TBR CH62

The bishop’s speech was dignified, his tone steady, and a faint trace of compassion flickered in his gaze as he looked out at the crowd. No matter which direction they stood in, the people below the platform were astonished to find that the bishop’s eyes seemed to meet theirs.

Only the demon lord in the crowd knew that Edwin’s sole focus was on it.

Like an eagle locking onto its prey.

Sata stepped into the plaza. The feast had ended early, leaving time for the bishop’s speech in the square. At that moment, the rose-colored sunset cast a soft glow over the church’s stone steps. The instant its feet touched the heavy stone slabs, the bishop slightly raised his eyes, meeting its gaze without the slightest retreat.

The stone beneath its feet grew faintly scorching. From all around the demon, countless invisible “threads,” woven with the power of holy light, surged toward it.

Ordinary people couldn’t see the demon lord, so Edwin must have employed some sort of trick.

With a burst of strength from its hands, flames leapt between its fingers, silently burning away the threads that crept closer to ensnare it. The threads were light yet resilient, not physical but born from a pre-set trap. As the hellfire consumed them, the broken “threads” turned to ash, drifting lightly onto the demon’s body and the ground at its feet.

Sata suddenly felt uneasy.

It realized that its ash-dusted feet were now firmly shackled to the ground, as if bound by invisible chains.

The bishop had clearly expended immense effort to craft this trap, and now it was draining his strength as well. The holy magic flowed ceaselessly into it, and his face seemed to grow a shade paler.

Even so, the spell’s flaw was fatal.

It was incredibly sturdy yet exceedingly fragile, capable of holding for no more than five minutes.

At the same time, the demon’s other actions remained unhindered.

After a fleeting moment of doubt, Sata began to feel unimpressed.

Did the bishop truly believe that pinning its feet to one spot for a mere few minutes would be enough to stop it? Standing amid the shattered threads, it flashed Edwin a malicious grin, its black claws sharp, its skin rough like tree bark. Its gaze was that of a pure beast.

They sized each other up—this was their first true encounter.

Edwin read contempt in the demon lord’s eyes. Those fiery pupils blazed with disdain and scorn for humanity, a gaze like poisoned thorns, something that could only be described as terrifying.

The bishop didn’t stop speaking. His gray eyes were like thick fog, impenetrable even to the demon lord. Only in the brief pause between paragraphs, as he halted for a moment before continuing, did he reveal a faint smile:

“And so our God has bestowed His will upon us,” he said, “granting blessings to shepherd His flock, while also endowing us with the power to drive out the unclean. Submission alone is the righteous path.”

The human speaking loftily from the high platform was himself the greatest impurity.

Even Sata couldn’t help but think that if piety were a measure of men, Edwin would rank dead last. He was even more greedy and arrogant than its own contracted partner, Angelo, his hands stained with blood and devoid of remorse. An extreme individualist, his so-called faith was nothing more than laughable nonsense.

The demon lord’s hands grew hot. Now was the time.

Didn’t he think he could control everything? Whether it was at Angelo’s behest or its own desire for revenge, whether aimed at frail human flesh or a filthy half-breed demon, it would prove that absolute power could not be defied.

Right here, right now, it would unmask Edwin’s true face.

*

The solemn silence of the crowd was shattered by a scream.

The scream carried an indescribable mix of agony and terror, its owner’s ragged gasps echoing pitifully from somewhere in the packed plaza—or rather, from the direction of the speaking platform. Everyone clearly heard the sound, akin to a beast’s panting.

The guests attending the ceremony, unaware of what was happening, began shoving each other back in panic. Only when they saw the holy knights standing vigilant around the square did they feel a sliver of relief. The knights, meanwhile, moved toward the source of the sound, their faces grim and etched with shock—experienced as they were, they recognized the signs of a demon in the burning flames.

In those few seconds, no one could make out what had happened. The platform was engulfed in sulfurous smoke, something writhing within it, impossible to discern.

As the crowd fled past Sata, it stared unblinkingly at the platform.

Just moments ago, it had made its move.

It had triggered the demonic seed it had planted in Edwin to erupt. By all rights, after so many days, the seed should have taken deep root. At this moment, Edwin should have been forcibly transformed into a demon, his body reeking of sin.

The sulfurous stench and wails erupting from the platform were the perfect proof.

But something felt faintly off—like the ashes beneath its feet, still binding it in place.

A sudden alarm blared in the demon’s subconscious.

Part of it urged immediate escape, while another part knew fleeing was futile. Before it could unravel the source of this ominous premonition, a shattering sensation swept through its soul, crushing most of its power.

How could this be?

Its strength was draining rapidly, as if a bottomless abyss had torn open in its spirit.

The demon lord clutched its chest in horror, frozen in place. The bindings at its feet now felt as heavy as a thousand tons, impossible to break free from. This was no longer a mere five-minute spell—it could last five hours, or even five days, given its current dire state.

