[Capital’s Kill Order]

A short time ago.

Hearing a knock on the door, He mercifully shifted, no longer pressing down on Salar. He was too lazy to deal with other humans; it was a hero’s job to handle troublesome things.

Salar finally moved. Since He had called his name, the man had been completely frozen. For a moment, He had hopefully believed he was dead.

“…You have intelligence?” Salar slowly sat up, his voice hoarse.

‘Wow, what a thing to say.’

In truth, He didn’t know how to define “intelligence.” For example, He was certain that initially, He hadn’t cared about Salar, just as a mountain doesn’t care about a bird. But that foolish bird pecked at the mountain rock day after day, eventually annoying Him and sparking a flurry of thoughts.

In other words, He originally didn’t need to do something as troublesome as “thinking.” His intelligence was harassed out of Him by this human. Now the culprit was surprised. He snorted in contempt, not answering.

“I didn’t know,” Salar’s voice was strange. “I thought you…” He didn’t finish his sentence, ending in a cough.

Perhaps it was His imagination, but for the first time, He heard a hint of awkwardness in Salar’s voice. ‘Could this person have thought I had no brain, which was why he had gone crazy with song and dance in the seal?’ That would be awkward.

Salar fell silent. He stood up unsteadily and quickly found the exit. The secret chamber was crudely designed, separated from the bedroom by only a single oil painting. After leaving the secret chamber, he went directly into the bedroom.

“Young Master Carnes?!” Old Aiken’s eyes widened.

The young master was in a ceremonial robe, covered in bloodstains. His collar was torn open, revealing bite marks on his neck and collarbone, and several scratches on his shoulders.

Young Master Carnes was skilled at controlling sacrificial victims and never did anything unnecessary, so he had never been injured before. But considering the new victim’s outstanding appearance… Old Aiken looked at his young master with a knowing glance, waiting for him to speak.

“Young Master Carnes”. ‘No,’ Salar thought for a moment, then put on a sullen expression. “I succeeded.”

“Succeeded what?”

“I succeeded in summoning a demon, you fool. It’s willing to help me restore my magic.” Salar’s face stretched long, as if Young Master Carnes had possessed him. “Don’t order the next batch of slaves. Take the money and buy the best ham and bread. I need quality offerings.”

Old Aiken was stunned.

Any sane person would know that “summoning a demon” was a foolish fantasy with no magical basis. The young master’s words were no different than saying, “I successfully summoned a rainbow candy unicorn.”

“Can I meet the demon, my lord?” he asked cautiously.

Salar rolled his eyes at him. Old Aiken shuddered under the stare and shrunk his neck. “Yes, yes. I’ll go buy the offerings immediately.”

Salar expressionlessly picked up the dinner tray and slammed the door shut, nearly hitting Old Aiken’s nose.

‘Damn it,’ Old Aiken spat at the door. ‘Oh well, buying food is cheaper than buying a living person. Who cares what new madness the kid is into.’

On the other side of the door.

Salar put down the tray and rubbed his face vigorously. Then he saw the Demon God scuttle out of the secret chamber on all fours… no, three legs, crawling around the bedroom and getting bloodstains everywhere.

His joints bent at an unnatural angle. His deformed right leg dragged on the floor like a strange tail. Despite this, His movements were extraordinarily fluid, as if humans were born to walk this way. The scene was, to say the least, horrifying.

When the Demon God crawled onto the ceiling like a spider, the bizarreness of the scene skyrocketed. Salar sighed. “Hey, can we talk?”

The other side didn’t even look at him.

Salar stared at Him persistently. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me? Like, about this weird situation?”

“Would it be useful to ask you?” the Demon God scoffed. They both knew that if all this was Salar’s plot, he would be giving a victory speech right now, not asking to talk to Him.

Salar scratched his head, annoyed by his dirty hair. “Alright, let me be more clear. We’ve both lost our power, we mysteriously can’t kill each other, and we’re both clueless about the current situation. How about a temporary truce?”

“Not a chance,” the Demon God said. “Just you wait, I’ll find a way to kill you.”

“Are you sure?” Salar responded amiably. “Magic is a very unreasonable thing. Look, it sent both of us here at the same time. What if it requires both of us to be present to go back… Just saying, I don’t want to go back anyway.”

The Demon God fell silent. ‘Damn it,’ since He had no idea what was going on, He couldn’t deny Salar’s hypothesis.

“You’re right,” He said unhurriedly a few seconds later. “Magic is indeed very unreasonable. It’s also possible that if this body dies, my consciousness will automatically return.” Of course, He wasn’t going to risk His life to find out.

