Chapter 488: Dialogue with the Devil

488. Dialogue with the Devil (1)

As soon as Oliver took a drag from the Filgarett, he could feel it.

The intense emotions Duncan carried all his life—the joys, sorrows, anger, frustration, purpose, hope, and determination.

It was the pure essence of emotion squeezed from a person, with memories tied to them.

Sipping it… it felt strange. It was beyond just peeking into someone’s memories; it was experiencing them.

As the cigarette smoke filled his body, Oliver began to feel it all.

The pride Duncan felt being born into a family of magicians.

The despair Duncan felt when he discovered his magical resistance.

The anger when Duncan was ostracized because of it.

And the betrayal when Duncan was branded as defective and cast out by both the Tower of Magic and his family.

Duncan’s vow to prove himself and seek revenge, fueled by that anger and betrayal.

The hope Duncan found when he saw new possibilities in the underworld.

And the determination Duncan showed after all those years of failures, never giving up.

In an instant, Oliver lived through Duncan’s entire life.

It was bizarre.

Oliver had used Filgarett twice before, but the effect had never been this strong.

Before, he could only indirectly feel the intense, pure emotions—but now it was beyond that.

Oliver became Duncan. He became the man who was betrayed by his pride and dedicated his life to revenge.

Maybe that’s why Oliver’s expressionless face twitched slightly. It was as if a mask had come to life—a disturbing sight.

‘Focus.’

The moment he almost lost himself in the unknown power of the Filgarett, Oliver shouted internally.

Considering the being standing before him and the situation, he couldn’t afford to lose consciousness.

Fortunately, Oliver regained his focus quickly and saw The Burned One standing before him.

It waited for Oliver, who had lost his focus momentarily due to the Filgarett, out of pure consideration.

When Oliver came to his senses, The Burned One asked,

[What do you mean by ‘too much’?]

[…Cursing someone’s family like that isn’t good,] Oliver replied, his voice more lively than usual—likely due to the Filgarett.

[It wasn’t a curse. It was a prophecy.]

As soon as Oliver heard those words, he focused his emotions at the end of the Quarterstaff, unleashing a blast of anger.

The sudden, fearsome explosion pushed The Burned One back, but that was all.

Despite the ferocity of the blast, the demon’s body—which seemed like it could crumble at any moment—remained unscathed.

While Oliver had expected as much, seeing it firsthand made it all the more overwhelming.

Clink.

Just as Oliver tried to extract emotions from the Quarterstaff, The Burned One raised a finger.

It was a gesture to indicate he had something to say. Oliver paused, just as The Burned One had shown him patience before, and soon a voice echoed from all directions.

[Why do you stop?]

It was a contrasting question. One that differed when Oliver asked about Joanna or the City.

The demon, seemingly confused, genuinely asked.

[Didn’t you witness their sins?]

[…I have my own duties. Right now, my job is to assist the Holy Knight.]

[Is that so?]

For a being that usually only spoke when needed, The Burned One’s response felt almost emotional.

[Just let me ask one more question…. Do you truly think you can stop me?]

[Well… I should at least try.]

Oliver, after giving it some brief but deep thought, answered and immediately began extracting his emotions.

A dark emotion, darker than anything else, was drawn from Oliver’s chest.

The intensity and color of it rejected comparison, radiating an unfathomable ominousness and fear—like staring into the midnight sea from the middle of an endless ocean.

Fortunately, the amount was small enough for human eyes to bear.

Oliver scattered that small amount of emotion on the floor and chanted.

[Hell Summon.]

With the chant, the black emotion scattered on the floor began to multiply as soon as it hit the ground, covering the entire surface and spreading even into the shadows, endlessly expanding its influence.

[Imprison.]

As soon as he took control of the space, just as he had done before, Oliver manipulated the unknown black substance to try to restrain The Burned One.

As Oliver clenched his fist, the black substance swirled around The Burned One, spinning like ten tendrils that devoured him.

Leaving no gap to escape.

It was a mysterious magic that had made even Joanna and Archive Merlin flee.

However, The Burned One simply stood there, as if observing.

The black tendrils silently engulfed The Burned One. When the only light disappeared, darkness consumed the space completely.

Deep, profound silence followed.

Silence so profound that it was hard to distinguish between breathing, whether eyes were open or closed.

