Chapter 13
The Sacrifice for the Unholy Formation
Gnaw, gnaw.
Sitting in a dark corner of the room, Betra anxiously chewed her fingernails.
She was terrified. She could not forget the eyes Ilea had shown her that evening—pitch-black orbs resembling a bottomless abyss. The boundary between iris and sclera had vanished, creating a horrifyingly grotesque sight.
They resembled the eyes of the demon she had once seen in the royal capital.
“…That bitch is a demon.”
Or perhaps she had been possessed by a spirit. No ordinary human could harbor such profound malice.
Now that Betra had witnessed Ilea’s true nature, she could no longer remain in the lord’s castle.
She had to leave before she was devoured.
Betra planned to depart from the territory as soon as the sun rose.
She was past the bloom of youth, but her body remained supple, and her sensual allure had matured beyond what it had been in her younger days.
Surely one of the lords in some remote backwater would take her in.
She could begin again.
“…Fuck.”
Reason and emotion were separate matters. She was being driven from her home by a tiny girl. Even through her fear, anger began to rise. Her resentment gradually diluted her terror.
Why should she be the one to leave?
She liked this territory.
As long as she kept the baron pleased, the castle was no different from a playground. Even if one of the baron’s daughters—the toys provided for her amusement—broke, another was always supplied. The servants treated Betra like the mistress of the castle.
Where else could she enjoy such luxury? For a lowly harlot, there would never be another paradise like this.
The modest power she had enjoyed until now held Betra back.
She irritably bit her fingernails.
I refuse to be driven out by some newcomer.
She needed to find a way to drive Ilea away instead.
Asking the baron for help as she usually did would be difficult. Now that Ilea enjoyed the baron’s favor, involving him could produce unwanted consequences.
She needed another solution.
As Betra pondered deeply, a possible escape route suddenly flashed through her mind.
One corner of her mouth rose.
There was a perfect remedy for destroying a spirit-possessed bitch: the Church of the Great Saint. The order, the natural enemy of demons, would see straight through Ilea’s true nature.
If Ilea truly was possessed, she would be confined to a monastery under the pretext of treatment. If she was a demon contractor, she would be strapped to a rack and flayed alive.
Both were desirable outcomes, but the latter was far more appealing.
When that pure-white skin became a mass of blood and flesh, Betra might finally experience true salvation.
She began cackling like a witch.
Tomorrow morning, she would formally report Ilea to the church through the priest. She would declare that a demon contractor had appeared.
The church would undoubtedly dispatch an exorcist delegation to the territory.
Inquisitors, holy knights, exorcist priests, priests of the Punishment Division… Those who were every bit as wicked as demons would pass judgment on Ilea.
“You wicked bitch. That pretty little face of yours will soon rot away.”
The pleasant fantasy dispelled her anxiety and fear. Within a few days, the castle would once again belong to Betra.
Smiling, she climbed onto the bed. She was just about to settle in for a peaceful night’s sleep.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
A dull sound came from beyond the door.
With each noise, the doorknob moved intermittently.
Betra abruptly sat upright.
Someone is outside.
They seemed to be trying to open the door.
Feeling particularly uneasy tonight, Betra had locked it, preventing the door from opening.
“W-Who’s there?”
No answer came.
Only the intervals between the noises began to shorten.
Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.
The doorknob shook chaotically. Before long, it was rattling violently up and down.
Betra’s face turned deathly pale.
The fear she had suppressed rose back to the surface.
Just as she was about to scream, the noise stopped all at once. An abrupt silence descended.
The doorknob, which had been thrashing wildly, slowly turned downward.
Creeeak.
The door opened slowly with an aged groan of friction.
Betra’s eyes shook violently.
“I-Ilea…?”
A silver-haired girl entered through the gap. Her blue eyes were colder than usual.
“You locked your door, Mother.”
“Y-You knew it was locked, so why did you force your way inside?”
“Because I need you.”
“You need me? What for…?”
“To be precise, I want your body.”
Betra furrowed one brow.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Having said that, Ilea slowly began walking toward the bed.
“Stay away from me! Speak from where you are!”
Ilea smiled gently at Betra’s hysterical shout.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I know your true form! If you come any closer, I’ll scream!”
The lord’s knights and soldiers would rush here immediately.
Ilea stopped with a troubled expression.
“My true form? It seems you have discerned my identity, Mother. So what exactly did you see?”
Tension appeared on Betra’s face. As though resolving herself, she suddenly shouted,
“A-A demon! You’re a demon!”
She wanted to scream that a demon had appeared and demand that everyone rush in and capture her. Yet for some reason, her voice would not emerge.
As though she were screaming underwater, her voice merely circled around her before fading away.
“Everyone is asleep. It would be rude to shout so loudly.”
Betra frantically felt around her throat.
At some point, she had become incapable of uttering even a single word.
A foreign substance filling her airway was constricting her breath.
Betra began retching desperately. Her efforts must have worked, because pitch-black smoke spilled from her mouth like vomit.
She roared like a beast.
“You wicked demon bitch! What did you do to me?”
“You’re mistaken. I’m not a demon. Would you lower your head and take a look? You seem to have confused me with that.”
The smoke Betra had vomited was taking on a distinct form. The writhing mist moved as though it were alive. The black demonic energy transformed into a hideous old woman.
