Knock, knock, knock—
A soft rapping sounded at the door.
With a casual wave of his hand, the [Far-Sight Mirror] hovering midair dissipated automatically.
"Come in."
A graceful figure pushed the door open and entered, carrying something in her hands.
As a distinguished graduate of the Kindergarten by the Banks of the River Styx, Olthagia was a new-generation Demon who embodied the fine virtues of the Bottomless Abyss—equally adept at murder, arson, and biochemical experiments.
He had always understood the principle of staying steady and not getting reckless.
Though his thoughts occasionally grew chaotic due to his demonic nature, he remained relatively rational overall and avoided unnecessary trouble.
Still, he sometimes found himself troubled—like now.
Tilting his head slightly, Olthagia studied the visibly uneasy Female Housekeeper, Trina, and asked with mild confusion, "Why has your attitude changed so much? Is it because of my identity?"
Trina hesitated, her expression conflicted. "...It just feels a little awkward."
"I've never hidden my nature. You should know I wouldn't harm you. Compared to many humans, I—this Demon—should be the safer presence for you."
He reached out, intending to touch her cheek, but Trina flinched away as if pricked by a needle.
"Sorry..."
After retreating, she lowered her head slightly, seeing Olthagia's hand still suspended in the air.
"It's nothing."
Withdrawing his hand, Olthagia shrugged indifferently.
"I'll take my leave now..."
"Fine, go ahead."
Watching her depart, Olthagia lightly pulled aside the upper part of his clothing. His sharp fingernail traced a slender cut along his chest, revealing the beating heart beneath. He reached in, grasping it gently.
With a slight tug, he plucked it out effortlessly—not a single drop of blood spilled, and the wound sealed itself instantly.
Squeezing the still-pulsing organ in his hand, Olthagia stroked his chin thoughtfully, muttering to himself, "Why, as a pure-blooded Demon, am I experiencing ordinary human emotions like romantic attraction?
Is it remnants from my past life?
But those memories are just fragments—they shouldn't be strong enough to influence me. Unless… because my soul was exposed to those memories before being reborn, the impact was more severe?"
He found the situation puzzling.
As a Demon in both body and soul, he lacked all human sentiments—compassion, familial bonds, friendship, concepts of good and evil. Yet, inexplicably, he felt something resembling love.
Was it because he was a mutated Demon?
Or was he simply too young, with his past-life human memories imprinting too deeply?
After some thought yielded no answers, he casually stuffed the still-beating heart back into his mouth, swallowing it to complete the reinstallation process.
Then, without further ado, he turned his attention to other matters.
He knew well—human emotions might sway him to some extent, but at his core, he was still a Demon. They couldn't change him too much.
'Perhaps treating this as a spice of life wouldn't be so bad?'
This was what he thought to himself. ——
Watching Saffie and the others leave with beaming smiles.
The minister in charge of urban planning cautiously asked Jem Woz, "Your Highness, are we truly going to let them establish a diocese in the capital?"
He genuinely couldn't comprehend Jem Woz's sudden decision to summon him from home and have him allocate land for the church to build their diocese.
After all, two hundred years ago when conflicts between royal and religious authority flared up again, the royal family had gone to great lengths to expel the church from Maddon Duchy.
Since then, although churches occasionally appeared in Maddon over these two centuries, the handful of priests and nuns could only be considered minor activities, never amounting to anything significant.
But establishing an entirely new diocese in the capital would be completely different!
It would be like raising a banner - scattered church forces from nearby cities and even neighboring duchies would automatically coalesce around this central authority, which would undoubtedly undermine royal governance.
Nodding slowly, Jem quietly said to the worried minister beside him, "This is necessary. While the reasons are complicated to explain, having the church involved now actually benefits us more. So don't worry - everything is proceeding as expected."
Seeing the seriousness in Jem Woz's eyes, the minister realized there must be deeper circumstances at play. After his expression shifted several times, he sighed slightly, "Understood. I will fulfill my duties without interfering with Your Highness's plans."
"Thank you for your trouble."
After the white-haired minister departed, Jem Woz's expression turned complex. As a thousand-year-old duchy, Maddon naturally harbored various intricate internal issues, with corrupt networks spreading everywhere. Only with time-tested, absolutely loyal core officials like this could he occasionally reveal some inside information.
'It's been half a year since Father passed away. After stabilizing the situation, I should prepare for the coronation... Before taking over, who would have known how thoroughly rotten this kingdom had become? The royal branches, millennium-old noble families, merchant houses spanning multiple nations... none would stay quiet...'