At that moment, when the stillness felt like it would swallow him whole, light shone in front of Oliver.

The Burned One reignited its burnt body, turning the black substance into ash and brightening the space once more.

It was a behavior not typical of a demon.

For the first time, Hell Summon had failed. Oliver tried to engulf the demon again, but this time the demon was faster.

Huuu.

He exhaled briefly through his smoke-emitting, cracked lips, and the small spark that flew toward Oliver exploded right before him.

━━━!!

The unreal explosion echoed, reflecting its power. Oliver managed to block the initial damage by hastily creating a massive wall out of black substance.

Afterward, he enveloped himself in the substance, forming a Black Suit with a mantle over it.

The fact that he resorted to wearing the cloak, despite the high cost of material, indicated how threatened Oliver felt.

Even while under the influence of the Filgarett.

As soon as he created the cloak, Oliver prepared to move.

Even though it was his first time seeing a demon, and his first time fighting one, he instinctively knew that staying still meant the end.

No, that was incorrect. If The Burned One hadn’t permitted it, this wouldn’t have been possible.

In any case, Oliver had to move.

Squeeze.

Just as Oliver was about to move, something grabbed the hem of his cloak. A weak, almost unnoticed grip.

When Oliver turned his head, he saw children formed from darkness.

Not just the Red Ones boy from earlier, but also female factory workers, newspaper delivery boys, pickpockets, orphans, beggars—a plethora of children from the world.

They were likely fake, yet they felt incredibly real.

[Help us.]

[It’s cold. We’re hungry.]

[It hurts. It hurts so much.]

[We’re scared.]

[We want our mothers.]

The grip on Oliver’s cloak was weak. Though Oliver hesitated momentarily, he swiftly pulled his cloak away, causing the children of darkness to dissipate into the void.

[That’s too harsh.]

An echoing voice spoke from all directions. Based on the experience, Oliver quickly deduced The Burned One’s likely position and swung his Quarterstaff without hesitation.

Although swung with one hand, the armor covering his body caused a sonic boom, producing a ground-shaking force.

But even that tremendous power was stopped by just a single fingertip of The Burned One.

The Burned One, standing ordinarily, blocked Oliver’s attack effortlessly with just one finger.

Oliver manipulated the mantle wrapped around his body to create a new arm to replace his burned one, gripping the Quarterstaff with all his strength, yet he couldn’t push The Burned One back. Instead, Oliver was the one being pushed.

It felt like trying to push a mountain with your bare hands.

With only a slight addition of force in its finger, The Burned One sent Oliver flying backward with an invisible force.

It wasn’t magic, black magic, or the power of nature—it was something beyond.

Oliver, sent flying, managed to stop himself by driving the Quarterstaff into the ground.

Oliver tried to resist by using the black substance again, but the demon clenched the air, compressing the space around Oliver, himself included, and trapping him.

Sssquueeezeee…

[Shadow Spike.]

The pressure was immense, regardless of the armor he wore. Despite the extreme pain from his burned arm, Oliver used black magic to summon a giant spike beneath The Burned One.

But it wasn’t just any spike. The enormous structure, which couldn’t simply be called a spike, emerged.

It was an instrument of punishment from legend, large enough to pierce a giant over 10 meters tall, with countless thorns embedded in its surface.

Under normal circumstances, Oliver wouldn’t have been able to summon something of this scale—but it didn’t matter.

As soon as the massive spike touched The Burned One, it turned to ash without any intermediate process.

It just touched his body.

The demon still stood in that same spot, holding Oliver in an invisible grip.

Even though Oliver had smoked the Filgarett.

[I expected you to hesitate.]

The demon suddenly spoke. It was hard to understand the meaning of those words, but the extreme pain stimulated Oliver’s brain, and soon he grasped it.

It referred to the children who had grabbed Oliver’s cloak earlier—the shadows formed from darkness.

[Did you reject them just because they were illusions?]

The demon inquired.

[You must know they weren’t just simple illusions.]

[…Then what were they?]

Oliver barely managed to ask despite feeling like his whole body was about to explode and the searing pain in his right arm.

[That’s not something I can tell you. You have to figure it out for yourself… What’s important is that you rejected them, for the sake of a filthy, lowly woman nearby.]

The demon glanced at Joanna with its fiery, lightning-filled eyes, then turned back to Oliver.

