Chapter 31: This Hero is Overpowered
Misha’s emotions were a tangled mess.
Although the summoning ritual didn’t technically specify a required volume of blood, this move by the Hero… wasn’t it a bit too stingy?!
He wasn’t willing to part with even a single extra drop?
Misha really shouldn’t have worried about the Hero getting hurt; he should have known from the start that the Hero would pull a stunt like this!
Misha took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the center of the summoning circle.
Things having reached this point, he could only hope that Ashby would be a bit picky, show some demonic dignity, and refuse to appear for such a pitiful amount of blood no matter what.
Misha prayed silently in his heart.
Please don’t embarrass demonkind, Ashby!
But in the very next moment, he watched helplessly as a dim purple light surfaced in the center of the circle. It flowed and spread along the patterns of the array, dispersing into a dark, ghostly mist. The surrounding firelight dimmed, and Misha squeezed his eyes shut in pain.
Why did you still come, Ashby?
You’re such an embarrassment to demons.
Ashby’s avatar slowly manifested in the center of the circle. He stared with near-hatred at the Hero by the altar, his voice dripping with ferocity and oppressive power.
“You lowly, ant-like human Hero,” he sneered. “You dare summon me?”
Misha blinked frantically at Ashby, trying his hardest to hint that something about this situation was weird, hoping Ashby would notice quickly and not fall into the Hero’s trap. But before Misha had blinked even twice, he saw Lance grab the sword from the altar and vault over it.
Ashby: “You—”
The sword flashed downward. Ashby’s avatar was cleaved in two, dissolving into two plumes of black smoke.
“Ah,” Lance frowned slightly. “Still incorporeal, huh?”
Misha: “…”
Arlo: “…”
Wait, even if it was incorporeal, that wasn’t something a normal Hero should be able to disperse with a single strike, right?
Misha’s eyes went wide. He felt he had gained an entirely new understanding of the Hero’s strength.
A moment later, Ashby’s avatar reformed on the other side of the circle. He was practically apoplectic, gritting his teeth as he glared at the Hero.
Ashby: “Damn human Her—”
Dissipated.
Ashby: “I am going to—”
Dissipated.
Ashby: “Kill—”
Dissipated.
Misha: “…”
Arlo: “…”
Is… is this really the strength a normal Hero is supposed to have?
Ashby’s avatar finally vanished completely.
Lance stood his ground, sword in hand, maintaining a motionless vigilance as he carefully scanned his surroundings, as if waiting for Ashby to reappear.
But there was no movement around them. It seemed as if Ashby had simply disappeared.
Misha was incredibly nervous. He hoped Ashby had sensed the anomaly in the Hero’s abnormal behavior and realized that a normal Hero would never rashly provoke a Great Demon. The surroundings fell into a dead silence, everyone frozen in place. After a long while, Samuel spoke up in a whisper, asking, “Is Ashby—”
His voice was cut off by a sudden, howling gale. He had to crouch low, fighting to maintain his center of gravity just to keep from being blown backward by the bizarre storm. He raised an arm to shield his face from the wind, barely managing to look around—the surrounding fires flickered wildly, and the sky seemed to be shrouded by heavy, thick dark clouds.
The Great Demon Ashby appeared directly above the summoning circle, looking down with a gloomy expression.
It’s over.
Misha realized Ashby was completely enraged.
At this moment, even if Misha tried to drop hints, Ashby wouldn’t notice them. Moreover, now that his main body was here, Misha had a feeling… the Hero probably wouldn’t let him leave easily.
Ashby made no attempt to hide his fury.
He glared at Lance with eyes that looked ready to crack, grinding his teeth. Dark purple arcs of lightning crackled around his body, and fierce winds spiraled around him. He raised his hand slightly, lightning gathering in his palm, forming what looked like an extremely terrifying spell.
Everything signaled imminent danger.
