Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Decarabia, Ruler of the Overseers
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Madmen charging forward without a care for their own lives or those of their comrades.
It was possible only because of their blind faith that the demon they worshipped would gladly accept all these sacrifices.
The reason people despise demon worshippers isn’t simply because imperial law forbids their actions.
It’s the fanaticism that defies both reason and emotion—something that instinctively repulses ordinary folk.
Damian, however, felt none of that. He’d tangled with them multiple times even before his regression, but the biggest reason was that he himself wielded black magic, the power of demons.
To Damian, their fanaticism wasn’t frightening; it was pathetic.
They were throwing away their lives for a demon that didn’t exist—or even if it did, wouldn’t spare them a glance.
The only cure for them was death. So Damian showed no mercy.
This time, he spread his Stone Scales thinly but widely, swinging his curved sword to block their approach. The preparation time was short, so it wasn’t very strong, but it only needed to buy a little time.
Whoosh. Green flames immediately filled the underground space. There were no survivors anyway, and no one trying to flee, so using Hellfire here posed no problem.
Moreover, buildings in the south were made of earth rather than wood due to the region’s characteristics, so there was no risk of the flames spreading outside.
““Kuaaaagh!! Kuaaaagh!!””
The demon worshippers screamed in agony. Those still intact behind them hurled flames and lightning, but these were futilely blocked by the Stone Scales barrier.
Even so, they charged on all fours. Crying out the name of the demon they served, begging it for strength.
‘Idiots.’
Demons don’t seek worship. They seek those who pique their interest through contracts.
Of course, in this era, Damian was the only one who drew their interest.
The battle ended anticlimactically. Leaving behind corpses burned by Hellfire and shredded by Stone Scales, Damian approached the priest fixed to the wall.
“You…. You know. Damian Renekht. The empire’s illegitimate child….”
“Who asked?”
The priest, bound with Stone Scales shackles, could do nothing but snarl.
Damian placed a hand on the man’s head and used Absorption to extract his memories.
Amid the choppy, fragmented scenes, Damian sought one piece of information: whether they had secured the Book of Hell.
‘Doesn’t seem like it.’
The scale was different from what he remembered too. This woman, eyes rolled back and drooling, wasn’t just some executive—she was the leader of this group.
Back when Damian wandered the continent, Telokan’s Seed was a fairly large demon-worshipping cult. They didn’t hesitate to reveal their identity.
It seemed the incident in Kerjite City had served as a catalyst for their expansion.
Of course, that future was gone now.
‘Might as well do it here?’
He reached into his Subspace Pouch and pulled out the Book of Hell—Dalet. There was a suitable altar spot nearby too.
Chanting the book’s contents in the demonic tongue as before, black smoke filled the surroundings. A flash of light burst from within.
[Ho ho. It’s been ages since I descended here.]
A sweet, melodic voice tickled Damian’s eardrums. The sound alone evoked the image of a polite young man.
But its true form was quite different: a wrinkled face with a bandit-like bushy beard, and something sharp—tumor or horn?—protruding from the head.
Even stranger, its lower body attached right below the chest, hands neatly clasped, and soles of its feet pressing against its own temples.
Its head protrusions, elbows, and knees formed the points of a pentagram. A faint glow emanated from its body too.
Decarabia.
Ruler of the Overseers.
Hell’s magistrate, debating its great and small affairs.
[I came because you piqued my interest, but….]
Decarabia floated in the air, surveying the area. The basement where he’d been summoned was filled only with the corpses of the demon worshippers Damian had just slain.
[Surely you didn’t prepare the bodies of those who worship the unworshippable… for me? If so, I’m a bit disappointed.]
Decarabia’s expression hid none of his displeasure. Perhaps as a result, the glow from him dimmed slightly.
“As if.”
Damian pulled the prepared offering from his Subspace Pouch. Decarabia’s face lit up, and the surroundings brightened like midday.
[My eye. My beloved eye.]
Decarabia’s mouth gaped wide, and a tongue covered in blisters extended forward.
Damian placed Decarabia’s eye on the tongue. Decarabia gulped it down and savored the ecstasy for a moment.
[That guy was a fun black magician. Now I can fully relish the scene he saw in his final moments. Pity I didn’t ask his name.]
Damian had heard this story from Decarabia even before his regression.
The black magician who became a mummy in the canyon—he was Decarabia’s last contractor before Damian.
[And the black magician before me now is quite the marvel too. Only three contracted demons, and all of them Lords of Hell.]
Today, he’d add one more Lord of Hell. Decarabia didn’t mention it outright.
[You already have the offering I desire.]
Before his regression, Damian had heard this directly from Decarabia himself. When Damian contracted with the fifth Overseer, Decarabia approached him.
The visions from Black Magic—Oversight could be shared with the contracted Overseer. And their master, Decarabia, as well.
Hell’s magistrate seemed quite pleased with the visions he saw through Damian. Of course, being a demon’s sentiment, it was impossible to know exactly what satisfied him.
“Guess I’m fated to contract with you.”
Decarabia burst into laughter at Damian’s response. Convinced.
A human might sense something off, but demons didn’t care.
To them, the human world was mere entertainment. As long as it was amusing, inconsistencies didn’t matter.
