Chapter 290
Chapter 290
Translation: Godtl
The color saturation of the demon realm is intense.
Since demons, who are more closely attuned to mana than humans, radiate their own distinct hues more vividly through their individual magical energies.
The demon realm is neither dark nor filthy.
It simply has 'deeper' colors than the human world.
This saturation becomes more pronounced the higher one's rank, and in extreme cases, the surroundings may even become dyed in one's own color while dwelling in a place.
Thus, it goes without saying that when a demon ascends to the rank of the 'Seven Deadly Sins,' the color of the space they occupy spreads to the point of becoming their 'domain.'
"Belphegor."
Inside a massive dome-shaped structure, Belphegor sat in a lowered central clearing, surrounded by a circular staircase where six demons looked down upon him.
The architecture vaguely resembled a small colosseum, but this building was unmistakably a demonic tribunal.
Among the six demons, the one who called Belphegor's name was Satan, the black-winged angel.
"What."
Belphegor's reply was utterly listless, his gaze indifferent as if he were unaware of his predicament.
Yet he knew. Better than anyone.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"Let's get this over with quickly. I doubt you all are as idle as I am."
Satan questioned, and Belphegor answered.
"Belphegor, you were the demon I respected most... Why have you fallen like this...?!"
Lucifer, the demon of Pride, spat out in displeasure. Unlike Satan with his black avian wings, Lucifer bore the most demonic and flamboyant bat wings among them, his crimson eyes flashing.
Meeting that gaze calmly, Belphegor suddenly smirked.
"Indeed. Since I've fallen from that seat, if you're going to send me to Hell, just get on with it. I've no interest in dragging out this farce of a trial."
Belphegor, defeated in battle against Frondier.
Though he had borrowed a human body and the stage was not the demon realm, Belphegor had wielded the power of the Seven Deadly Sins. Yet he lost. His descent from the seat of Sloth was inevitable.
And when a demon of the Seven Deadly Sins falls from their position, they are inevitably cast into Hell. Descending to the lowest rank among demons, where torment and humiliating punishment await.
"Speaking of which, Belphegor."
This time, it was Beelzebub, the demon of Gluttony, who spoke. Contrary to what his title might suggest, Beelzebub was neither overweight nor large in stature. Only his exceptionally long hair stood out.
"You won't be going to Hell."
"Oh?"
"You are to be sent to 'Náströnd.'"
At that, Belphegor's eyelids twitched slightly.
Náströnd was a place in Niflheim—the 'otherworldly' Hell where the dragon Nidhogg dwelled.
"...I thought it was an unspoken rule that we don't interfere with each other's domains."
Náströnd belonged to a fundamentally different world from the demon realm where the Seven Deadly Sins resided.
In the world Frondier originally came from, Niflheim—where Náströnd was located—belonged to Norse mythology, while the Seven Deadly Sins were rooted in Christianity.
Their very origins, the foundations of their worlds, were entirely separate.
Of course, in this world, place names like 'Norse' didn't even exist, and no one knew of them. But regardless, it was an undeniable fact that the two realms were incomparably distant.
"Belphegor, this is one of the consequences of your defeat in that war."
This time, it was Mammon, the demon of Greed, who spoke. Mammon took the form of a young boy, and true to his name, his entire body was adorned with lavish ornaments, jewels, and gold.
"Consequences?"
"Indeed. It seems the humans of the Empire will soon turn their gaze beyond the sea."
The Empire had emerged victorious in the war against Manggot.
Meaning, the land where Manggot once stood now had the potential to become a new safe zone for the Empire.
Manggot had been a resource-barren land, so desolate that not even monsters dwelled there. They had lived within the coastal cliffs riddled with countless caves—right at the edge of the sea.
If the Empire expanded its territory and began to covet what lay beyond the sea, it was inevitable that the gods and demons would also be forced to move.
"Well, if humans from different domains start interacting, the gods governing those domains will inevitably have to engage with each other too. And for the sake of maintaining the balance of power, we demons will have no choice but to unite as well."
At Mammon's words, Belphegor's thoughts accelerated.
'...So they needed a plausible excuse.'