Arlo wondered if he should cast some defensive magic, while Samuel struggled against the gale to move in front of the group as a shield. Lance, however, looked left and right, his gaze finally landing on the statue of Ashby sitting on the altar.
He had just handled that statue.
The size was right. The weight was appropriate.
Very handy.
Lance picked up the statue of Ashby from the altar, looked up to meet Ashby’s gaze in mid-air, then hefted the statue and took a simple aim.
Filled with unease, Misha shouted against the wind at Lance, “What are you do—”
Lance threw the statue.
The small stone carving of Ashby spun through the layers of lightning and wind, moving like it was in extreme slow motion—
Thud.
It hit Ashby right in the middle of his forehead.
The wind stopped.
All the smoke and purple light vanished in an instant. It was once again a quiet, windless night. The round moon still hung in the sky, and a bird flapped its wings slowly as it flew past.
Ashby clutched his forehead, raising his head in disbelief.
Blood slowly trickled down between his fingers, and a moment later, it gathered into a stream.
The group fell into silence.
Ashby screamed, “Lance!!!”
He let go, seemingly wanting to struggle again, but blood sprayed out like a small fountain blooming on his forehead. Even for a Great Demon, such a wound wasn’t fatal, but it was unsightly. He didn’t want a fountain of blood on his head, so he had to cover the wound again, suppressing the rage in his heart as he gritted his teeth and swore a venomous oath: “I will definitely kill, you.”
Lance had once again gripped that ordinary-looking, battered sword.
He turned the blade, pointing it at Ashby.
“How about we make a bet? Let’s bet that you…” Lance spoke leisurely, “…can’t kill me.”
Misha couldn’t believe his eyes.
He couldn’t understand it.
Ashby wouldn’t be stupid enough to just stand there casting magic, waiting for someone to interrupt him. Before casting, he would inevitably construct layers of defensive magic around himself. Those defenses shouldn’t shatter at a touch, nor should they be pierced so casually by a stone statue.
Not to mention right now.
hadn’t he just zoned out for a moment?
How had Lance already taken Ashby hostage?!
It wasn’t just Misha; almost no one had recovered from the shock. They just stared blankly at Lance and Ashby.
Ashby was still trying his best to resist. He attempted to struggle, shouting, “Your broken human sword—”
“You can try me,” Lance said calmly.
He pressed the blade against the skin of Ashby’s neck and lowered his voice. “You were just taken out by an ugly statue made by humans, remember?”
Ashby: “…”
Not just taken out, but seriously injured.
He hadn’t suffered such a heavy injury in hundreds of years, and the object that hurt him was just an ordinary stone statue. What was the difference between that and a random rock picked up from the road? If he could be injured by a stone thrown by this human Hero, then the sword in the Hero’s hand…
Ashby fell silent.
He didn’t dare struggle recklessly anymore, carefully avoiding the sword in Lance’s hand. But then, he suddenly remembered something.
The thing that hit him was his statue.
This stinking Hero, who are you calling ugly?!
Lance frowned as he looked at Ashby. The Great Demon was dressed too revealingly; Lance didn’t know where to grab him. It felt wrong no matter where he touched. He could have dragged the demon by the arm, but with Ashby wearing jingling accessories that barely qualified as clothes, Lance felt that even dragging him by the hand carried strange, suggestive implications.
He looked Ashby up and down, finally extending two fingers carefully to pinch the goat-like horns on Ashby’s head.
Hmm, at least this isn’t bare skin, and the tips of the horns shouldn’t have any sensation. I’ll drag him by the horns.
Ashby screamed in terror, “You can’t grab there!”
Lance frowned with extreme distaste. He felt that no matter what this Incubus said, it sounded weird coming out of his mouth.
He didn’t want to engage with the Incubus. He simply pulled on the horn, intending to drag Ashby to the front of the altar. He gave a tug—
The horn suddenly broke off.
Misha: “…”
Lance: “…”
A rare flash of panic crossed Lance’s face.
