Chapter 23: The Devil’s Sustenance

“I told you to leave immediately, immediately! Why didn’t you listen? Now look, outwitted by a few brats, letting that demon escape—how will you explain this to Lord Noron?”

At Lotte Village’s entrance, on sandy ground, the cavalry assembled.

The two negligent attendants, whipped bloody and near death, lay slumped on a cart.

The baron’s envoy gripped his sword, cursing at the empty prison cart.

The cavalry captain, holding his helmet, smirked dismissively.

“Hmph, your men drank and messed up, and you dare threaten me with the baron? I didn’t even see a feather of that demon before your men let it escape. Think you can pin this on me? You’re the one who should worry!”

“You—you!”

The envoy stepped back, his face paling.

He knew the captain was right—if this reached the baron, the captain might get a slap, but he’d face far worse.

The captain stroked his stubbled chin, eyeing the distraught envoy, chuckling.

“No matter, for old times’ sake, I’ll give you a way out.”

“A way?”

The envoy looked up.

The captain spoke.

“I shouldn’t care—it’s your mess. But failing like this, I can’t return to Lord Noron empty-handed. Look—there’s a dead monster’s corpse right here.”

“Monster’s corpse? You mean…?”

“I read your report—it didn’t mention this thing. We’ll swear the demon turned into a monster, wreaked havoc, and we had no choice but to slay it. We’ll bring the corpse back as proof.

Not only will we avoid punishment, we’ll earn praise.”

“So, you know what to say?”

The envoy met the captain’s scheming eyes, a chill running through him.

“You… planned to claim this credit from the start?”

“I asked the villagers—none saw how the monster died. Why waste a perfectly good corpse?”

“I… understand.”

The envoy hesitated, then nodded firmly, clearing his throat.

“Ahem—Captain John, brave and skilled, upheld his duty to protect the realm. Spotting a rampaging fiend, he struck decisively, leading the cavalry to slay it, presenting its corpse to Lord Noron.”

“Exactly.”

Captain John nodded, satisfied.

The cavalry brought horses, dragging the deformed jackal-man’s corpse.

John directed them to hack at it with weapons, then load the mangled remains onto a cart.

“Brothers, everyone gets a share—” John instructed.

“What if Lord Noron sends someone to investigate?”

The envoy stroked his sword hilt, eyes glinting darkly.

John laughed.

“My lord, what are you thinking? This isn’t some war-torn place. One or two deaths can be hushed, but a big case? No one could hide that.”

“But… what if someone snitches?”

“No worry—these mudlegs are clueless. They don’t even know who killed the monster. The local elder’s sharp enough to keep things quiet for his own good. It’s a win-win—why not take the profit?”

“You’re… right.”

The cavalry packed up, the cart with the jackal-man’s corpse heading west to Baron Noron’s manor.

John and the envoy rode beside it.

Laden with the corpse, they couldn’t ride as fast as before.

“How much longer?”

The envoy glanced at the sky.

“Not today—let’s camp.”

John eyed the setting sun, dismounting.

The envoy, now obedient, didn’t argue.

Soon, the cavalry lit a bonfire by the road, chatting and eating rations.

Night fell darkly.

The envoy and John sat by the fire, refining their story for the baron—what to detail, what to blur.

“Phew—settled, then.”

The envoy yawned, standing shakily.

It was late; the cavalry had pitched tents and slept, snoring loudly.

“Then, Captain John, I’ll…”

He froze, staring into the dark plain.

“What?”

John yawned, following his gaze, then saw a slender shadow in the darkness.

A ghost?

A banshee?

A spirit?

John swallowed, grabbing his shield and spear, old bedtime tales of night-stalking demons flashing through his mind.

“Miss Alya, why are you here?”

The envoy’s shout snapped John back.

Looking closer, it wasn’t a demon—just a girl with black hair, in a fine lace dress and a feathered hat.

“Was I hallucinating?”

John had seen her at the baron’s banquet—Baron Noron’s runaway daughter.

She should be weary from wandering, but by the firelight, her clothes were pristine, like she’d just left a ball.

Unease crept into John’s heart.

He knew he should bow, but gripped his spear tighter.

“Miss, the lord’s been searching for you. Are you hurt? Sick? I’ve been scouring the fief for you—”

The envoy stepped forward eagerly.

“Oh… you are?”