He understood clearly that rotten flesh left on the body becomes a source of disease - even if temporarily treated, it can't be cured permanently. Only excision brings complete healing. But cutting away diseased flesh requires skill - mishandling could turn it into a fatal wound.
This demanded careful handling. Yet if opportunity arose, he wouldn't hesitate to take calculated risks...
Knock knock...
Just then, a maid gently rapped on the door.
"Your Highness, that Shar you mentioned earlier has arrived with the token."
"Shar? Oh, send him right in."
This so-called Shar was actually the new identity of the Evil Sorcerer Sartre.
Meticulously prepared by Jem Woz himself, it was virtually flawless.
Even the Church would find nothing suspicious about this identity.
It was also a way to repay the favor Sartre had done for him before.
If Sartre hadn't given up two spots for him at Olthagia's place back then, allowing him to save his own life and Duke's, Olthagia would have drained their blood and reduced them to ashes on the very day of his descent.
The abandoned prison—he had specifically sent people to clean it up the next day, fearing that someone might discover the Summoning Ritual and alert the Church. But his subordinates reported back that only a massive crater spanning hundreds of meters remained. All matter had been utterly incinerated by an unknown force, even the ground scorched into a crystalline state, let alone any corpses.
To this, he could only express deep gratitude that Sartre had saved his life, and their relationship had grown much closer since then...
Not long after, a middle-aged man in his forties entered.
Jem.Woz, seated in a chair, gestured to the spot beside him and said with a smile, "Welcome, Sartre. It's been a while."
The other man didn't stand on ceremony and sat down directly. "Indeed, it has been some time, Your Highness. But there was no helping it—as I told you, using that Spell requires a few days of rest afterward, or else my bones and skin would suffer."
Once seated, Jem.Woz studied Sartre's current appearance closely, his expression one of fascinated amazement. "Truly a remarkable Spell—it can even completely alter a human's appearance. If not for your unchanged voice, I wouldn't have recognized you!"
Sartre chuckled. "This is one of my most closely guarded abilities, a Spell I learned from an ancient secret manual long ago. If not for its demanding requirements and the lack of a suitable identity, the Church would never have been able to hunt me down."
His appearance now bore no resemblance to his former self—not only had his facial features changed, but his height had also increased slightly.
Even if he walked right up to a Church Inquisitor tasked with hunting down wanted individuals, no one would be able to recognize him.
Jem.Woz picked up two wine glasses from the table, filled them with fine wine, and handed one to Sartre before taking the other himself.
"Your transformation isn't just physical. I can tell your personality and behavior have changed significantly too—completely different from when we first met. Gone is that venomous aura you once had, as if you've been reborn."
Accepting the glass, Sartre shook his head under the other's curious gaze. "People change, don't they? From now on, call me Shar—I prefer that name."
Clink!
Their glasses touched lightly, and the two shared a smile.
"Very well, Shar."
Taking a sip of red wine and savoring its flavor, Jem swirled the glass, watching the liquid swirl within. He shrugged. "I'm glad you like the name—I made it up back then. But if not for that guy's influence, I think you'd have remained the Evil Sorcerer Sartre for the rest of your life, never becoming the 'Shar' you are now."
"Indeed, perhaps only by experiencing fear and having one's arrogance shattered can humans better understand themselves.
Back then, though I didn't show it in front of you, my personality was actually quite prideful. I looked down on the vast majority of people, dismissing them as insignificant insects—until Olthagia appeared before me.
Just sensing a fraction of his power plunged me into terror. Under his gaze, I couldn't even muster the thought of resistance. The spells I had always prided myself on? I didn't dare cast a single one. It was only then that I realized, in the face of a higher existence, I too was merely an insect, easily crushed with the slightest effort..."
Jem.Woz, who had only intended to listen to some amusing anecdotes, perked up his ears, sensing he might have stumbled upon something useful. He immediately asked, "...Could you actually perceive the gap in strength between yourself and Olthagia?"
Shar gave Jem.Woz a surprised glance, then after a moment's thought, replied hesitantly, "I think it's best if you give up on confronting Olthagia with force. When he first descended, though there were some issues with the Summoning Ritual, I still unavoidably formed a slight connection with him. That's how I could vaguely sense his power at the time. It was beyond anything humans of this era could contend with. The gap between humanity and him is like that between a beast and an ant—utterly incomparable..."