He decisively threw away the goat horn in his hand, pretending the incident had nothing to do with him. But Ashby took advantage of the confusion to struggle, trying to escape. Lance got a bit anxious and hurriedly tried to restrain Ashby, so he reached out—
And pulled off Ashby’s other horn.
Misha: “…”
Lance: “…”
Wait, what is going on?
Why did both horns break?!
Lance finally looked down at the horn in his hand.
This thing looked very similar to a common goat horn—
No, this IS a goat horn.
This wasn’t something growing out of an Incubus’s head at all; it was just an ordinary, bizarrely tasteless decoration.
Misha looked up and touched his own head, where he had hidden his horns.
So weird. This is so weird!!!
Why are Ashby’s horns fake?
Aren’t all demons like him, born with real horns?
Misha couldn’t help but think of the other little Incubi he had seen.
Aside from Ashby, those little Incubi indeed didn’t have horns, but Misha had always assumed it was because they weren’t strong enough or were too young, not yet at the stage to grow them.
He never imagined that it was just an ordinary ornament born of strange taste and bad hobbies.
Lance clicked his tongue lightly. Seeing Ashby still trying to run, he didn’t think twice before grabbing the base of Ashby’s wings and dragging him to the ground.
Since the horns are fake, then these wings… these wings… why are they real?
Whatever, the wings don’t matter.
Since the wings weren’t particularly good-looking—resembling those of an ugly bat—it was still better than grabbing anywhere else. Lance simply clicked his tongue in utter disgust, grasped the base of Ashby’s wings with two fingers—using the same technique one uses to carry a chicken—and dragged Ashby toward the altar.
Ashby struggled and shouted, “Damn Hero!”
Lance couldn’t be bothered to respond.
Ashby: “Sooner or later, I will kill you!!!”
Lance pressed him down in front of the contract on the altar.
“You won’t have the chance,” Lance said. “Let’s amend the contract first.”
Ashby: “…”
Ashby resisted to the death.
This time, ignoring the threat of the longsword in Lance’s hand, he refused to change the content of the contract on the parchment no matter what. He absolutely could not set a precedent for such unheard-of things. After all, he had no desire to become the shame of the Demon Realm. Even if captured by the Hero, he would never listen to the Hero and do something so humiliating to demons.
Lance had guessed Ashby would react this way, and he had prepared for it long ago.
“Samuel,” Lance asked suddenly. “We talked about the Church’s ascetics this morning.”
Samuel, suddenly hearing his name, snapped back to reality from everything that had just happened. Still a bit dazed, he nodded blankly and said, “Yes, Lord Lance.”
Lance: “How does the Church punish ascetics who cannot control their carnal desires?”
Samuel paused again, as if carefully recalling his conversation with Lance that morning. After a long moment, a look of horror surfaced on his face. He gave a small cough and murmured, “It… it depends on the situation.”
Lance: “The most serious kind. For those who are completely unable to control themselves.”
Samuel: “They… use a little bit of magic, and administer some medicine.”
Ashby’s face went pale instantly.
Misha didn’t know much about the Holy See. At most, he knew that the ascetics Lance mentioned were a group of monks in the Church who strove to suppress their own desires. They denounced all worldly pleasures as heresy, and lust was listed as the chief of all evils.
For these people, committing acts of indulgence was a heinous sin. However, since they were not the Inquisition, they had no right to judge a person’s life, so their punishments usually didn’t involve taking the sinner’s life. Misha wasn’t clear on the specifics beyond that.
He could only turn to Arlo, hoping the true Divine Envoy could explain it to him.
But Arlo looked shocked, his face practically written with the words “How can such a Hero exist?” as if the Hero had done something terribly frightening. Seeing Misha’s intense curiosity, Arlo involuntarily shivered and said, “The Church has a specific magic.”
Misha, having done much research on magic, nodded earnestly and pressed, “What magic?”
