The Man Behind the Scenes

At this moment, there was less than an hour left before the ritual ended.

More precisely, there were twenty minutes left.

Even if Iver could control the Iron Hook Demon and have it lead him there, there was no longer enough time.

Not to mention how frightening it would be to take this thing in a horse-drawn carriage. Even if he came up with a way to ride in one, he still wouldn't make it in time.

The ritual had allotted four hours, and Little Iver had already been cursed when he entered.

According to the "ideal scenario" calculated by the Pillar God who had created the dream, Iver should have immediately left the cathedral with Lu Lu and headed straight for Legal Square. The journey would take half an hour.

When they arrived, the Iron Hook Demon would appear for the first time. After working with Sherlock to drive it back, they would still have more than three hours to gather their companions, follow the Iron Hook Demon to find the killer, and defeat him. What they needed for that was Sherlock's wisdom.

This showed that his location wouldn't be easy to find. They might need the reasoning of the Path of Wisdom to locate him.

However, Iver felt that his own brain worked pretty well too. With the Iron Hook Demon leading the way, they should be able to find him.

Iver's only miscalculation was that this enemy was rather stubborn.

After the Curse Master had tried attacking Bone Carver once, he still wasn't willing to give up. He had even sent the Iron Hook Demon to try again.

But this time, it failed to defeat him and instead left the Iron Hook Demon injured. This proved that "Bone Carver" was indeed a powerful supernatural being, and should have been the combat specialist of their group. As a direct result, by the time Iver was attacked, the ritual was almost over.

That should have been a good thing. It meant he only needed to dodge for a while to run out the clock and win.

However, what Iver wanted was to fight his way back.

Even if he couldn't find out who was behind everything, he at least wanted to see what that Curse Master looked like with his own eyes.

...Then, all he could do now was place his hopes in "possibility."

He still had one chance to meet that Curse Master in less than twenty minutes.

It wasn't teleportation. Iver had no way to reverse-curse that Curse Master.

—It was Anti-Summoning.

Once the Iron Hook Demon completed its task, the Curse Master would summon it back. Just as he had summoned it back after it failed to attack Lu Lu earlier.

Suddenly appearing in front of that Curse Master naturally counted as a form of "teleportation."

All Iver had to do was merge his mind into the Iron Hook Demon, just as Jack the Ripper had done.

This ritual had specifically emphasized that it wasn't necessarily important to survive.

So, he could happen to conduct an experiment now.

An experiment that couldn't possibly be a loss even if it failed... An experiment that couldn't be conducted in reality.

—How powerful would the Art of Shepherding be if he used his entire life as a voluntary sacrifice?

Without using any auxiliary materials, and with his own body not being particularly strong, could an efficient self-sacrifice match the enhancement given to the Iron Hook Demon by Jack the Ripper's serial-killing ritual?

In any case...

"Feed in silence, my lamb."

Looking at the Iron Hook Demon, which stared at him with its eyes wide open, Iver spoke softly as he tightened his grip on the paper knife. "I am the Eucharist. This is mercy."

He had no essential oil capable of channeling mana at hand, and the knife in his hand wasn't a ritual knife made of pure silver. It was merely a paper knife.

It was like having the spices used for seasoning and the decorations missing from a grand feast.

But as long as the food was delicious enough and there was enough of it, its natural flavor alone would be captivating.

Moreover, the one enjoying this feast wasn't an arrogant Greater Demon, but merely the lowly Iron Hook Demon born from a fetal soul shattered by iron hooks.

It was a little demon that had broken free from hatred toward a predetermined death, defied the will that it "should not be born," and become what it was through hatred and fury.

It had nothing to be proud of.

"Drink the blood from my neck, and swallow it greedily like sweet wine—"

Iver chanted loudly as he opened himself up like a zipper.

—Moving from left to right, he firmly slit his throat with the paper knife.

What he cut was the artery above his collarbone.

Iver's consciousness immediately grew hazy, and his vision darkened.

Yet his mind seemed to become clearer, as though the flow of time itself had slowed.

He clearly felt his life rapidly draining away. But it wasn't life being drawn out of his flesh and bones and sinking into the void... Instead, his entire soul, together with his scorching mana, surged out through the blood at his neck and condensed into crystals.

