[A lively night]

At midnight, the two of them, each holding a candlestick, sighed in the secret chamber.

Mith didn’t understand human magic theories, but he could distinguish the residual magical intensity in the area. As he expected, the intensity was almost zero. A mere noble who couldn’t even use magic could not have possibly dragged his consciousness out of his body. It was like an ant, no matter how hard it tried, couldn’t move an elephant.

But they were here. Young Master Carnes must have done something incredible.

‘Excellent,’ Mith thought, feeling stifled. He hadn’t found any clues, so he had no choice but to let Salar live to see another day.

Salar frowned, trying to make sense of the scattered magic circles. He tilted his head from side to side, looking every which way, and finally turned to Mith in frustration. “See anything?”

Mith was less than friendly. “You guess?”

“I guess not, because you don’t look happy at all,” Salar said. “Cheer up, because I didn’t find anything either.” Mith’s expression told him that the Demon God didn’t believe a single word.

“Wouldn’t it be better to be open? We’ve known each other for over three hundred years. I’ve never ambushed you from behind.” Salar waved his candlestick.

Mith: “That’s because you couldn’t tell where my back was.”

Salar: “…Fair enough.”

“Are there any clues in your memories?” Mith paused, patiently asking. “You inherited that guy’s body, after all.”

Salar shook his head. “I only know about his life, not his thoughts or emotions. And this guy tried so many weird remedies he went crazy. His memories are mixed with too many hallucinations.”

With that, he squatted down and inspected the bones in the secret chamber. The bodies were in various stages of decay, piled in a corner like garbage, giving off a putrid stench.

Sacrifice a beautiful virgin, and you can summon a demon that will grant your every wish.

For the sake of a ridiculous rumor, Young Master Carnes had squandered his fortune, sacrificing one slave after another. The previous owners of their bodies—one a fool and the other a lunatic—had met a surprisingly fair fate.

In the end, Salar dug out some incomplete letters from the pile of bones. Most were orders and receipts from slave traders. A small portion was from Young Master Carnes’s pen pal, and the letters were filled with wild magical theories, looking like a record of exchanges between two lunatics.

“This is awful,” Salar concluded helplessly. “The young master’s memory is a mess, the ritual site was destroyed by our fight, and even these letters are incomplete. To figure out what this ‘summoning ritual’ is all about, we’ll have to pay a visit to his crazy pen pal.”

However, outside the secret chamber, there was another tough battle waiting for them.

A few minutes later, the two stood on opposite sides of the bed, glaring at each other warily. Yes, they were both tired and wanted to sleep on a soft bed. Even if the bed was covered in clutter and its comfort was questionable, it was still better than the floor covered in dust and hair.

“Since you love bathing so much, you should sleep in the bathtub,” Mith said, thinking he was being perfectly reasonable.

Salar: “And you don’t even want to take a bath. I thought you didn’t care about these little things.”

“I care about whatever I want to care about. Right now, I’m the person in the world who cares about this bed the most.” Mith plopped down on the bed and gestured to Salar, shooing him away.

“Alright, if you insist,” Salar said, thinking for a moment, then responded sincerely. “But when I can’t sleep well, I like to sleepwalk, and when I sleepwalk, I like to splash people with water. You’d understand, right?”

Mith: “You son of a bi—”

Just as he started to speak, he looked at the window in confusion.

Hostility.

A group of people, filled with intense hostility, was rapidly approaching the house.

“I’ll go out and check the situation. You wait for me in the butler’s room,” Salar said, sensing the abnormality as well. “Go now!”

—-

In the butler’s room, Old Aiken served himself a fragrant cream stew and opened a bottle of red wine.

This day had finally come.

He had just been sent out to buy food when he received a message from the Carnes family. The family wanted him to get rid of Kendrick Carnes as soon as possible, preferably by hiring bandits to make it look like an accident. If Old Aiken did a good job, he would be transferred back to the capital.

…He knew it. That little lunatic would be abandoned sooner or later!

Old Aiken immediately pulled out a few gems—which he had secretly kept aside for buying liquor—and sought out a bandit gang near Ringtown. The bandit gang had a full twelve members, including a notorious mage. The pitiful Young Master Carnes didn’t even know magic. Killing him would be easier than wringing a chicken’s neck.

Afterward, he would just burn the mansion and destroy all evidence, and his mission would be complete. Thinking of the wonderful future waiting for him in the capital, he wasn’t even going to ask for a share of the loot.

“God, you really hate your master,” the mage had commented after accepting the commission. “I’ve heard the rumors… I guess he’s not a ‘monster who bathes in blood,’ just a boring lunatic.”

