Chapter 155
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 155
Chapter Title: Artificial Demon -1-
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Among the children of the Empire's Fourth Knight Floyd family, the only son Leo had inherited from the family head not talent with the sword, but towering pride and a temper like wildfire.
It wasn't so much that Leo lacked sword talent as it was that he had received no proper education in character to match his innate disposition.
His arrogant mind had quickly learned satisfaction, keeping it distant from rigorous training.
A man with ambitions ought to hold high self-esteem and unwavering confidence at all times, or so he believed.
The Fourth Knight's attitude of getting away with anything had no doubt hastened the deterioration of his conduct.
"Can't wait~ It's been ages since we got a decent specimen. Already pumped."
"Ismay-sama. No matter how dim that fool is, it's only been a few days. You think he'll bite that easily...?"
Even to Bernstein, the green rookie with little experience, Leo was catnip for black mages.
Walked upright on two legs with human skin, sure—but that head? Made you wonder if it really belonged to an educated noble.
And yet! Even if his brain was livestock-grade, blind to a single toxic clause in the contract!
She just couldn't picture it unfolding so smoothly.
"Bernstein. Wanna bet on it, just us?"
"..."
"Guys who clam up when the odds suck aren't popular, y'know~"
"My apologies."
Ismay scoffed at Bernstein's stiff demeanor, her face turning serious as she resumed the incantation.
"Tch—no clue how to slow the manifestation speed."
...
There was one thing Nematos possessed that drew envy and jealousy from raving demon cultists like Mendes Pentagram.
Those who dreamed of evolving into demons craved neither noble power nor beautiful women.
To them, the human body was nothing but a pathetic shell to discard upon pure evolution into demonhood.
Black mages who used sacrifices but found excess baggage troublesome—already enlightened to worldly desires.
Mendes Pentagram, branded a collective of madness even among black mages, coveted one item owned by Nematos, whose secular bent stood in total opposition to their own.
They yearned for it desperately.
The 'flesh of a high demon,' obtained through channels unknown.
The flesh of a named high demon was, in simple terms,
To the Church, like the hair or tears of the great archangels who served the goddess at her side—tangible proof directly linked to their objects of worship.
Its acquisition path was shrouded in mystery, known only to Nematos' leader.
Yet it was a mixed blessing.
Used in full, it could transform one into a demon of immense power or unlock new frontiers in black magic.
But to Nematos, who saw becoming a demon—the very emblem of corruption—as a net loss despite the power,
The item made for a fine showpiece to flaunt at rivals, but little more.
Gaining power only to brute-force outcomes ran counter to methods honed over their long history.
Thus, they sought a purpose.
Too valuable to shelve, there had to be a use somewhere.
While stonewalling Mendes Pentagram's long covetousness, they'd researched and dissected the 'high demon's flesh'—and made headway.
The 'demon's flesh' was the tangible embodiment of a unique black magic known as demonization.
They'd analyzed the theory to its limits as foundation.
After countless experiments claiming unknown orphans, nameless villagers, vagrants...
They succeeded in crafting something artificially akin to demon flesh.
Key point: this research wasn't creation, but iterative transformation.
Gather hundreds, thousands of sacrifices, corrupt them with grudges and mash together—no personality remains.
A single hollow ego, innately impure, takes root.
Then bombard with black magic mimicking demonization, rotting the grudge-infested human from within into an impure being.
Sounds simple, but impossible by mundane means.
Demon contracts with brutal penalties taught them via experience: impure results skewed heavily toward the demon side.
Resembled a black orb or the ethereal lump left by a slain demon.
But trigger the penalty through demon contract, and the effect rivaled real demon flesh—a major morale boost.
Internally, its use and mechanics were solid.
Yet improvements needed abounded.
Three big ones.
First: even elite black mages granted the recipe under ironclad pacts took ages to produce—major bottleneck.
Second: for artificial flesh, it was picky, seeking greedy hosts like Leo.
Third: demon-contract base raised odds, but no guarantee of demon transformation.
Ridiculously scant samples made fixes a grim prospect.
Still, Nematos' recipe-holders never paused experiments in off-hours.
This was a pet project of a major heavyweight.
Crack even one issue, skyrocket up the ranks—no stopping.
The Bright daughter, once wife to the late Marquis Enoch Skadi, was the first noble guinea pig—temperament ignored.
But her grudge form immature, faint impurity resistance: ended as mindless failure.
Years of indiscriminate trials yielded no consistent formula yet.
Mages don't quit, though.
Outcomes defying expectation sparked grit, not despair.
"Ismay-sama...! Contract's reacting...!"
Bernstein's uncharacteristically shrill cry drew Ismay's knowing smirk.
"Told ya~ But damn, ain't this quick...?"
Even Ismay, who'd bet Leo Floyd would breach in under a month, reeled at the speed.
"...Orders?"
"Orders? Share position, unleash the watchers. Observation starts now."
This experiment's outcomes swung to extremes always—Ismay couldn't mask her hype.
What would Leo's body yield? The one craving artificial flesh like mad, full of wildcards.
Sacrifices galore for a goblin-weak monster? Veteran-knight death knight?
Or... wholly novel?
"...?"
Like a dawn janitor pigeon scarfing its own puke—what the hell? But its state was off.
Gulped whatever ground slop, then belched black smoke from its whole body like steam.
Puhwaak-!!
I backed off from the creepy-aura creep, watched it rise.
Bloodshot red eyes gone pitch black, pupils glaring fierce yellow.
