Mage—he was actually a divine Envoy sent down by a god...
As though a mystery had finally been solved, it collapsed with a thud, crashing to its knees, and began screaming its pleas:
"Divine Lord! I now fully understand the offense I have committed—please spare !"
"I will never appear before you again."
The Demon did not even know what kind of god Weija was, yet it kept begging out of sheer terror.
Only this could explain everything.
Why that terrifying man was powerful in a way that did not seem human at all.
"Why are you begging for rcy? You cannot die."
As Weija spoke, a coil of black fog rose from its body and enveloped the Giant Eagle.
Monts later, the black fog dissipated.
The enormous eagle that had filled the sky had beco a small, cunning Crow.
It beat its wings and settled before the prostrated Demon, its words laced with temptation:
"You see—I have desires, and you have desires. Every being in this world possessed of intelligence carries desire."
"So, Yem—you cannot die. Then why fear ?"
Yem trembled so violently it could not stop—and a black toad crawled out from Dewen's body.
The mont Yem erged, Dewen lost consciousness instantly, collapsing with a thud, his body crumpling lifelessly to the ground.
Yem's trembling grew even more frantic.
It knew. Weija knew everything.
It even knew that this was Yem—the Primordial Demon born of Greed.
"Lift your head. Look at ."
Yem trembled as it raised its head—and then, without warning, blue light ignited in Weija's eyes.
A piercing pain stabbed through its mind like sothing driven through its core. Yem felt its soul being locked in place.
Shaking and panicking, it cautiously asked:
"What have you done!?"
Weija opened its beak, gave Yem a light pat with its small wing, and said soothingly:
"Don't alarm yourself. I simply used your Demon race's contract chanism to put a lock on you."
"From this mont on, your consciousness will be indestructible. Even if you die, your mories and your power will not fade away."
Yem was dumbstruck. It raised its head and stared at Weija with an expression of pure disbelief:
"Why...why are you helping ?"
In the sa breath, Yem was seized by an even deeper, more paralyzing dread.
If the other party could accomplish sothing like this so effortlessly, it ant Weija could just as easily strip everything away at any mont.
And beyond that—dealing with a Demon required both parties to give sothing in return.
"So..."
"Likewise—from this mont on, until your life is utterly extinguished and your mories have wholly dissolved,"
"Your soul shall serve at my command."
It was a Crow. Crows were not physically capable of smiling.
Yet to Yem, Weija was laughing—laughing wildly, in a way that was deeply unsettling and wickedly malevolent.
Yem wanted to struggle, to break free from this lunatic before it.
But the mont it resisted, it felt chains seizing its body and locking it in place—a pain like steel spikes driving into its heart.
Watching its restless form, Weija spoke:
"Then go back."
"Return to the Royal Capital. Return to the place that belongs to Dewen Rether—the place where he must face judgnt."
Yem drove its Black Ink into Dewen's seven orifices and reclaid control of his body.
Involuntarily, it stood upright and began trudging forward—step by step—dragging the soulless husk behind it as it slowly withdrew into the distance.
Long after, when the silhouette had vanished entirely, Weija preened its feathers with its beak.
A Teleportation Formation materialized in the air before it from nothing. Weija beat its wings and flew back up onto the newcor's shoulder.
"Can you truly preserve a Demon's mories after it dies?"
Viktor did not look at it—he only asked in a mild, indifferent tone, watching the path along which Dewen had departed, where a dark trail had been left behind.
With a casual wave of his hand, the black trail gradually disappeared, the surrounding weeds straightening upright, closing over the path.
Weija gave him a sideways glance and ruffled its feathers.
"I always thought you were clever. I didn't expect you to be just as easy to fool as a Demon."
Viktor had his answer. He said nothing more.
Weija added one more word of explanation:
"To achieve sothing of that magnitude, let recover at least 30% of my power first."
"That was a Primordial Demon, after all. And behind it, there are countless more shadows waiting in line for their chance to ascend once it fades."
Viktor gazed up at the ragged, overcast sky and continued:
"Then how much have you recovered right now?"
"Less than 1%."
Weija puffed out its chest proudly, as though showing off just how formidable it would be at full strength.
Viktor couldn't be bothered to indulge it. He turned and walked toward the dense forest in the opposite direction.
"Tell where Erika is."
"Oh my—I thought the cold and indifferent great Lord Viktor wouldn't care at all about that poor, pitiful little believer of mine."
Viktor paid no attention to its mockery. He simply walked, parting the weeds at his side, and replied calmly:
"She is my student, after all."
"Wrong! All her Magic was taught by !"
"...Whatever."
The trees could no longer hold back the spring wind's relentless pursuit. A gentle, cool breeze stirred the man's Coat.