Exactly. That little lunatic would scream to his death tonight.

By his calculations, the bandits would be arriving soon. Old Aiken decided to get some more cheese for his wine and celebrate properly.

Just as he stood up, the back of his neck went numb, and he felt the suffocating sensation of being watched by a beast. He slowly turned his head and saw a pair of blood-red eyes.

It was the slave who was supposed to be dead.

The slave was wearing an ill-fitting ceremonial robe, with gray hair hanging down. His face was still astonishingly beautiful, but Old Aiken had no mind to appreciate it.

Something was wrong.

The blood-red pupils stared at him. That was not the look one gives a fellow human, or even an ant. When one looked at an ant, there was a certain amount of curiosity or arrogance, or at least a sense of “scrutiny.” But there was nothing in those eyes. It was as if… as if he were just a speck of dust floating in the air. Old Aiken shuddered.

The slave from before had reminded him of a docile lamb. What was standing in front of him now, however, was something with a mouth full of fangs and a sheep’s skin. Something utterly “alien.” The overly beautiful face only heightened the sense of strangeness, sending a chill down his spine.

Old Aiken tried to say something, but no sound came out. He collapsed to the ground with a thud, trembling uncontrollably.

Mith: “…”

He hadn’t done anything, yet the old butler looked half-dead. And that wasn’t even the weirdest part. He saw a hamster on the old butler’s left shoulder.

Yes, a hamster. A semi-transparent, chubby, sparse-furred hamster. It was one size larger than a normal hamster, with a strange lump of flesh on its head, as if it was wearing a cork.

“No—” It shrieked in a high-pitched voice, trembling so violently it was a blur. “No—don’t—”

There was nothing like this in the slave’s memory. Mith instinctively reached out to grab the thing. The hamster felt like a lump of warm water, and its solidity was also that of a lump of warm water. Before he could even apply force, it shattered between his fingers.

At the same time, Old Aiken shattered as well. The old butler’s face turned purple, and his throat made gurgling sounds as thick, frothy blood poured from his nose, mouth, ears, and eyes. The moment the hamster disappeared, Old Aiken exploded into a bloody paste.

Mith wiped the minced meat off his face and fell silent. His bath had been for nothing.

“There are twelve attackers. We…” Salar arrived at the scene just then and saw Old Aiken evenly spread out on the floor. He quietly swallowed the rest of his sentence.

Mith turned to look at him, waiting for the hero’s possible condemnation or fury. But nothing happened. Salar’s eyes quickly scanned the body—if a bloody paste could still be called a body—and his expression remained calm, as if this was the most common sight in the world.

“What happened?” Salar asked.

“He had a weird hamster on him. I gave it a squeeze.” Mith didn’t know how to react for a moment, so he just told the truth.

Salar looked at him, not with an inquisitive “what’s the principle behind that?” look, but with a “what nonsense are you talking?” look. But he didn’t dwell on it for long. He raised his hand and tossed Mith a fork that still had bits of sausage on it.

Mith: “?”

“Weapon,” Salar explained.

Mith looked at the sharp ceremonial dagger in Salar’s hand, then at his own fork. “?”

Salar considerately explained, “Your magic isn’t stable enough. Don’t use it if you don’t have to.”

‘No, that’s not what I wanted to ask,’ Mith thought.

But there was no time for bickering. Mith gripped the fork tightly and turned to face the intruders at the door.

The moment the leading bandit saw the gruesome scene inside, he recoiled two steps. The mage waved his staff and stepped to the front.

“Who are you?” he squinted at the two people next to the meat paste. The two had striking appearances and strong builds, and they were wearing identical strange robes. The gray-haired young man was covered in blood. The black-haired young man… the black-haired young man had his eyes tightly shut, as if he were blind. According to Old Aiken, ‘Young Master Carnes is as thin as a skeleton. Neither of them fit the description. They must be outsiders.’

‘Did Old Aiken double-cross us, and we got our mission stolen?’

‘But I haven’t heard of any other assassins in the area, let alone any with such eye-catching looks.’

The mage was still calculating when he saw the black-haired young man take a step forward and point to the pile of meat paste. “Everyone, please go back. Young Master Carnes has already been dealt with by us.”

“What?” the mage snapped angrily. “Damn it, we had an agreed-upon time—”

Mith almost blurted out the same question himself, barely managing to hold it back.

A look of understanding flashed across Salar’s face. These people’s target was the disguised Young Master Carnes, and they came straight to the butler’s room. It was obvious who they had “agreed” with.

