The frenzied slaughter lasted the entire night.
The usually dignified nobles were fleeing in panic through the Holy City District, many of them having been startled awake from their sleep, barely clothed as they ran out.
But this did not allow them to escape their fate of death.
On the clean streets and beside the luxurious castles, bodies lay strewn about, men and women alike, all sharing one common trait—
Their hands had been severed.
By the time the sun rose in the east, nearly three-quarters of the nobles in the Holy City District had been killed, turning what was once a paradise on earth into hell overnight. The survivors huddled in corners, clutching holy icons and praying for protection.
Yet the demon did not continue the slaughter. He looked at the rising sun on the horizon, sheathed his blood-dripping long sword, and returned to the temple, covered in the stench of blood.
…
Inside the temple, Salavira had just woken up.
He rubbed his sore wrist and yawned, turning to find that Asmodeus, who should have been sleeping beside him, was not there.
He was taken aback and touched the temperature of the sheets beside him—
Cold.
Asmodeus must not have returned all night.
Salavira couldn’t fathom why the demon would leave the temple for an entire night. Recalling the man’s strange behavior the previous night, he had a foreboding feeling.
Just then, the temple door opened, and a figure stood at the entrance, silhouetted against the morning light, enveloped in a heavy scent of blood.
Salavira’s eyebrows twitched violently, and he immediately got up from the bed.
He instinctively called out Asmodeus’s name, and in the next second, the figure at the door moved. Though it seemed to be walking slowly, the speed at which it approached was astonishingly fast. In just a few breaths—
The demon stood right in front of him.
At such a close distance, Salavira could clearly see the filthy blood dripping down the other’s clothes, the strong, sweet scent making him dizzy.
All of this indicated the end of a…
Massacre.
Salavira’s mind buzzed.
His breathing nearly stopped, countless terrifying guesses flashed through his mind. He wanted to ask something, but his lips opened and closed several times without making a sound. In the end, he could only stare wide-eyed at the ghostly figure of Asmodeus standing before him.
Finally, Asmodeus moved.
He smeared a bit of fresh blood from his hand onto Salavira’s cheek, admiring the other’s horrified expression before finally speaking:
“Salavira, take a guess, who did I just kill?”
There was a hint of malicious boasting in his words.
“You…” Salavira struggled to keep his tone steady, but as soon as he started speaking, he couldn’t continue.
He was afraid.
Afraid of the terrifying answer gradually surfacing in his heart.
Yet the demon was fascinated by this fear.
He held Salavira’s slightly trembling hands, slowly squatted down, and looked up at the beauty on the bed with a gentlemanly and considerate posture. But contrary to this, his eyes held a nearly pathological sense of boasting and provocation.
“Can’t guess? It’s okay.”
Asmodeus pulled Salavira’s wrist, pressing it against his blood-splattered cheek.
“I can give you some hints, but… you’ll have to trade something for it.”
The suggestive words made Salavira immediately understand what he wanted to exchange for—
During this time, he had played this kind of malicious “game” with the demon in front of him more than once, believing that he could calmly accept such… methods of torment both physically and mentally.
But… every time he thought he had completely discarded his sense of shame, the demon would always use various threats and temptations to show him that he could sink even deeper into this mire.
Just like now.
Salavira closed his eyes in despair.
“Asmodeus… you have to keep your word.”
“Of course.”
“……”
Salavira exhaled deeply, opened his eyes, and looked at the ceiling divided into countless sections by the iron bars of the cage.
He thought, hope is truly the cruelest thing in the world.
Clearly, he knew that with the demon’s brutality and hatred for humans, the most terrifying guesses in his heart were likely already true. Yet, before the answer was revealed, he still held a sliver of hope, and this hope compelled him to submit to the demon.
…
The unbearable passion and the terrifying guesses lingering in his mind tormented Salavira’s nerves. By the time the demon was finally satisfied and willing to let him go, Salavira was already drenched in sweat and tears.
But even looking so pitiful, Salavira still bit his lower lip, trying to maintain his last bit of clarity:
“Now… can you tell me the answer?”
“Of course.” The demon leaned down and planted a kiss on the disheveled Holy Son.
But when he saw the glimmer of hope in Salavira’s passion-filled eyes, a cruel thought surfaced in his mind.
“Salavira, you should be able to guess, right?” Asmodeus’s magnetic voice sounded in Salavira’s ear, “I went to Solent last night, and not a single member of the resistance there was left alive. I killed them all.”
Salavira’s breath caught.
After a long time, he seemed to wake from a dream, murmuring, “The resistance… Karl and the others…”
“Yes, Karl, that annoying human resisted the most fiercely, and his death was the most tragic. Salavira… do you need me to describe it to you in detail?”
“…No, no!” Salavira suddenly struggled violently, almost breaking free from Asmodeus’s grip, even more intensely than during their most excessive moments in bed.
Asmodeus clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction and immediately summoned the surrounding shadows to bind the unruly fellow tightly.
“Such a big reaction… do you care about them that much?”
Salavira’s struggle became even more intense, the hatred in his eyes almost devouring him whole: “Why… why did you kill them?! They had no grudge against you!!”