Miss Alya’s sweet voice replied.

“You sound quite loyal.”

“Just a humble heart… you flatter me.”

The envoy bowed.

“But I overheard you plotting to deceive my father.”

“You—you heard!”

The envoy panicked.

“No, no—it wasn’t me! He made me do it!”

He pointed at John.

“But I heard you scheming?”

Miss Alya gave a perfect lady’s smile, stepping closer.

“Imagine what Father would do if he knew.”

“No, please, I was bewitched, a moment of weakness…”

The envoy’s legs shook.

John, watching his pathetic state, almost pitied him, turning away.

Then the envoy screamed.

“Go to h*ll!”

He drew the fine steel sword gifted by Baron Noron, thrusting it into Alya’s chest.

“You fool!”

John gasped.

Their plan to deceive the baron hadn’t been acted on—if they brought Alya back, they could salvage everything.

Killing her was the worst choice, and shouting while doing it?

Idiotic—

“This… you brought it on yourself, Miss…”

The envoy, panting, pulled out the sword, staring at Alya’s body.

His muddled mind didn’t notice—no blood flowed from the “corpse.”

In his daze, a piercing pain hit his chest.

Looking down, a red bloom spread under his white shirt.

Alya’s body dissolved into thick black mist.

The envoy collapsed, dead, eyes wide.

In the darkness, Alya reappeared, approaching her next target.

John tried to scream, but his throat failed.

Her figure now seemed otherworldly.

He recalled a servant’s tale before they left—rumors of Alya dabbling in demonic rituals.

Legend said demons, banished by gods beyond the world, dwelt in nine hells.

When human desires grew corrupt, black mist blinded the gods’ eyes, opening the gates of hell.

Demon lords would then lead their fallen flock to turn the world into a tenth hell.

Demons used rituals to enter the world, tempting dark desires, turning the wicked into fiends and the good to ruin.

“Yes—a demon.”

John thought.

The envoy, though foolish, was usually timid—yet he dared kill Alya.

If a demon manipulated him, it all made sense.

The demon in Alya’s form approached John, casting a hellish gaze.

“What? Want to try your luck?”

She spoke in Alya’s pure, sweet tone.

John trembled, trying to raise his spear, but his shaking limbs failed.

Was his fear amplified by the demon?

“Radiant God, grant me courage to repel this evil—”

He didn’t know if his last-ditch prayer would work.

The demon, as if reading his mind, spoke.

“I haven’t used any power on you—don’t flatter yourself.”

So… I’m just a coward, John thought, hearing a clang as his spear and shield fell.

“You seem smarter than that fool.”

“I… may not be smart, but he was definitely stupid.”

The demon’s voice rang in his ears.

How could he crack such a lame joke now?

“Hehe… I need a servant, and you’d do nicely.”

“No, I can’t.”

John shook his head stiffly.

The demon didn’t rage, but asked.

“Why not?”

“Because… I’m a Noron vassal. While a Noron lives, I serve no other.”

John scrambled for an excuse, his mind clearing slightly.

Church doctrine said refusing a demon meant mere death, but serving one meant eternal torment in hell.

He usually scoffed at such tales, but who’d have thought a real demon would appear?

A true demon from hell—not some scapegoat labeled for minor witchcraft.

“But… I’m Alya of House Noron. That man called me Miss Alya, so you should serve me.”

John looked up.

The demon, hands behind her back, smiled.

“You’re… not Miss Alya. She wouldn’t talk like this.”

“No—I’m Alya, just… changed to fulfill my wishes.”

The demon smiled angelically.

“Forget it—let’s make you my servant the direct way.”

John froze.

The demon’s hands cupped his face.

Her lips pressed against his.

Before he felt their softness, her teeth sank into his tongue—

And bit it off.

“Ugh—argh!”

Pain seared John’s mind.

He clutched his mouth, collapsing, watching the demon chew his tongue like a snack.

When he came to, his wound was gone, his tongue back, like a dream.

No—not a dream.

He saw blood on his collar and the envoy’s corpse nearby.

Looking up, the demon, in Alya’s form, lingered by the cart, stroking the jackal-man’s corpse, inspecting it.

“You should dispose of the body.”

John felt a rune on his tongue burn faintly, knowing there was no turning back.

He touched his chest, bowing.

“I serve you, Miss Alya.”