In Belphegor's judgment, the possibility of gods from different worlds joining forces was practically zero.
Gods were not beings who acted based on reason and logic in the first place. Even within their own worlds, gods constantly fought and rebelled against each other—how much worse would it be between different worlds?
Therefore, the claim that devils turned their attention to Nastrond's domain to check divine cooperation was nothing but hollow nonsense.
'They wanted to involve Nastrond from the very beginning. Their real target is all of Niflheim, or perhaps Helheim's Hela.'
It seemed that during the time Belphegor was possessing a human, some rather strange undercurrents had been flowing through the demon world without his knowledge.
'Well, it's none of my concern now.'
At any rate, Belphegor had fallen from the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins, and whether it was Hell or Nastrond, the fact remained that he had fallen.
The balance of the demon world, the devils, or even the gods—none of that was his business anymore.
Truth be told, even when he had held the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins, it hadn't really been his concern either.
"And Belphegor, here is your successor."
Lucifer spoke again, and as if waiting for those words, someone approached with steady footsteps from a distance.
A tall man with a neat uniform and a naturally strict appearance, made even more severe by the glasses he wore, appeared.
Belphegor watched his figure with cold eyes.
"...Astaroth."
Astaroth, in stark contrast to the languid Belphegor, gave a stiff, angular bow.
"I am Astaroth. From today onward, I will be taking charge of 'Sloth.' I hope there will be no misunderstandings."
"Misunderstandings or not, you and I won't be meeting again."
Belphegor, who would be confined to Nastrond, and Astaroth, who now sat in the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins—the two could never physically meet.
Hearing Belphegor's words, Astaroth adjusted his glasses once.
"Well, that's true. Belphegor, the seat of 'Sloth' never suited you in the first place."
A blatant provocation. But Belphegor merely sighed as if bored.
"Yeah, yeah. 'The posture of dominance.' I've heard it all before."
"For one who presides over Sloth to be mired in sloth—what an outrage! One who governs a sin must be free from that sin!"
Astaroth raised his voice as if delivering an impassioned lecture. At his words, Belphegor's gaze flickered slightly.
"...Are you trying to sound like Satan over there?"
At that, Satan tilted his head slightly and merely shrugged.
"...Hmm. I haven't uttered a single word about Lord Satan."
"'Lord Satan,' is it?"
When Belphegor repeated the title, Astaroth's brow twitched.
"I have only recently ascended to the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins. It is merely a matter of respect."
"Hahahaha."
Belphegor laughed. He threw his head back, letting his gray hair cascade, and laughed aloud. Even his laughter had a way of weighing people down. Then, behind that laughter, his eyes narrowed to slits.
"You're doomed. You. It doesn't suit you."
"...! Just because I am not 'slothful' doesn't mean I cannot preside over Sloth—!"
"It's not about the nature of the sin."
This time, Belphegor bowed his head deeply.
Though he had fallen from the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins, his presence, dignity, and power diminished, an aura that made all seven—including Astaroth—tense still emanated from him.
"That 'height' doesn't suit you. You're precarious, Astaroth. Those who stand above must plant both feet firmly on the ground. Not perform acrobatics, twisting their entire body on an unstable balance."
"...You think I'm unstable?"
"For a while, the others will applaud you, calling you impressive. Acrobatics seem more astounding the longer they go on. But no one will ever follow someone who merely struggles to stay upright on a shaky pole."
"...Hmph. The words of a fallen devil hold no persuasion now."
"Yeah, that's right."
Belphegor acknowledged it plainly.
As Astaroth said, he no longer had the right. His words carried no authority or power, and thus, the one who was correct now was Astaroth, not Belphegor.
Yes, precisely because of that, this was nothing more than an old man's concern.
A piece of advice from Belphegor—who had held the seat of the Seven Deadly Sins before Astaroth, who had guarded it 'longer than anyone else here.'
"Just because you embody Sloth doesn't mean you have to be slothful."
Belphegor's half-lidded gaze sweeps over Astaroth, who stands rigidly straight—so stiff it seems unnatural. Observing that posture which appears utterly impervious to any hint of lethargy or laziness.