“Why?” Asmodeus laughed in anger, “Salavira, have you forgotten? I’ve already made a pact with the Archbishop of the Church, eliminating their troubles is just a small effort.”
“…What?”
Salavira’s resistance paused, and then he became quiet, staring fixedly at Asmodeus.
The latter felt uncomfortable under such scrutiny and was about to say something when Salavira suddenly laughed:
“No, Asmodeus, you’re lying to me.” Salavira’s gaze was sharp, almost seeing through everything, “You didn’t actually go to Solent City, did you?”
Asmodeus’s heart skipped a beat, and before he could deny it, he heard Salavira’s confident words:
“You are the most noble lord of Hell, you would never work for the Church, even if you do have a superficial alliance with them.” Salavira paused, recalling yesterday’s events, and a rather unbelievable thought emerged in his mind, “I guess you went to the Holy City District to kill those nobles, right?”
Asmodeus’s eyes widened instantly, and that moment of reaction completely betrayed him.
“Indeed.” Salavira smiled.
His tense body finally relaxed, and he exhaled a long breath.
“But Asmodeus, I don’t understand, why did you kill them?”
“………”
Such a simple question, yet it left Asmodeus silent for a long time.
“Those guys… you actually care about them?”
Salavira choked, unable to understand why every time it came to topics related to humans, his words would be misinterpreted by this guy? He opened his mouth to explain, but suddenly noticed that Asmodeus’s gaze on him had changed—
Resentment, jealousy, and… grievance?
For a moment, that gaze reminded Salavira of the wounded hunting dogs he had seen at the nobles’ places, abandoned in the wilderness by their owners due to their injuries, only to find another puppy in their owner’s arms when they finally “returned home” with great difficulty.
Salavira’s heart clenched, and an inexplicable sense of bitterness surged up, compelling him to immediately deny the statement:
“Of course I don’t care!”
“They treated me like that before, you killed them for me, I’m more than happy.”
Asmodeus was stunned for a moment, then finally asked for confirmation: “…Really?”
“Of course.” Salavira looked at him with utmost seriousness.
Thus, a mad dog that was about to bite finally seemed a bit more normal. As if cherishing something, he slowly buried his head in Salavira’s shoulder, gently rubbing, feeling the blood pulsing through the veins beneath the thin layer of skin.
Sharp teeth occasionally grazed the tender skin, giving Salavira the constant feeling that his life was in someone else’s hands, a shiver of coldness spreading from his spine.
He was about to tell Asmodeus to stop biting when he heard Asmodeus’s slightly hoarse voice first:
“No, Salavira…”
The sharp teeth pierced the skin, and blood gushed out. Asmodeus, savoring the sweet blood, continued to murmur—
“You lied to me… just like last time, you’re lying to me again.”
…
In the Holy City District.
A carriage slowly entered from the direction of the Papal Palace, gliding over the blood and corpses without a single jolt or bump, thanks to the power imbued in it.
The carriage stopped at the center of the Holy City District, at Fulente Square. A red carpet was rolled out, and Pope Gretel, supported by an attendant, stepped down.
—The sight of corpses filled the ground.
But the Pope seemed oblivious to the bloody scene, hurriedly walking into a mansion.
This mansion was quite low-key in the entire Holy City District, with not much ornate decoration on the door, and it was shorter than usual. Inside, there was little sign of life because the owner of the mansion did not reside there often—
Lowell had only returned from Solent the day before, and just as he was taking a break, he was unfortunately caught up in the demon’s massacre, gravely injured and unconscious.
The intelligence he had gathered for the Pope had naturally not yet been presented.
But the Pope was evidently anxious, and seeing that he had not yet awakened, came personally to search for clues.
The master and servant entered the reception room, heading straight for a relief on the wall. The attendant pressed a few spots on the relief, and the wall opened to reveal a hidden door!
The secret room was narrow, with not much stored inside. Given Lowell’s usual cautious and meticulous nature, Gretel quickly found what Lowell had brought back—
A small box containing insect shells and a simple yellow pendant.
The two items seemed unremarkable, but Gretel was stunned the moment he saw them. After a while, he slowly picked up the pendant and held it in his palm.
“Your Majesty…” The attendant, having served Gretel for years, naturally knew which past event her Majesty was now immersed in.
But as the Pope’s attendant, she had to remind him: “Your Majesty, the death list from this massacre has already come out. We lost one hundred and seventy-nine people, including General Brund, who commanded the Golden Cross Army.”
“Mm…” Gretel was still absent-minded.
“Your Majesty, now that the entire power structure has been purged, without General Brund, the Golden Cross Army may no longer follow our orders. If the resistance attacks at this time, then we…”
“I understand.”
“Since that’s the case, Your Majesty should set aside old grievances for now.”
“No.” Gretel shook his head seriously.
The attendant choked: “Why?”
But Gretel sighed: “Because there’s no time.”
He turned around: “Yilina, you are not someone who cannot see through the situation. You should understand that the current Church has long been on its last legs, on the verge of collapse.”
“But…”
Gretel saw the worry in Yilina’s eyes and sneered: “But I don’t intend to prolong its life.”
“Why?” Yilina was very puzzled.
“Because… it deserves it!”
With that, Gretel left the secret room with the two items: “Let’s go, next, we probably have to find a way to visit the temple.”