The Person Behind the Scenes

The ritual is less than an hour away from completion.

To be precise, there are twenty minutes left.

Even if Iver could control the Iron Hook Demon and have it lead the way, there wouldn't be enough time.

Putting aside how terrifying it would be to take this thing in a carriage, even if he could figure out a way to do so, he wouldn't make it in time.

The ritual's reserved time was four hours, and Little Iver was already cursed upon entering.

According to the Pillar God who created the dream's calculation of the "ideal situation," Iver should have taken Lu Lu directly away from the cathedral and headed straight to Legal Square, a half-hour journey.

Upon arrival, the Iron Hook Demon would appear for the first time. After cooperating with Sherlock to repel it, they would have over three hours to gather their companions, follow the Iron Hook Demon to find the culprit, and defeat them. This required Sherlock's Wisdom.

This indicated that his location was not easy to find. It might require the Path of Wisdom's deduction to locate him.

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

Iver's only miscalculation was that this enemy was a bit stubborn.

After trying to attack the Bone Carver once, the Curse Master was still not willing to give up. He even dispatched the Iron Hook Demon to try again.

But this time, instead of defeating him, the Iron Hook Demon was injured. This showed that the "Bone Carver" was indeed a very powerful transcendent; he should be the team's combat power. This directly led to the fact that by the time Iver was attacked, the time was almost up.

This should have been a good thing. It meant that he only needed to hide for a while to run out the time and win.

However, what Iver wanted was to fight back.

Even if he couldn't find out who the mastermind was, he at least wanted to see what this Curse Master looked like.

...In that case, he could only pin his hopes on "possibility" now.

He had one more chance to see that Curse Master in less than twenty minutes.

Not teleportation, because Iver didn't have the means to curse the Curse Master in return.

—But reverse summoning.

After the Iron Hook Demon completed its mission, it would be recalled by the Curse Master, just like it was recalled after failing to attack Lu Lu before.

Suddenly appearing in front of that Curse Master could certainly be considered a kind of "teleportation."

As long as Iver could merge his mind with the Iron Hook Demon like Jack the Ripper.

This ritual specifically emphasized that it was not necessary for him to survive.

Then, he could just as well do an experiment now.

An experiment that he would absolutely not lose out on even if it failed... an experiment that could not be carried out in reality.

—Just how strong could the "Art of Shepherding" be, with his complete life as a voluntary sacrifice?

Without using any auxiliary materials, and with himself not being strong, could a highly efficient self-sacrifice be as good as Jack the Ripper's serial killing ritual in strengthening the Iron Hook Demon?

In short...

"Eat in silence, my lamb."

Looking at the Iron Hook Demon, who was staring at him with wide eyes, Iver said in a low voice, gripping the Paper Knife: "I am the Eucharist, this is grace."

He currently had no essential oils to inject with mana, and in his hand was not a pure silver ritual knife, but a paper knife.

It was like a grand meal missing the spices for seasoning, and lacking decoration.

But as long as the food was delicious enough and plentiful, its inherent flavor would be enough to move people.

Moreover, the one enjoying the delicious meal was not a proud upper-level demon, but merely a lowly Iron Hook Demon born from an embryonic soul crushed by iron hooks.

It was a little demon that had broken free from the hatred of a predetermined death, and became filled with hatred and anger for defying the will of "not being born."

It had nothing to be proud of.

"Partake of the blood on my neck, drink it like sweet wine—"

Iver chanted loudly, opening himself up as if unzipping.

—From left to right, he firmly cut his throat with the paper knife.

What he cut was the artery above the collarbone.

Iver's consciousness immediately became blurred, and the vision before him dimmed.

But his brain seemed to become clearer, as if the flow of time had slowed down.

He clearly felt the sensation of his life rapidly draining away. But it was not life being drawn from his flesh and blood, disappearing into the void... but his entire soul, along with the fiery mana, gushing out along with the blood on his neck, congealing into crystals.

Thump—

"...He must have committed suicide."

As the Death Knell rang, Sherlock said in a deep voice.

Lu Lu nodded sadly.