The Crow perched on his shoulder held its head up high, proclaiming its hard-won victory to the world.
***
Several Knights clad in silver-gleaming armor were searching for sothing just outside the city gate.
Soon, a figure ahead caught their attention.
Dewen Rether—his consciousness absent—was walking slowly and steadily toward the city gate, one step at a ti.
"It's Dewen Rether! Soone go inform His Highness the Second Prince at once!"
"There is no need. I am already here."
The Second Prince stepped unhurriedly out through the city gate and said so with a smile, standing just beside them.
He looked at Dewen Rether, then gave a silent gesture with his eyes to the Knight at his side.
The Knight drew his longsword and leveled it at Dewen Rether.
In the next instant, a bolt of lightning coiled around the blade.
The lightning erupted—crack—and struck Dewen Rether's body.
Dewen Rether jolted violently, his consciousness snapping back in an instant.
He woke with a start, took in the ring of Knights surrounding him, and found himself at a complete loss.
The Second Prince stepped forward from among the Knights. The mont Dewen Rether saw who it was, he seed to find sothing to anchor himself to—and called out desperately:
"Your Highness! Second Prince! Where is this place?"
The Second Prince looked at the fat pig before him and sighed inwardly.
The man standing in front of him was his own cousin.
How filthy.
But he did not let it show. Instead, he lowered himself, endured the piercing stench and the filth of Dewen's body, and helped the man to his feet.
"Cousin Dewen, do not panic—I am here to help you. Right now, everyone in the city believes you are in league with the Demon."
"I know you have been wrongly accused. Cousin, tell everything that happened to you."
Dewen Rether's eyes reddened around the rims, as though he had finally found an outlet. He told the Second Prince everything.
He even disclosed that Viktor's Teaching Assistant—Heni—had been possessed by the Demon.
After hearing Dewen's account, the Second Prince narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"So that's how it was, Cousin."
"By the way—that Demon is still inside your body. Did you know that?"
Dewen Rether was startled out of his skin. He frantically patted his own body but found nothing out of the ordinary.
He had co to with no mory of anything that had happened after losing consciousness—the Second Prince had simply been the first thing he saw upon waking.
Dewen grew frantic. He implored the Second Prince urgently:
"Your Highness! Quickly—get this Demon out of !"
"I am still a Professor at the Royal Magic Academy! I cannot be branded as soone who conspired with a Demon!"
The Second Prince nodded and assured him:
"Very well, Cousin. I will cast the Demon out of you right now."
"It may hurt sowhat. You will need to bear with it."
Dewen Rether nodded firmly and declared:
"I've endured enough tornt these past few days—pain doesn't scare ! Go ahead!"
In the next second, his voice cut off.
His eyes went wide, staring at the Second Prince before him in disbelief.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
He looked down toward his chest.
A longsword had been driven clean through his heart.
"Wh...why..."
He had survived Viktor's hands.
He had survived Heni's hands.
Even the Demon had not killed him.
The one outco Dewen Rether had never once considered—
Was that in the end, he would die at the hands of his own blood.
The color in Dewen Rether's pupils began bleeding to grey—the light left his eyes.
The Second Prince pulled the Silver Blade free and flicked the blood from it.
He watched, unhurried, as Dewen pitched face-forward and crashed to the ground.
"The Demon has now been exorcized."
A foul black toad crawled out from the body of the deceased Dewen Rether. It looked utterly spent.
Every Knight present stared at the Demon before them as though facing a mortal threat, waiting only for the Second Prince's command to cut it down.
But the Second Prince crouched down, scooped up the repulsive toad, and cradled it in his open palm.
The Knights around him were bewildered by his behavior. One of them called out urgently:
"Your Highness! That is a Demon! You should not—"
Shlick!
Countless black spikes erupted from the ground in an instant, impaling every person present—save for that one Knight.
They could feel their lives bleeding out at terrifying speed, their eyes filled with nothing but disbelief.
Then the Second Prince's voice rang out:
"David, you have followed for a long ti."
"I told you long ago—things that should not be said, do not say them."
David, the Knight who had been spared, trembled violently, dropped his head sharply, and beads of sweat began falling from his brow into the dust.
"Forgive ! My Lord!"
The Second Prince smiled, satisfied. He raised the black-ink toad and held it level in his open palm, studying it with his gaze.
Then a jarring voice spoke out of nowhere.
It was a voice that did not belong to the Second Prince.
"Greed—you don't look well."
"Shall I lend you a hand?"
The weakened toad opened its lone eye, and a glimr of sharp light flickered within it.
It looked the Second Prince up and down—that blazing, overflowing ambition, that desire saturated with wicked intent.
How delicious.
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