“Wasn’t that the demon you encountered through me before, Mother?”
Betra had previously seen those pitch-black eye sockets through Ilea. Had the deep darkness she had witnessed then truly been the demon’s gaze?
Betra convulsed as she muttered,
“You… You really are a demon contractor.”
“No. I’m a witch—and you are a sacrifice.”
The Old Hag Spirit dragged her tongue up Betra’s cheek.
Betra could not even scream. Faced with extreme terror, humans inevitably froze like stone.
“Come. Let’s go to the altar together.”
The Old Hag Spirit dissolved into smoke once more and seeped back into Betra’s body.
Pitch-black shadows covered both of her eyes.
She had been possessed.
Ilea looked out the window. The moon shone with an unusually sinister light tonight.
She made the sign of the cross toward the full moon.
“Saint Margiel, your original sin has taken root. Please continue watching over us.”
***
As Johan descended the spiral staircase leading underground, he was lost in thought.
I wonder if Ilea has arrived.
According to their contract, she should have prepared the mana and sacrifice required for the unholy formation.
If everything proceeded as planned, Kazan’s ring would be corrupted tonight.
The moment the holy relic transformed into an unholy object, Johan would evolve.
However, he could not be certain what form that growth would take or what authority would awaken within him.
There were no precedents whatsoever.
An imp with a white horn.
In the novel, no demon had ever possessed a horn from the moment of birth. Not even the Apostles of the Apocalypse had enjoyed such a privilege.
Furthermore, his authority over dreams offered no real clues regarding his identity.
There were many demons capable of manipulating dreams.
He had far too little information to deduce his species.
He had no choice but to discover his identity through firsthand experience.
Since I don’t even know what I am, it’s difficult to make plans for the future.
He had been contemplating that problem frequently of late, but no solution had come to mind. For now, concentrating on the matter before him was his best option.
If he was fortunate, he might obtain one or two clues tonight. After all, corrupting a holy relic would awaken another authority within him.
Having organized his thoughts, Johan spoke.
“Raguel, sit here and wait for a while.”
The blind boy, who had been feeling his way down the steps, abruptly stopped.
“Why?”
“Don’t ask. Just wait. It will not take long.”
Someone would die underground tonight—and not an ordinary death, but a human sacrifice. It might be too great a shock for the tenderhearted boy.
Realizing Johan’s intentions, Raguel lowered his head.
“Do you really have to do this? No matter how wicked someone may be, dying in such a manner is unjust.”
“Whether Betra is wicked is irrelevant to me. She is simply suitable as a sacrifice. Do not misunderstand—this is no judgment.”
“I-If you truly mean that, using one of the baron’s daughters as the sacrifice would be far more efficient. Didn’t you choose Betra because you don’t want to hurt them?”
Johan clicked his tongue and jumped out of Raguel’s arms.
“You’re trying to judge me by human standards. I am not human. I am a demon seeking to devour this castle. Betra is an obstacle, and I merely wish to dispose of her while the opportunity presents itself.”
Johan began descending the stairs on his own. He could now walk and run with relative ease.
“B-But…!”
“That is enough. I have no desire to hear any more of your hypocrisy. Someone who cannot even stop me has no right to complain.”
His words must have struck home, because Raguel stiffened. He lowered his head and could no longer say anything.
Johan swallowed a groan and continued underground.
“You seem displeased.”
Ilea had already arrived in the study.
“I am no different than usual.”
“You insolent little imp. Pretending to be all solemn for no reason.”
The Old Hag Spirit tried to provoke him, but Johan did not even respond.
His conversation with Raguel had provided more than enough pointless chatter.
…Was I too harsh on him?
Thinking of how dejected Raguel must be left Johan with a strangely unpleasant feeling.
Ilea tilted her head as she looked down at him.
“Johan?”
“Where is Betra?”
Shaking off his thoughts, Johan went straight to the point.
“Right over there.”
Ilea’s index finger pointed toward the unholy formation.
The Old Hag Spirit spoke resentfully.
“You arrived late, so that woman regained consciousness. She made such a racket that dealing with her was quite troublesome.”
Betra lay facedown and gagged atop the sinister formation.
Her eyes trembled violently.
What in the world was happening inside this castle? A demon, a witch, an unholy formation, and an unfamiliar chamber—the scene surrounding her was simply too grotesque.
She wanted to scream, but the gag clenched firmly between her teeth would not allow it.
Just as Johan was about to approach her, footsteps sounded behind him.
“I told you to remain on the stairs.”
It was Raguel.
“I-I bear some responsibility for this as well… I don’t want to run away from it by myself. Please let me stay.”
“You will be making yourself an undeniable accomplice to this atrocity.”
“That’s better than being a coward.”
“You can forget about going to Heaven.”
“The moment I contracted with Johan, Heaven was already beyond my reach.”
Johan chuckled.
“Do as you please.”
It was an exceedingly peculiar conversation between a demon and his contractor.
That was precisely why Ilea found it fascinating.
“Interesting.”
The Old Hag Spirit appeared displeased.
Johan pointed toward Betra.
“Is this a spectacle? Stop standing around and get to work.”
They had wasted enough time on idle conversation.
It was time to activate the unholy formation.