Chapter 11: A Nun and the Heavy Price (Too Heavy…)

Moonlight spilled across the corridor. Sera carried a silver tray, chin lifted high, and the two cups of black tea upon it rippled gently with every step she took. The heels of her shoes clicked crisply in the quiet hallway, an unbroken rhythm, until she finally stopped before the study door.

She reached out, pulling the old-style doorbell beside it—just as she always did—and waited for Master Cyril’s response.

“Come in.”

Cyril’s weary voice came through the crack of the door, and only then did Sera push it open.

Inside, Evelyn was still seated gracefully on the sofa, and Cyril was curled up in his wheelchair. The two looked as though they were enjoying a pleasant chat.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Sera secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Good. The nun didn’t seem to have noticed the young master’s secret.

“Master, Sister Evelyn…” Sera walked forward with the tray, placing the two cups—each patterned with gilt floral motifs—on the coffee table. But… she paused. Was it her imagination, or did the table look different from before? And was that… a strange dent on the top of the sofa where Evelyn sat?

“Thank you.” Cyril accepted his cup with a bright smile. Evelyn, on the other hand, looked utterly miserable.

Had something unpleasant occurred between them? Hopefully she hadn’t touched upon the young master’s secret, or else…

Sera reminded herself of her duty and spoke: “The Church personnel have arrived. They’re downstairs.”

“Mm. I know.” Evelyn replied weakly as she stood to leave. “By the way, after confirmation, it seems that ritual hadn’t been initiated. Your young master won’t be affected.”

“That’s a relief. Thank you for your hard work, Sister Evelyn.”

Sera bowed slightly in gratitude.

Only when Evelyn had left the study completely did Sera finally dare ask, “Master, she didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“No. She just confirmed some things regarding the ritual.” Cyril rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She didn’t expose anything about me. Go keep an eye on that woman—don’t let her discover anything else she shouldn’t.”

“Understood.”

Sera exited the study holding her tray. The moment the door clicked shut, the coffee table at the center of the room suddenly split apart with a loud crack—splintering cleanly in two. Cold sweat poured down Cyril’s back. That was close. Just a little more, and Sera would’ve noticed.

If she found out Evelyn not only already knew his secret, but had even formed a blood pact with him, that frigid maid would absolutely do everything in her power to kill Evelyn.

Killing the contractor—that was the only way to dissolve a pact aside from it expiring naturally.

But… could she even kill that lunatic nun? And even if she could, a Sins Nun dying at the hands of a human would draw immediate investigation from the Church. To protect Cyril’s secret, the girl who had raised him since childhood… she would definitely choose to commit suicide to keep his identity safe.

Cyril did not want that outcome.

…

“F*ck!”

Once Evelyn reached a secluded part of the hallway, she finally exploded—startling Pudge, who had just landed on a windowsill, causing the little bird’s whole body to shiver.

Pudge had been the one to deploy the barrier earlier, masking the earth-shaking battle in the study from the rest of the household.

“Why the hell did it have to turn out like that?!”

Evelyn clutched her forehead in agony.

“Don’t fight it. A demon’s prophecy is destined to happen,” Pudge said, head tilted, adding salt to the wound.

“Shut up!” she snapped—rarely this emotionally undone.

Time to rewind a few minutes.

The messy study. The blood-pact sigil spreading beneath their feet. A flash of crimson light before her eyes—followed by a sound like a bubble popping.

That was the herald of the price she would pay.

She had mentally prepared herself to lose something—pain, memory, limb… anything. But instead of agony, she was shown a scene that, to most people, would be called beautiful.

To Evelyn? It was nothing short of a nightmare.

A gleaming white chapel. Doves flying past the spire. People dressed in finery, smiling radiantly. The holy bell atop the spire rang twelve times, filling the sunlit meadow with a solemn blessing.

A bell that only tolled during weddings.

Flower children scattered petals along a red carpet. Then came the bride—holding a bouquet, cheeks flushed, eyes shining with shy anticipation—the very picture of a girl about to marry the love of her life.

The elegant wedding dress perfectly outlined her slim figure. She walked through blooming grass, placing her gloved hand into the groom’s awaiting palm.

The ring was slipped onto her left ring finger. They made vows of devotion. The priest spoke: The groom may now kiss the bride.