Soon, a new contract took root in Damian’s soul. He could now use Black Magic—Oversight anytime.
[You seem to know the future.]
But this remark made Damian flinch slightly. The Lords of Hell he’d contracted with didn’t recognize his regression.
[Of course, no human or demon could do such a thing. Prophecy or prediction is possible, but defying time isn’t.]
“What!?”
The next words were even more shocking.
No human power could traverse time. But the Queen of Hell, mistress of time, vengeance, and mercy—she could.
Not all Lords of Hell knew much about each other. But Decarabia was different.
It’d be odd if Hell’s magistrate didn’t know of Ishtar’s power. Had something happened to her regarding the regression?
He tried to probe, but Decarabia vanished after the contract. The basement held only demon worshippers’ corpses now.
‘Damn.’
Borrowing Gremory’s words, Decarabia was a voyeur.
He only watched, never chatting beyond necessities. Even before regression, there’d been no further contact after contract discussions.
He’d have to use up a Dalet or ask another Lord of Hell later.
For now, Ishtar’s intentions were a major concern Damian couldn’t ignore.
Rumble! Damian used Stone Scales to collapse the building. So old and decrepit, it’d pass as a natural collapse.
No need to check the basement buried under the rubble.
* * *
“Mmm~! Feels refreshing.”
The next day, strolling the same market street as before, Paruzan’s face was bright.
“Male. Look at that beast over there. Doesn’t it look just like that Derek guy?”
Her attitude toward Damian was much warmer now. He’d earned her trust by addressing the anxiety she felt—and resolving it himself.
Of course, he hadn’t shared the details. Paruzan didn’t seem too interested anyway.
‘Pursuit’ occasionally showed prophetic-like abilities. But it was an uncontrollable power. Paruzan herself only sensed it vaguely.
“It was a short time, but traveling with you was enlightening, Eric.”
His contract with Skelt ended here. The completion fee he handed over was more generous than expected.
Likely accounting for the byproducts from hunting two sandworms and a salamander.
“You want to borrow Paruzan for a bit?”
This time, instead of sneaking off, he formally asked Dudek.
He had business in the south and needed Paruzan’s help, he explained.
About two weeks. Couldn’t share details, but he’d pay appropriately if needed.
“I want to go, Dudek.”
With Paruzan saying so too, Dudek looked troubled.
Thanks to Damian hunting an adolescent salamander, they wouldn’t worry about food for a while.
And since Paruzan wanted it strongly, he couldn’t just refuse.
“…Understood. I owe you, Eric. Just please take good care of Paruzan. She’s precious to our tribe.”
Dudek explained their migration route to Paruzan. With ‘Pursuit’, she could find the group even without it.
He offered a camel too, but Damian declined. The Stone Scales sandskiff was faster.
Paruzan seemed to like the sandskiff too; when Damian refused the camel, she smiled with hidden excitement.
“That way. There’s an oasis over there.”
Paruzan’s aura had plenty of non-combat uses.
She remembered and pinpointed an oasis’s water scent from far away.
It made sense why Dudek was strict with her yet cherished her.
The night before reaching Meidiran, while Damian stood night watch, Paruzan approached wrapped in a blanket.
“Time to come clean, male? Your real face, and real name.”
Figured she’d notice. ‘Pursuit’ made even white lies impossible.
‘No big deal if it’s just her.’
Damian’s worry was word getting out about an imperial visiting the south unofficially. As a nomad, Paruzan posed no such risk.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself. Damian Renekht, the imperial bastard.”
He said, removing Eric Hilton’s mask. But Paruzan just tilted her head.
“Imperial? Bastard?”
A girl from the empire’s most remote region. It was natural she didn’t know.
“Anyway, your name’s Damian, right, male? Nice name. Your real face looks way better.”
Now Damian tilted his head. This reaction differed from before his regression.
Paruzan hadn’t just ignored his looks back then—she’d disliked them.
-A face perfect for dying alone in the desert.
Of course, his current face and pre-regression one were quite different. Back then, he was gaunt and pale-skinned.
Now, he clearly registered as a proper male in her eyes.
“Damian, ask me if you’re curious about something too. Fair’s fair.”
A question. There was one thing he’d wanted to confirm.
“Why do you hate Hashashin?”
“Didn’t you know? You’re a fortune-teller, male.”
“Fortune-telling doesn’t reveal everything.”
He could guess. Paruzan had no tribe left. Hashashin must’ve wiped it out over some grudge, her fortune-reading probably the trigger.
What else would make her hate assassins?
Still, he wanted to hear the exact reason from her.
“Sigh…. No. It’s not that.”
Paruzan’s expression was complex. Relieved yet anxious. Reluctant to speak the truth?
“No need if you don’t want to. Everyone has their reasons.”
“No, I’ll tell you.”
She suddenly grabbed Damian’s hand and pressed it to her left breast. More than the soft sensation, something else sharpened his nerves.
“You….”
A strange sensation emanated from her heart. Damian had felt a similar power before.
The odd bell in Rubia’s hand. It matched the ancient magic that nullified black magic.
Why did such power reside in this girl’s heart?
“This is my fate.”
Paruzan’s voice was eerily calm.