[I’m deeply disappointed.]

The Burned One tightened its grip further, and Oliver’s armor began to crack, his body producing sounds it shouldn’t.

[Perhaps I came out prematurely. Or maybe you aren’t the one destined to meet expectations.]

Creeeeak.

[It’s fine. You’re a noble and interesting existence, but that’s all. I don’t particularly recognize you.]

The demon concluded. Though Oliver couldn’t read its emotions, it appeared sincere, and as if to prove it, The Burned One fully tightened its grip, ready to twist and crush Oliver.

Waaah…

The moment The Burned One was about to crush Oliver by tightening its grip completely, the cry of a baby echoed faintly beneath him.

From under the black substance that covered the floor, babies began to emerge—blood-red, sticky, seemingly immature newborns.

The babies, with their tiny hands, grabbed the demon and opened their little mouths to bite down.

Crunch.

[Unborn lives. I suppose you are a remarkable being.]

Even as the demon’s body was bitten by the infant’s teeth, the demon spoke calmly.

Meanwhile, more and more babies emerged, biting the demon and piling on top of one another, surrounding and grabbing onto the demon.

A swarm of babies completely enveloped the demon like a colony of ants.

[Murder Alliance.]

Oliver, breaking free from The Burned One’s grip, chanted.

As Oliver chanted, something in the shape of a person emerged from behind him.

A figure covered in tar, burned—resemblant of a demon described in demonology books.

However, they were not demons.

Though Oliver summoned them, he didn’t know what they were. He could only instinctively sense it—they were once humans who had fallen.

Oliver ordered these fallen beings to merge together.

Following his will, they fused into one, using their bones and flesh as materials. Sticky blood served as the adhesive, forming a massive hand wielding a knife.

A knife made by killers, designed to kill others—a horrifying weapon crafted from human sin.

The knife, which compelled those who saw it to gouge their own eyes out, moved according to Oliver’s will, aiming to pierce the demon surrounded by babies.

Filled with all the malice and murderous intent of the world.

Shink!

Astonishingly, the knife pierced through both the babies and The Burned One.

Taking advantage of this moment, Oliver, wielding the Quarterstaff in one hand and the Blood-Stained Dagger in the other, dashed forward with such speed that he quickly closed the distance.

As Oliver closed the distance, he saw it—the demon, unharmed despite being bitten by all the babies and impaled by the massive knife.

Unlike its outward appearance, it didn’t even have a single cut on its fingertips.

The way the demon turned the babies and the knife to ash in an instant conveyed as much.

[Hate Bullet.]

Despite seeing this, Oliver didn’t panic. He created a new rifle with his left hand and fired a Hate Bullet.

The sounds of ten thousand rifles firing simultaneously echoed, and the invisible bullet perforated the demon’s body in countless places.

The demon’s body staggered, if only slightly. Did it work, even for just a moment?

Before Oliver could reach a conclusion, he utilized the black hand made from his cloak to launch a frantic barrage with the Quarterstaff and Blood-Stained Dagger.

He couldn’t give it any time to think.

The Quarterstaff, wrapped in black substance, whipped around like a tornado, striking the demon’s vitals with precision. The Blood-Stained Dagger, filled with countless diseases, swirled relentlessly, slicing the demon’s body repeatedly.

Every time the Dagger, filled with a myriad of diseases, injured the demon, it was engulfed by the residual flames on its body and burned away, leaving no trace.

All the attacks were futile.

Tap. Tap.

The Burned One held Oliver’s Quarterstaff and Dagger lightly between its thumb and index finger.

[Ten Thousand Ghostly Hands.]

Oliver shouted as his cloak turned into ten thousand hands, all grabbing onto The Burned One.

The hands clutched its ankles, calves, waist, shoulders, wrists, arms, knees, head, and neck—every possible part.

The hands of the dead, ravenously devouring all warmth, like ghosts longing for the warmth of the living.

Creak.

The demon’s burned body shrank, and a sound like grinding skin emerged as parts of its body cooled.

As the demon’s body cooled, darkness returned, but Oliver didn’t mind.

Soon, complete darkness enveloped the surroundings, and Oliver concentrated the black substance forming his Black Suit on his face, covering it entirely.

His face took on a grotesque shape, and his mouth opened wide.

[Out Cry.]