The iron chain tipped with a ruby coiled around the demon's muscular frame. The crimson-skinned creature tried to unleash another Profane Word, targeting Don, who had already flickered to a new position—but the curse died in its throat.
It was like a dud cannonball. The chain, as if alive, tightened relentlessly, biting into flesh.
"Mystique weakens, reality strengthens."
This was the effect of the mystical item—Sinner's Shackles. Its sole ability was to suppress the supernatural essence of its target, diminishing all Beyonder powers, including the demon's mutated physique.
It mirrored the Judge ability of the Sequence 6: Arbiter from the Justiciar Pathway.
Don maintained his manipulation of the Spirit Body Threads.
Under the chain's influence, the demon had to simultaneously resist the threads' control and muster the strength to break free.
"No… no! If this continues—"
Don mimicked the sound of a gunshot with his lips.
"Bang."
An air bullet struck the demon's skull. The bound body shuddered.
Fear twisted its eyes into horizontal, goat-like slits. It roared, thrashing against the chains—but every action, from realization to execution, was slowed by the threads. Its chances of escape dwindled by the second.
Don didn't bother firing more air bullets. Pain would weaken the threads' control. Instead, he coldly observed the struggling demon while channeling more spirituality into the shackles.
A Sequence 5 Marionettist with a Justiciar-pathway item versus a Sequence 6 Demon?
No contest.
Five minutes later, Don raised an eyebrow and cut off the chain's spiritual supply.
The demon, now reverted to human form, stood motionless.
[Task progress updated.]
Task One: A Marionettist's First Attempt
[Progress: 100%. Reward issued.]
Task Two: Red Light, Green Light
Marionettes created: 1/3
New Marionette: Tank Belial
Pathway: 'Abyss', Sequence 6 – Demon
Display corresponding potion formula?
Don's eyebrow arched again, but he ignored the prompt.
"Belial? A Blood Sanctify demon?"
The Blood Sanctify was a loose alliance of demon worshippers formed in the Fourth Epoch. They controlled the 'Criminal' (Abyss) Pathway, venerating the evil god "Darkside of the Universe"—believed to be the ruler of the abyss, destined to corrupt the entire universe.
Their demons were notorious for spreading terror through bloodshed.
"Though their killings aren't just for greed… but also for advancement rituals."
With the demon now under control, Don considered bringing his new "puppet" home. But as he retracted the chain, rustling came from the nearby forest.
He turned to see a middle-aged man with bronze skin, dark hair, and gentle features riding toward him on horseback. The man wore fitted leather armor and had been watching for who-knew-how long.
"Father."
---
In the newly constructed castle of black-and-blue stone, Baron Lamud sat in his study. His expression was warm, but the stern dignity of a former Loen military officer lingered in his bearing.
This man was once a legend—a high-ranking Beyonder who ruled the Balam Empire of the Southern Continent. Yet due to a peculiar curse, he cycled endlessly between losing and regaining his memories.
Now, the baron poured tea for his son.
"Thank you." Don took a sip, wincing slightly at the bitterness. Despite years in this world—and the barony's wealth—he still missed his old world's comforts.
"Your voyage seems to have served you well," the baron remarked.
"Yes. I encountered many creatures I'd never seen before." Don smiled faintly.
Currently, mermaids were plentiful in the Fog Sea and Sonia Sea, not yet monopolized by the Church of Evernight Goddess. Advancing to Marionettist hadn't been too difficult.
"Good." The baron's smile faded. "Loen is unstable. The king and nobles seek more slaves, land, and wealth from neighboring nations. Strength is vital, Don."
Another war? The Augustus family's kingdom had been clashing with Feysac and Intis over resources—grain, gold, territory, labor.
But large-scale carnage would draw the 'Seven Churches' intervention.
Don exhaled. "That's the aristocracy's headache. Even if the king drafts soldiers, our backwater should be spared—"
"I'll be leaving soon," the baron interrupted. "For the Southern Continent."
"What?"
Don's chest tightened.
He knew his father was in a memory-recovery phase. The man had never hidden his guilt over his cyclical fate—nor his determination to fulfill his duty.
As a descendant of the God of Death, this was his curse: an endless loop of remembering and forgetting.
"I understand." Don met his father's gaze. "What do you need me to do?"
---
(End of Chapter)