The groom leaned down. The bride shyly closed her eyes.

Perfect. So perfect that in her past life this could have been featured in a wedding-photography commercial.

Except—why the hell did that blushing, hopeful bride… have her face?!

And that dress—layers of lace ruffles? She hated lace! She was a lunatic! A demon-killing Sins Nun!

How could she be wearing such ridiculous frills AND making such an embarrassingly soft expression?!

Her image—ruined! Completely ruined!

And the groom… why was it Cyril?!

What in God’s name—?! I’m supposed to kill him in a few days! Why would I marry him?!

And the priest… she recognized him too. He should be downstairs right now!

This had to be an illusion.

Evelyn realized it: the price of the blood pact was this revolting “video broadcast” meant to traumatize her.

What a trash price! You might as well have taken something from me instead!

When the doves took flight, the image shattered like bubbles.

“—Gag—!”

The moment it vanished, Evelyn flung Cyril’s hand away, dove over the sofa back, and heaved dryly. It had disgusted her THAT much.

“What the hell was that?!” she demanded.

“It seemed like… a prophecy…” Cyril, equally pale, stammered. “Why would I marry a lunatic like you?!”

“Bullsh*t!” Evelyn instantly drew her last loaded revolver, pressing the barrel to his forehead. “You must’ve shown that on purpose just to offend me! Why in the hell would I marry a coward like you?! I— I refuse to marry anybody!”

“I’d like to ask the same thing! Who would marry someone as insane as you?!”

“Your mother!”

She pulled the trigger. Three seconds later Cyril was on the floor clutching his head, whining about how much it hurt.

“I’ll kill you right now!”

On her left hand, seven ring-like marks had appeared across her ring finger—like seven invisible rings. Command Seals. Each one a chance to command the contracted demon.

“In the name of the Command Seal, tell me your species—and how I can kill you!”

The outermost seal shattered instantly. The order could not be resisted.

“M-my…” The command forced its way into Cyril’s mind, a psychic blade ripping through his soul. Sweat poured down his forehead as he struggled to answer truthfully.

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“F*ck!”

Evelyn slammed the sofa back, the enamel butt of her pistol leaving a dent.

Commands cannot be resisted—but they are limited. He could only answer based on what he actually knew. And he truly didn’t know his species or how to kill himself.

Cyril was still locked in waves of soul-level agony—worse than having his head blown apart ten times over.

Then—two cold, soft arms suddenly wrapped around his waist.

Evelyn. This lunatic woman—what the hell now?

She stood on tiptoe and gave him a big hug. With flushed cheeks and eyes full of tender emotion.

Had she lost her mind?!

She let go almost immediately, only to kick him in the shins right afterward, nearly knocking him over. Yet the warmth of that brief embrace lingered in his chest. And the faint floral scent clung in his senses—whether perfume or her own scent, he couldn’t tell.

That terrifying woman, who wielded absurd revolvers and could kill without blinking—she had actually felt… soft.

Meanwhile Evelyn continued swearing under her breath, completely unlike the gentle expression she’d worn during that hug. Cyril had no idea what was going on—but Evelyn did.

Blood pacts were only for emergencies. While they gave overwhelming control over demons, their drawbacks were massive. Every time a Command Seal was used, the contractor must offer a price that satisfies the demon. Who knew if that price could cost a life?

Most Church members would rather fight a demon—force it to sign willingly or kill it outright.

But Evelyn didn’t have time to beat Cyril into submission. Nor a way to kill him yet. So she had to use this loss-making method to restrain him.

This time’s price was a hug to soothe his pain.

Who knew what the next price would be?!

She needed a way to kill him. Fast.

After a moment, she finally steadied herself.

“From now on, you listen to my orders.” She holstered her guns. “I’ll help you hide your identity until I figure out how to kill you. And you can’t reveal anything about us to anyone.”

If the Church learned that Evelyn was hiding a half-demon… forget the Choir. She’d be executed by the Third Hall’s internal inquisition squad on the spot.

“Do I even have a choice?”

“No.” She shoved him back into his wheelchair. “Compose yourself. Your maid is already in the corridor.”

Only then did Cyril hear the sharp tap-tap of heels outside.

Sera was coming back.