"......At least learn how to 'sit' in that seat properly."
"What do you—!"
As Astaroth raises his voice in displeasure, it is Lucifer who cuts him off.
"Hey, Belphegor. That's enough. The one who said we should wrap this up quickly is the one talking the most."
"My apologies. I didn't anticipate having such an unexpected successor."
"I've conveyed everything I needed to, but this is just my personal curiosity."
Lucifer's eyes turn toward Belphegor.
"Why did you lose to a human?"
"......"
Belphegor falls silent for a moment.
The seven demons gathered here fundamentally have no interest in humans. No—they may care about humanity as a species, but not about individuals.
The scene of Belphegor's battle with Frondier—anyone could easily verify it with minimal investigation.
Above all, each of their subordinates would have prepared the necessary records. Yet despite that, they're asking Belphegor directly, ignoring all available information.
'Honestly, who are the real slothful ones here?'
Belphegor sighs inwardly.
"Hmph, there's no need to be wary. It's simply that Belphegor was too weak to deserve his place among the Seven Deadly Sins."
Astaroth clicks his tongue as he speaks.
At that, Lucifer's gaze shifts to Astaroth.
"Hey, Astaroth."
"Yes?"
"Watch your tongue. You know nothing about Belphegor."
"......But it's the truth, isn't it—"
Astaroth's attempted retort cuts off abruptly.
His eyelids and lips tremble before his face pales drastically, his expression shaking uncontrollably as his gaze shifts.
At the end of that gaze, Satan smiles faintly.
"It's best to listen quietly to Lucifer, rookie."
The 'Wrath' Satan exudes—thin as a thread, yet unmistakable.
The faint glint of teeth within that smile overwhelms Astaroth in an instant.
"......Yes."
That single word is all Astaroth manages to force out before bowing his head, struggling to hide his cold sweat.
Lucifer exhales through his nose.
"......Hmph, you didn't need to step in, Satan."
"But I agree, you see. It's not just you, Lucifer—I'm also curious how Belphegor lost to a mere human."
At those words, Belphegor looks at Satan. Tilting his head, he casts a dubious gaze his way.
"Hey, Satan."
"Hm?"
"You met Frondier too, didn't you? Before asking how I lost, shouldn't you have some idea yourself?"
Satan, who encountered Frondier before Belphegor.
Though Belphegor doesn't know the exact circumstances, given the sequence of events, it's almost certain Satan met Frondier.
Regardless of how their encounter went, Satan would have glimpsed at least a fragment of Frondier's power.
He's not one to miss such things.
And yet.
"......Hmm?"
Satan tilts his head shamelessly.
"I don't bother remembering every single human."
"......Oh?"
Belphegor's gaze sharpens. The eyes of 'Sloth' scrutinize Satan's pupils as if trying to read his mind.
"——That look of yours is unpleasant."
This time, Satan's Wrath manifests more distinctly.
A far clearer and fiercer torrent compared to what he briefly showed Astaroth surges forth, and in an instant, the atmosphere in the chamber swirls with killing intent.
While the others tense, their focus locked onto Satan, Belphegor—the actual target of that wrath—remains utterly calm and unshaken.
Such is the nature of Sloth.
'......Satan.'
So you're scheming something.
Your connection to Nastrond. The new generation of the Seven Deadly Sins who address you with honorifics. The humans of the Empire soon to cross the sea. Even now, you hide Frondier—the one who demands more caution than anyone else.
'You plan to use them.'
Nastrond. And the Gods.
Above all, you intend to play Frondier de Roah like a piece on your chessboard.
"......Hah."
Belphegor withdraws his gaze. Lowering his head to conceal his expression, he forcibly suppresses the smile threatening to surface.
Using Frondier?
"......Keh, heh heh."
In the end, he fails to hold back a quiet chuckle.
Ah, Nastrond. Truly, this is Hell.
To think I won't be able to see the faces of the Seven Deadly Sins when they meet Frondier. That I must leave their horrified expressions to imagination alone.
'Well then, Satan. Best of luck to you.'
Go ahead—try to use Frondier.
I truly wish to witness that spectacle.