Thump—

"...He should have killed himself."

When the Death Knell sounded, Sherlock spoke in a low voice.

Lu Lu nodded sadly.

Inside the abandoned warehouse, the lifeless body of "Julio" fell heavily straight backward.

But his blood did not soak into the surrounding ground. Instead, defying the laws of physics, it sprayed upward like a fountain.

It wasn't even liquid. It was one ruby after another, scattering into the air and solidifying into red pearls.

Like puppies and kittens rushing to eat, the Iron Hook Demon whimpered. The anger and viciousness on its face vanished completely, leaving behind only pure greed and infatuation.

One glistening bead of blood after another flew toward it and landed on its body.

The Iron Hook Demon greedily feasted.

The frost marks on its body receded at a visible rate, while its physique gradually expanded. It grew from the size of a hound to the body of a human youth, then immediately to the size of an adult.

The blood-red wetness covering its body gradually faded. In its place was smooth, pale skin, with only scarlet lines resembling stitches remaining. Even its four arms grew some muscle, while the four rusted iron hooks covered in blood vanished completely.

Its face was ferocious and ugly, with its features completely misaligned on its enormous head. Its four arms pointed in different directions.

The size and thickness of its six limbs, even their joints and orientations, were all completely different. It crouched low to the ground, like a fragmented human drawn by an abstract artist.

Its confused yet hatred-filled eyes became somewhat clearer, revealing traces of incomplete humanity.

And its anger and hatred settled into a more solid grief and resentment.

The blood was quickly licked clean.

Whimpering, it crouched on the ground and lay atop Iver's corpse, continuing to lick the bloody wound on his neck.

It licked and licked, then suddenly threw its head back and howled at the sky, letting out a roar like a wild wolf howling at the moon.

Then, as if it had made up its mind, it began gnawing on Iver's corpse.

When Iver gradually awoke from that chaos, he saw that his corpse had disappeared from the crimson ground.

And his perspective had now become that of the Iron Hook Demon.

—Or rather, that of the evolved "Deformed Limb Demon."

It was a demon born from the souls of people who had been born with deformed limbs and persecuted to death, carrying a deep hatred for nearly the entire group of "normal people."

It had already become a Greater Demon.

It was an elite above level forty, less than ten levels below a Shadow Demon.

Although it had lost the ability to teleport around the cursed, it possessed nearly immortal vitality, powerful strength and speed, and the ability to temporarily reshape its six deformed limbs however it wished.

And it had equally low intelligence.

Iver clearly felt the seemingly endless vitality surging through his body, the oceanic power, and the strong pumping of his three hearts.

He was now confident that even if his current "self" were chopped apart by a chainsaw or repeatedly crushed beneath a boulder, he would not die easily.

However, the Deformed Limb Demon's ecstatic joy, delight, sorrow, and hatred also kept surging into him, proving that it had not been killed after being taken over by Iver. Instead, it had willingly become his companion...

...and his vessel.

Like a turtle, it carried Iver's soul on its back until he found a chance to be reborn.

"So, after using the Shepherding Method to feed oneself whole to a demon, one temporarily becomes one with the demon?"

He lowered his body, and his two mouths produced a muffled, wet, low voice. "Its 'nutrition' is even enough to directly evolve a Lower Demon into an Upper Demon..."

No wonder demons followed the Shepherd. To demons of the Path of Transcendence, this was indeed an irresistible temptation.

According to the normal evolution route, evolving from an Iron Hook Demon into a Deformed Limb Demon would probably take several years even using Jack the Ripper's extreme nurturing method.

Iver had originally thought that growth equivalent to ten rituals would be enough, but he had never expected that he had still vastly underestimated the value of the Art of Shepherding and a "voluntary sacrificial offering."

It wasn't that the Shadow Demon had been gluttonous.

He really was that delicious...

On that completely misaligned head, which even had three eyes, each eye looked in a different direction. He adapted to this completely unfamiliar new vision while slowly becoming familiar with his instinct to use his "deformed limbs."

After quite some time, he finally heard his "master's" somewhat urgent call.

"...William? William? Wonderful, I've connected... If everything goes smoothly, come back quickly, good boy! Be careful not to make too much noise. Don't expose yourself—"

The hideous demon crouching on the ground revealed a terrifying smile.