Skin slathered in sticky smoke, dulled hue, muscles ballooned—bulkier all around.
But the standout? Its noggin.
"Yo... horns on your dome now?"
Two horns spearing the temples—fully inhuman.
Ttuduk- ttuduk-
Horn-crowned head swivels, bares razor beast fangs in a grin.
"So this is a human body? Liberation feels divine."
I loathe male voices to begin with, but this androgynous drone from its yap grated worse.
"Bullshit. Eyes wandering where, punk."
Bbak!
Head twisting toward Chloe's mansion got smacked flat.
Bung—body airborne, spins wild, pulverizes wall on crash-landing.
Ppudeuk- tteudeuk!
Bones and meat forcibly realigning amid dust clouds.
Echoed the freakish second wanderer, Deganello.
"...Human. You're a special threat. This pain sense... this body feels pain, so goddess's devout servant?"
Hallucinatory voice pierced the dust gale.
'Talking all funky from jump?'
Body-snatched by demon? Nah, no vanilla demon puzzles like that.
Chills hit watching it probe like a student interrogating.
'Kill it.'
Instinct screamed: fastest death possible.
"Gleipnir."
Charruruk—
Chains yanked from thin air, gripped two-handed, snipped to sweet-spot length.
White Flame
Hwaruk!
Mana-gobbling blaze reared up, raced down the links.
White inferno spread swift, lit the night vivid.
Horn-head backpedaled, then flashed teeth.
"Yes...! This body-shake on sight... it's fear."
Chain mid-swing. Its finger jabbed Chloe's mansion.
"-■■."
High-speed chant in demon's vicious tongue rivaled silent casting.
Black magic pooled at fingertip—hasty, so middling punch against me, but target crystal: Chloe's room.
"...!"
Impure blob detached from finger.
Gleipnir coiled arm ablaze white flame, I hurled forward.
Kwajangchang-!!
Blocked, but momentum flung me airborne—smashed window, tumbled turns.
'No wounds... bones knit.'
Chase fine.
Impurity resist shrugged this black magic—no Blood Ghost trigger.
Snapped waist-legs spring-coiled upright: pale Chloe rushing in.
"Onii-chan...!! A-are you alright?!"
She'd glimpsed the black magic inbound—hands shake, sword gripped firm.
"Chloe? You good?"
"...I'm okay! O-Onii-chan...!!"
"Cool. Me too."
Ruffled her teary head, eyed tranquil outside—no pursuit.
Peered out: barked a dry laugh.
"Heh~ Bailing?"
Bolted the instant I intercepted.
No glance back, vanished down far alley—I was legit impressed.
Demons I'd faced? Prideful, contract-bound, no true erasure on table—never fled.
This? Alien to my demons, game unseen breed. Pure demon dictionary vibes.
'Pain-in-ass showed up.'
"-Geoeoe."
Ddalgeurak! Ttak!
Mansion underbelly: skeletons, ghouls clawing up sans mana tweaks. Epiphany.
That's the source.
Prior ghoul path fuzzy.
Now? Mere presence leaks impurity, spawning undead.
'That vector? Lucky break.'
Haste chase? Nah.
Smart foe: lock down women—my soft spot—first.
"Kuhk! Kekeke...!"
Dark-alley sprint, belly-cramping laughs at its god-given survival smarts.
Snap call for life: flawless.
That white blaze? Ash of current self.
"Hahaha!! This is living! Eyeful, moron trash—watch and learn?"
Leo Floyd, this body's prior tenant, clueless on life's ins and outs.
Caged narrow, peeked world—dawned: for impure me, no finer vessel.
Observed, absorbed from within.
Tender young meat softest; booze snaps emotion chains, mood lifts.
Weak-beating catharsis sans worry; hunger? Chomp natural.
"Hehe..."
Eujik- eujik-
Sword per ingrained habit, corpse to maw.
Hunger screamed natural; bliss.
Blood-flesh sugared to its palate.
Impure meat rampaged humans, exponential swell short span—horns tripled.
Arms elongated, slabs hypertrophied—knuckles dragged ground.
Learned mute screams, cloak bulk in shadow.
"Kyaaak!!"
"R-run!"
Adults pulped one-arm grip; eyed humans petrified, immobile.
Omnipotence incarnate.
Brain swelled black-magic lore instinctive as breath.
Self-assured, truth hit.
Humans? Thirst-quenchers infinite.
Power amp: dark alleys prime.
Short span, devoured how many?
Sudden stall: humans yielded no growth buzz.
Vanilla folk capped ascent. Crave exotic.
"You mangy fuck."
Kwang!
Ground-pounder touchdown: face clearer, lighter prior.
Solo, bet.
But preps maxed here too.
"At last... arrived. Tardiness slew these. Kehuhl!!"
Man eyed corpses: meh.
"Tough shit. My fault I poked 'em dead?"
Kung-! Kung-! Kung-!
"Grgrha... guts yanked, showered on prior chick—feast."
Close: gaze dwarfed, man bug-smash bait.
"Gab sharper, stature sprouted. Puberty? Bald why? Run-trail invisible."
Zero fear maxed self.
Pride now forbids.
"Shut it!! Flee... no flee...! Shame none!!"
"-■."
Single utter: quakes; crude colossus blade erupts.
Corpses hyper-rot to grudge-wraiths not undead; turf impurity-thrashes.
"Sweet. Bring it."
Normal breather hellhole pierced.
Chains tourniquet arms: man stomped close.