This time, it was Salar who was silent. A moment ago, they were both so hot-headed and determined to kill each other, they didn’t have the energy to consider these things.

In the awkward atmosphere, the two finally reached a consensus: until they figured out what was going on, they had to ensure the other was alive and within their sight. It was a serious matter, and neither wanted to take any risks.

“What’s your name?” Salar was the first to speak after a long silence. “I can’t just keep calling you ‘hey.'”

“I don’t have a name, and this slave doesn’t either,” He said. “Let me think…”

He got stuck. He unhappily realized that the slave’s vocabulary was pitifully small. Most of the words were names for objects and common commands like “stop,” “don’t move,” or “shut up.” There were no good words to choose from. But “Chaos Demon God” was just too stupid a name. He’d rather call himself “Stop.”

The two were speechless for a full ten minutes.

“How about I give you one?” Salar asked tentatively, suspecting that if he didn’t interrupt, this guy would spend ten hours thinking.

The red eyes looked at him with extreme caution.

“I wouldn’t disgust you with something like that,” Salar said. “Honestly, I’ve had a name for you in my mind. Aren’t you curious?”

“…” He narrowed His eyes, giving silent permission for the other to continue.

“Mith,” Salar said slowly. “In my hometown, it means ‘unsolved mystery.'”

He searched through His own meager vocabulary and confirmed it wasn’t an insult. And it was short and easy to use. He could always change it later.

“Fine,” He said. “Then it’s ‘Mith.'”

The corners of Salar’s mouth lifted slightly. His blue eyes looked over again, and his gaze was even clear.

After that, they had a rare period of peace.

In front of Mith, Salar did a big magic trick. Under the rush of golden magical light, his body rapidly recovered. The dark circles and stubble disappeared instantly, leaving behind smooth skin. His sunken cheeks gradually filled out, and his scrawny body became tall and firm.

Now, Salar’s new face was very handsome. But it was a grim kind of handsomeness, with a nearly evil gloom. If he were an actor on a stage, the audience would know who the villain was at first glance.

Salar took a deep breath as he looked in the mirror, then slowly sighed it out. “At least it’s not Old Aiken’s body,” he consoled himself.

“That butler is over two hundred years younger than you,” Mith pointed out cruelly. “You were as old as a rotten log before, you couldn’t even straighten your back.”

“You were watching me pretty closely,” Salar said, surprised.

“If a cockroach was crawling on your bed, you’d be watching it closely too.”

“It’s my honor to have bothered you so much.” Salar was very pleased.

‘What on earth are you so proud of? Your mood changes way too fast.’ He snorted and, mimicking Salar, “healed” his deformed right leg. He used a flash of black light, and His entire right leg disappeared, leaving only a horrifying black void.

Salar praised, “Nice technique.”

Mith: “…”

The human body was truly fragile. Fortunately, His destructive power was strong enough that the wound didn’t hurt; it just felt numb.

Salar walked around Mith, who was standing on one leg, and placed the dinner tray on the desk. “Wash up before you eat. The room smells too much.”

“Use magic to clean it.”

Mith didn’t want to touch water. He—now that He had a human name, perhaps he should be “he”—refused to imagine Himself soaking in something. It felt a little disgusting. But he didn’t dare use magic on himself, afraid he would accidentally clean himself out of existence.

Salar grabbed his arm. “My magic hasn’t recovered. I have to conserve it.”

“Then you go wash yourself.”

“I’ll heal your leg if you take a bath,” Salar whispered in his ear. “You can also choose to keep limping and let me be your wheelchair guide… I remember there’s a cesspool south of town…”

‘Where is this guy sacred? He is a damn scoundrel.’

Mith gave in, letting the other drag him into the bathroom and push him into the tub. The water was cool, cold and slippery. Mith hugged his knees and curled into a ball, as if that could stop the water from swallowing him.

Salar sat on the edge of the tub, helping him wash his bloodstained long hair. His hands pressed on Mith’s back, feeling especially warm against the cold water. Considering those same hands had attacked him for over three hundred years, Mith’s back was still tense.

“Do you know about the Night of Calamity?” Salar suddenly asked, his voice very soft.

Mith thought for a moment. “I do.” The legends weren’t all nonsense. For example, he did cause the Night of Calamity, and Mith had no intention of denying it.

“Many people died during the Night of Calamity,” Salar said, as if making casual conversation, not sure if he was trying to provoke him or what.