"Wuaa—waa—"

Imitating the Iron Hook Demon from before, he responded with meaningless noises resembling a baby's cry and a puppy's whimper.

The Curse Master on the other end clearly hadn't expected this.

"Hey, hey, stop crying. I'm pulling you back now, so don't move around..."

Completely off guard, he activated the Anti-Summoning spell.

The space around them seemed to become misaligned and crack apart. It was like the sensation of weightlessness and excess weight in an elevator, except the "source" of that sensation came from behind him.

It was as if a tremendous force suddenly "pulled him backward," dragging him far into the distance behind him.

The person who suddenly appeared in front of Iver was a middle-aged man in his fifties, with a dark-brown face and enormous gemstone rings on all ten fingers.

He was slightly overweight, with a round belly and a somewhat hunched back. His black curly hair was a little greasy, and his small eyes were dark and focused, with barely any whites visible. If not for his excessively wealthy attire, his face would have brought to mind a simple, honest countryman. Even with the expensive-looking things on him, he merely resembled a wealthy country squire.

"William, well do—"

The Curse Master habitually tried to pacify the Iron Hook Demon.

But when he saw the twisted demon crouching on the ground like a spider as it emerged from the Ritual Array, his expression suddenly froze.

Fear solidified his features, leaving his entire body unable to move. He looked like a silent stone statue.

This was...

—A Deformed Limb Demon?! How could a demon's species suddenly change?! Or was it... was it really William?

Or had another Demon Scholar seized and modified William's contract, causing the Deformed Limb Demon he controlled to be transported here through the Anti-Summoning ritual—

But he had no time to think further.

Iver controlled the Deformed Limb Demon and, at a speed invisible to the naked eye, pulled a twisted, misaligned limb from his body.

The "right hand," which had originally looked fairly normal, suddenly stretched at high speed. It became only two centimeters thick, yet grew into a sharp claw more than two meters long.

The vicious, skeletal claw clamped around his face, shoved him against the wall, and slowly lifted him up.

"Who are you..."

The Deformed Limb Demon spoke in a muddled voice, as though it had come from a nightmare.

It could speak...? The Curse Master, whose face had been frozen by fear, now looked as if he were about to cry.

He desperately gripped the Deformed Limb Demon's "right hand" with both hands, keeping himself from having his throat torn apart by his own weight.

For the Deformed Limb Demon to speak so clearly...

...Had he encountered a senior?

"State your name..."

The Deformed Limb Demon repeated the question.

Its extended limb slowly tightened, about to crush the Curse Master's skull like a steel clamp.

Under the intense pain, the Curse Master couldn't help opening his mouth and screaming. "—Aziz! Aziz Ben Abdul! Save me... Senior, spare me!"

But the Deformed Limb Demon did not loosen its grip.

Instead, he increased the pressure, feeling the skull in "his hand" gradually deform and emit cracking sounds.

"Who do you work for..." The Deformed Limb Demon changed its tone and asked in a shrill voice.

"—Moriarty! Professor James Moriarty!"

The Curse Master named Aziz let out a shrill scream and abandoned his employer without hesitation. "It has nothing to do with me! I was only paid to do a job—spare me, senior, sir, please! It wasn't me... Spare me! Help—help—"

Splurt—

The limb extended by the Deformed Limb Demon effortlessly crushed the Curse Master's head.

It was as simple as crushing a tomato.

—Even if everything in the ritual was fake, Iver had no intention of sparing him.

"This is only a little interest, Aziz. I hope you haven't died."

The Deformed Limb Demon spoke in a muffled voice. "I remember you...

"I will find you."

Having successfully obtained such important information, Iver felt that he ought to be happy.

He had confirmed the upper limit of the Shepherding Method at no cost, and had completed everything he needed to do before the ritual ended... He should have been able to relax and celebrate even more.

But at this moment, he couldn't feel very happy.

What put Iver in a bad mood was that he had heard another name from the Curse Master Aziz—one he hadn't really wanted to hear, though he had more or less expected it.

—James Moriarty.

As usual, I'll get up and fix any typos~ These six thousand-plus words took me until eight o'clock to write (in mourning)