In the abandoned warehouse, the lifeless body of "Julio" fell straight backward with a heavy thud.

But his blood did not soak the surrounding ground, but instead, defying the laws of physics, shot upwards like a fountain.

It was not even liquid, but ruby after ruby. Scattering into the air, solidifying into red pearls.

Like a puppy or kitten eager to eat, the Iron Hook Demon made whimpering sounds, the anger and ferocity on its face completely disappearing, leaving only the purest greed and infatuation.

One after another, the glistening blood beads flew towards it, landing on its body.

The Iron Hook Demon devoured them greedily.

The frost marks on its body faded at a speed visible to the naked eye, and its physique gradually expanded. From the size of a hunting dog, it became the size of a human teenager, and then the size of an adult.

The blood-like, damp crimson on its body surface gradually faded, revealing white and smooth skin, leaving only scarletpatterns like sutures. Even some muscles grew on its four arms, and the four rusty iron hooks covered in blood had disappeared.

Its face was hideous and ugly, the features on its huge head completely misaligned. The four arms pointed in different directions.

The size and thickness of its six limbs, even the joints and directions, were completely different. It crouched low on the ground, like a fragmented human painted by an abstract artist.

Its ignorant but hateful eyes became a little clearer, revealing a bit of incomplete humanity.

And that anger and hatred also settled into a more solid grief and hatred.

Those blood beads were soon licked clean by it.

It whimpered, squatting on the ground, prostrate over Iver's corpse, continuing to lick the bloody wound at Iver's neck.

As it licked, it suddenly howled at the sky, emitting a roar like a wolf howling at the moon.

Then, as if having made up its mind, it began to devour Iver's corpse.

When Iver gradually awoke from that chaos, he saw his own corpse had disappeared on a scarlet ground.

And his perspective at this moment had become that of the Iron Hook Demon.

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

That was because the demon born from a soul with congenitally deformed limbs, persecuted to death, held a deep hatred for almost the entire "normal" human population.

This already belonged to the upper-level demons.

This was an elite with a level exceeding forty. Only less than ten levels away from the Shadow Demon.

While losing the ability to teleport instantly around the cursed, it had a nearly immortal and vigorous vitality, powerful strength and speed, and the ability to temporarily reshape its six deformed limbs at will, according to its own desires.

As well as an equally low level of intelligence.

Iver very clearly felt the seemingly endless vitality coming from within his body, as well as the surging, sea-like power, and his own strongly pumping three hearts.

He now had the confidence—even if the current "himself" was shredded by a chainsaw, repeatedly crushed by boulders, he would never die easily.

However, the elation, joy, sadness, hatred... from the "Deformed Limb Demon" were also constantly being transmitted, proving that it had not been seized and killed by Iver. Instead, it had willingly become his partner...

...and "bearer."

Bearing Iver's soul like a turtle, until he found an opportunity to be reborn.

"So, after using the Art of Shepherding to completely feed oneself to a demon, will they temporarily merge into one?"

He lowered his body, and two mouths emitted a vague and wet, low voice: "Its 'nutrition' is even enough to allow a lower-level demon to directly evolve into an upper-level demon..."

No wonder demons would follow the "Shepherd." For demons of the Path of Transcendence, this was indeed an irresistible temptation.

According to the normal evolutionary route, evolving from an Iron Hook Demon to a Deformed Limb Demon, with Jack the Ripper's extreme cultivation method, would probably take several years to nurture.

Iver originally thought that being able to match the growth of ten rituals would be enough, but he never expected that he had still greatly underestimated the gold content of the Art of Shepherding and a "willingly sacrificed offering."

It wasn't that the Shadow Demon was greedy.

But that he really smelled good...

On that completely misaligned head, which even had three eyes, the three eyes looked in different directions. Adapting to this unique and fresh vision, and slowly familiarizing himself with the instinct to use the "deformed limbs."

After a long while, he finally heard his "master's" somewhat urgent call.

"...William? William? Great, I've made contact... Come back as soon as possible if all goes well, good boy! Be careful not to shout too loudly, don't expose your existence—"

The hideous demon lying on the ground, however, revealed a terrifying and horrifying smile.