Arlo: “It can sever all of a person’s desires.”
Misha: “…”
He froze, involuntarily thinking… All of a human’s desires? That means eating won’t bring joy, sleeping won’t bring comfort, they won’t find beauty in anything in the world… even the desire to survive would be annihilated by this magic.
They would become like walking corpses, their lives void of any ripples. And since the Church opposed suicide, these strictly monitored people wouldn’t even be able to die.
Misha shivered too, unable to understand why the Church, which prided itself on universal love and tolerance, would develop such a terrifying thing.
“However, it is said that this magic can be targeted,” Arlo lowered his voice. “Incubi are especially indulgent. What they are talking about is likely using magic to sever an Incubus’s lust.”
Misha: “…”
Misha couldn’t imagine what a celibate Incubus would look like.
He looked at Ashby in astonishment, then at the Hero’s incredibly calm profile. He couldn’t help but shiver again, feeling that the Hero had struck Ashby’s vital weakness in one blow. For an Incubus, being forced into purity and lack of desire was simply more painful than death.
So miserable, Ashby.
So this is the fate that awaits those who fall into the Hero’s hands?
Ashby looked sick, but he still wasn’t willing to abandon his pride.
He continued to struggle hard.
“Heh, it’s just human magic,” Ashby cursed. “We Incubi have our pride too.”
Lance looked completely unfazed, not feeling like he had done anything strange at all. He even smiled at Ashby and said, “Do you really not mind?”
Ashby: “Heh, don’t underestimate an Incubus—”
Lance: “But all the Incubi will know that their King…”
He paused slightly, flashing a brighter smile at Ashby.
Ashby: “…”
Ashby fell silent.
Lance added, “The other Great Demons will also know that although you are an Incubus, you…”
He swallowed the last few words himself, simply observing Ashby’s expression.
Ashby was trying to act calm, but a trace of terror remained in his purple-red eyes, as if he couldn’t fathom why the Hero, who was supposed to be humanity’s savior, would do such a thing.
Misha couldn’t fathom it either.
He didn’t even want to admit to outsiders that he knew such a Hero. He could only force himself to look away, hoping the Hero’s cruel exploitation of Ashby would be a little more subtle.
But Lance shoved the parchment with the contract in front of Ashby. “Change the names.”
Ashby: “…”
Misha: “…”
Misha suddenly understood the intent behind Lance’s strange behavior.
He had thought it was weird earlier—Ashby had been beaten up by the Hero the moment he arrived in the summoning circle, before he even had time to agree to the contract. That meant the contract hadn’t taken effect yet. He hadn’t understood why the Hero wanted to amend a contract that wasn’t even active, but now…
He understood.
Lance wanted to swap his and Ashby’s names.
He wanted to become the beneficiary of the contract, making Ashby, who was supposed to be the master, into a servant forced to fulfill his duties. And when they drafted this contract, Misha remembered clearly that Lance had written something like… offering his soul and willing to obey all of Ashby’s commands in exchange for the qualification to become Ashby’s believer.
At the time, Misha felt that even for the sake of acting, the Hero had written it a bit too ruthlessly. If any accident occurred, it would lead to irreversible consequences. He never imagined the Hero was waiting for this moment.
But this didn’t seem like something the Hero would do.
Was this really the same Hero who loved making money but refused to loot the Demon King’s castle? How could he make a Great Demon directly into his slave?
Misha was a bit confused. He couldn’t help but lean forward, carefully peering from behind Ashby, wanting to see if he had remembered the content of the contract incorrectly.
His sudden approach made Ashby finally remember—he still had the Demon King, a massive backer.
Right! The Demon King and the Hero are just role-playing for fun. The Hero definitely knows Lord Demon King’s identity. In a time like this, Lord Demon King has to help me, right?
Ashby, clutching the charcoal pen, shouted anxiously, “Demon Ki—”
Misha grabbed Ashby’s head and slammed it hard against the altar.
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