Mith tilted his head up, his face expressionless. “The Night of Calamity is my ‘breath.’ As long as I live, the Night of Calamity will not disappear.”

“What, should I just die to make humans happy? With all due respect, humans didn’t even exist when I started breathing.”

“Hmm, that’s not what I meant,” Salar’s movements paused. His fingertips brushed over Mith’s wet gray hair, a gray so much like an approaching storm. “It’s just… I always thought of you as an unconscious natural disaster, since you never actively attacked me.”

“Because there was no need. Human lives are short,” Mith said stiffly. No, he had desperately wanted to crush Salar back then. In terms of pure power, Salar was no match for him. But that guy had a strange power that could leave scars on him. If he pushed Salar to his breaking point, his precious body might get damaged.

No one liked getting hurt. When a mad dog—even a chihuahua—blocked the way, people usually didn’t provoke it; they just waited for the dog to go away. Mith had adopted a similar strategy, waiting for Salar to die of old age. The centuries-long seal was like holding his breath; he just had to endure it.

If he had known things would turn out like this, he would have eaten Salar alive. Mith sulked, curling into a tighter ball. If Salar dared to preach about compassion and virtue, eating him alive right now wouldn’t be out of the question.

“I see,” Salar said thoughtfully. “In the end, it’s pretty much like animals fighting over territory.”

Mith turned his head. “?”

“Everyone is just trying to survive. There’s no right or wrong,” Salar laughed. “So you don’t need to feel guilty, and I won’t feel sorry.”

Meaning they could righteously hate each other. For once, Mith agreed with him.

After washing his back and hair, Salar pried Mith out of his tight little ball. A golden magical light enveloped his chest and his missing right leg.

Mith lowered his head. The stab wound on his chest quickly closed up. The healing process felt like a warm breeze, with no discomfort. Then came the missing right leg. The leg bone appeared out of thin air, with muscle and skin wrapping around it. His new right leg was long and straight, a perfect mirror of his left, with no deformity.

The healing was complete, and Mith was very satisfied. Considering their “friendly” relationship, he had thought Salar would either turn his deformity back or give him a more cumbersome leg. He stretched his body in a good mood, no longer resisting the water.

“Speaking of which, what are you, exactly?” Salar chose this moment to ask, his tone even lighter than before.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know…?”

“If you were the only human in the world, would you naturally know you were ‘human’?” Mith said with contempt.

He had only acquired “thought” in the last three hundred years. All Mith remembered was that he had existed for over ten thousand years and had some vague, instinctual knowledge. For instance, he rested in the endless darkness and had to emerge for air from time to time. Another was that he was in a crucial period of growth and shouldn’t let his precious body get hurt, otherwise… otherwise something bad would happen. That’s what his instincts warned him.

As for his species, the characteristics of his power, or more hidden knowledge, Mith genuinely didn’t know, nor was he interested. And he certainly didn’t want to discuss it with his enemy.

“Maybe I’m not a Chaos Demon God. Maybe I’m a nascent True God,” Mith said with a straight face. “And you, you self-righteous jerk, are destroying the future of the world—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Salar raised both hands and walked away from the tub. “Okay, wash your lower half yourself.”

“Why?”

Mith wasn’t having it. This guy was the one who dragged him in here. What kind of logic was it to leave halfway through a bath?

“Because your hands aren’t disabled, and this is, for the time being, human etiquette,” Salar said, crossing his arms.

‘Oh, etiquette about touching.’ The slave’s memory had some of that. Slave traders strictly forbade slaves from touching women, not even a single hair, unless they had explicit permission. There were no similar taboos for men. The slave traders even hinted that “the more proactive they were, the better a buyer they could find.”

The slave back then didn’t understand the hint, but the Mith of today understood everything.

“We’re both men, so etiquette doesn’t matter,” Mith concluded confidently. Salar was standing close enough, so Mith reached out and gave a firm pinch, confirming he hadn’t mistaken his archenemy’s gender.

Salar’s mouth twitched. “Wash your lower half yourself,” he repeated through gritted teeth, walking away with uncoordinated steps.

—-

In the distant capital city, Serpentis City.

Night had fallen over the Carnes estate. Among the countless windows, one was particularly bright.

“Kendrick Carnes is still performing human sacrifices, and the frequency is increasing. In the past six months, he has killed twenty-eight slaves,” the adjutant reported dutifully under the harsh light.

“I gave him a chance. I gave him four whole years,” a weary male voice said.

“Are you saying…”

“Dispose of him. I won’t let him continue to defile the glory of Saint Salar.”

“Yes, sir.”