"Woo-ah—wah—"

He imitated the former Iron Hook Demon, making meaningless sounds like an infant crying and a puppy whimpering as a response.

The Curse Master on the other side was clearly unprepared.

"Hey, hey, stop shouting. I'll pull you back right away, don't move..."

He launched the reverse summoning spell without any warning.

The surrounding space seemed to be misaligned and cracking. It was like the feeling of weightlessness and overweight in an elevator, except that the "source of direction" of that feeling was behind him.

It was as if he was suddenly "pulled backward" by a huge force, and was dragged far back in an instant.

Suddenly appearing in front of Iver was a middle-aged man with a dark brown face, wearing huge gemstone rings on all ten fingers, looking about fifty years old.

He looked slightly fat, with a round belly and a slightly hunched back. His black curly hair was a bit greasy, and his small eyes were dark and focused, with little white visible. If his attire wasn't so obviously rich, his face would only remind people of an honest countryman. And even if the things on him looked expensive, he would only become a wealthy country squire.

"William, you did very..."

The Curse Master habitually wanted to appease the Iron Hook Demon.

But when he saw the twisted demon that appeared from the ritual array, crouching on the ground like a spider, his expression suddenly froze.

Fear solidified his face, and he couldn't move at all. He became like a mute stone statue.

This is...

——A Deformed Limb Demon?! How could the race of the demon suddenly change?! Or rather, is it... is it really William?

Or is it that some other Demon Scholar seized and modified William's contract, allowing the Deformed Limb Demon he controlled to be teleported over through the reverse summoning ritual——

But he didn't have time to think about it.

Iver manipulated the Deformed Limb Demon, extracting a twisted and misplaced limb from his body at a speed invisible to the naked eye.

The "right hand" that originally looked normal was suddenly elongated rapidly—becoming only two centimeters thick, but with a sharp claw that was more than two meters long.

The hideous, bone-like claw clasped his face, pushed him against the wall, and slowly lifted him up.

"Who are you..."

The Deformed Limb Demon made a vague sound. It was a sound like it came from a nightmare.

It can speak...? The Curse Master, whose face was frozen with fear, looked like he was about to cry.

He tried his best to hold the Deformed Limb Demon's "right hand" with both hands, so that he wouldn't have his throat torn directly due to his own weight.

To be able to make the Deformed Limb Demon speak so clearly...

...Did he just run into a senior? "Say your name..."

The Deformed Limb Demon repeated the question.

The deformed limb he stretched out slowly exerted force, as if to crush the Curse Master's head like steel pliers.

Under the intense pain, the Curse Master couldn't help but scream: "——Aziz! Aziz Ben Abdul——save me... Senior, spare me!"

But the Deformed Limb Demon didn't let go.

Instead, he increased the force, feeling the skull in "his hand" gradually deforming and making creaking sounds.

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

"——Moriarty! It's Professor James Moriarty!"

The Curse Master named Aziz let out a shrill scream, abandoning his employer without hesitation: "It has nothing to do with me, I just take the money and do things—spare me, senior, my lord, please, it wasn't me... spare me! Help—help—"

Puchi—

The Deformed Limb Demon stretched out its deformed limb and easily crushed the Curse Master's head.

As simple as crushing a tomato.

—Even if everything in the ritual was fake, Iver did not intend to spare him.

"This is just a little interest, Aziz. I hope you didn't die."

The Deformed Limb Demon made an indistinct sound: "I've remembered you..."

"I will find you."

Having successfully obtained such important information, Iver felt that he should probably be happy.

He confirmed the upper limit of the "Art of Shepherding" at no cost, and finished everything he had to do before the end of the ritual... He should relax and celebrate even more.

But at this moment, he couldn't be happy.

What made Iver feel bad was another name he heard from the Curse Master Aziz that he didn't want to hear... but had expected for a long time.

—James Moriarty.

Same as usual, meow, get up and correct typos~ These six thousand words were written until eight o'clock (painful).