“Didn’t Old Aiken tell you? First come, first served.” Salar smiled. With that face, he looked like a genuine demon. “He should have just left the Ringtown. You still have time to go ask him about it.”

The bandits looked at each other and reached a consensus in a few seconds.

“To hell with asking!” one of the bandits roared. “Let’s take them down, and the mansion will be ours!” The two pretty boys had strange tricks, but there were only two of them. They wouldn’t pass up such an easy opportunity.

“Oh,” Salar said. “That’s a shame. I gave you a chance.” He said it, but he didn’t sound a bit regretful.

Mith blinked. In the depths of the slave’s memories, there was still a sappy praise song from a bard.

[Saint Salar is pure and good. He will protect all living beings in the world.]

Salar flashed behind the roaring bandit and silently slit his throat. The whole process was smooth and cold, like a raindrop sliding down a windowpane. He didn’t seem to enjoy killing, but his movements were not hesitant, and he didn’t even use magic.

[Saint Salar has compassion for the world. He will forgive all sins in the world.]

The ceremonial dagger cut open the third throat, and the bandits finally reacted. They swarmed him, trying to trap this “assassin who’s skilled at speed.” The leader of the bandits reached out, and Salar grabbed his wrist. With a sickening crunch, he crushed the bandit’s wrist bones with his bare hands.

[Saint Salar’s body may be gone, but he still watches over you and me. The sun and moon are his eyes.]

From beginning to end, Salar’s eyes remained tightly shut.

The mage’s reaction was smarter. Realizing that Salar was not to be underestimated, he commanded a few of his accomplices to charge at Mith, who was watching the show. Mith was covered in the bloody paste, so they guessed he was “exhausted from the fight.”

‘Maybe Salar’s recommendation has some logic to it,’ Mith thought, raising his fork helplessly.

The silver fork stabbed the first bandit who rushed him, sinking deep into his shoulder. The man cried out in pain, but the wound only bled a little.

Mith: “…” ‘What logic? I’ve been tricked!’

He stabilized his breathing, and a dark magic power spread along the fork, burrowing into the bandit’s body.

The man was instantly covered in blackness, as if infected by a black mold. In less than two seconds, his body crumbled like a sand castle and vanished into thin air.

Mith casually flicked his fork, and the tip grazed two nearby bandits. The magic power residue stuck to their skin. Before they could panic, they were infected by the “black mold,” and their bodies completely disintegrated.

Three sets of clothes fluttered to the ground, the entire process silent and eerie.

The mage immediately tore a spell scroll, put up a magical shield, and barely managed to save his life. He stared at Mith in shock, not even daring to blink.

“You… you didn’t chant a spell, and you didn’t use a magical artifact,” he moaned. “How did you… what are you…”

Mith didn’t care what he was babbling about. He easily shattered the magical shield as if it were a giant soap bubble. Amidst the bursting light fragments, the mage stood frozen, sweating profusely. Mith raised his fork, ready to finish the mage off. But before the deformed tip could descend, his wrist was slapped by someone.

It was Salar. Looking at the doorway, the rest of the bandits were all corpses. They lay sprawled on the ground, their blood forming a crimson lake. But Salar’s palm was warm and dry, without a single drop of blood on it.

Mith raised an eyebrow, his tone sarcastic. “What, can’t I kill people?”

“It has nothing to do with that. We need to keep a survivor to find their hideout,” Salar said.

Mith: “…Hideout?”

Salar: “Yeah, a hideout that’s coming right to us. Perfect for a raid.”

Mith repeated, confused: “…A raid?”

“Unless you want to wear Old Aiken’s clothes. Young Carnes doesn’t go out, and his closet is full of nothing but ceremonial robes… And we’re short on cash, supplies, and identification. I’m guessing they have all of that at their hideout.” Salar opened his eyes again, his lapis lazuli pupils glinting.

Mith put down his fork, speechless. He could now be certain that all those poems about “Saint Salar” were complete nonsense. This guy was definitely a menace.

On the other side, seeing those iconic eyes, the mage finally came to his senses. “Those eyes… you’re Old Aiken’s master, Kendrick Carnes?”

Salar: “Not for long. I don’t like names that are too long.”

“That old man was full of lies,” the mage said, licking his chapped lips and trying to clumsily ingratiate himself. “He… he wanted to use us to murder you. I knew it, how could a descendant of Saint Salar kill people without reason…” He pretended not to have heard the part about the “raid.”

‘This menace has a descendant still alive?’ Mith looked at Salar with immediate curiosity.

Salar’s smile disappeared.