Then, in an instant, the thick smoke dispersed.

A holy light pierced through the surging evil. The young bishop stood atop the platform, staff in hand, radiant as a god. The sacred glow stemmed from his power, the crown of the grand bishop gleaming in Edwin’s grasp. Order was restored to all things, and an aura of calm conviction emanated from him.

Edwin’s every move was composed. He calmly bent down, using divine power to subdue the figure writhing on the ground. Only when the figure was completely still did the crowd see his face—

A face covered in grotesque, blood-red demonic markings, though the faint outline of baby-blue eyes remained recognizable. Prince Angelo lay on the ground, gasping hoarsely. He looked utterly wretched, the horrifying patterns seemingly draining his life. His left arm was especially ghastly—beneath skin stretched nearly translucent, something black writhed, slicing through his veins, struggling to break free from his mortal shell.

The bishop swiftly cast a purification spell on him.

The moment the bright light touched Angelo’s skin, it seared into massive blisters.

But regardless, the holy power began to counteract the darkness within him. He groaned in pain, despairingly feeling his life slip away bit by bit. The prince finally realized he was marching toward death. He saw the shadow of the reaper looming over him.

And death was the one thing his kind feared most.

“Save… me.”

Angelo mustered all his strength to raise a hand toward Edwin in a plea for help. Seeing the prince’s pitiful state, the young bishop’s face softened with concern, and a gentle, radiant glow enveloped him further. Yet Angelo clearly felt the holy power silently withdraw from his body, leaving only an endless void of darkness to spread unchecked.

How could this be? How could his end come so abruptly?

His ambitions, his grand achievements, his dream of consuming all—were they to be cast into a bottomless abyss?

The prince strained to turn his body, looking toward the crowd. He tried to sense the demon bound to him by contract, suddenly struck by its absence. But he was dying. With no regard left for reputation or secrecy, he used his last ounce of strength to scream hoarsely at the blurred figures:

“Sata!”

A final cry for help… but there was no response.

*

The demon lord now understood everything after seeing Angelo in this state.

If the demonic seed detonated within a half-breed demon, it would instantly and violently awaken their bloodline.

But what if it exploded in a human?

A human body couldn’t withstand demonic power. It would tear through their veins inch by inch, leaving only death as the outcome.

Prince Angelo’s demise could be directly traced to its actions. And that contract—

The demon lord bitterly regretted the pact it had made with Angelo. The contract forbade either party from harming the other, under penalty of severe backlash. In truth, it even prevented them from harboring intent to harm one another. The only loophole was what had happened today: acting in ignorance.

Nearly killing the other. “Nearly” only because Edwin was still keeping Angelo alive, barely.

The backlash had now taken hold.

It had inflicted this wound upon itself.

A mighty demon lord, crippled by a soul-bound contract, lost more than half its power in an instant. What remained would have been more than enough to handle ordinary humans, but it was now in the heart of a human capital, within the church’s domain, with Edwin—a human capable of driving it to ruin—just steps away.

Though it had no idea how the demonic seed had suddenly shifted into the prince’s body, that didn’t stop its vision from darkening or the visceral despair it felt at this sudden reversal of fortunes.

The demon lord heard Angelo’s cry for help, his sanity gone, shouting its name in front of the crowd—an act tantamount to handing their enemies a blade.

It nearly wanted to rush forward and silence this insolent human’s mouth.In an instant, the feigned frustration drained from the bishop’s face like receding tidewater. His expression turned icy, eyes gleaming with ruthless resolve.  

He released his grip on the wineglass. Obsessing over which cup held the trap was meaningless.  

After all, the answer lay in his palm.  

Edwin’s fingers curled slightly. A silver cross—small enough to pass for a ring’s ornament amidst the banquet’s opulence—nestled against his skin.  

Hollow now, waiting to be filled.  

But not always so.  

A demonic seed, severed from its source, would instinctively seek the most familiar vessel—one saturated with the contract-bound power of a lord demon.  

The seed craved a host. Edwin understood its nature, perhaps better than any demon lord, after countless nights buried in forbidden tomes.  

His own blood remained pure. He held the wine in his mouth, refusing to swallow, leaving the seed no path of return.  

In that fleeting moment when their glasses clinked, Pandora’s box had opened. The inky seed could only have slipped down the prince’s exposed throat, leaving no trace.  

Now, not even the lord demon knew the seed had changed hosts.  

Edwin’s lips quirked faintly.  

Now, the true performance could begin.  

And his next opponent was a genuine demon lord.  

Sata wandered aimlessly through the church, killing time.  

His first instinct had been to head straight for Edwin’s chambers—part of his mission.  

But the lord demon soon discovered, to his irritation, that the bishop had fortified his quarters with absurd vigilance. Three layers of holy wards, each blazing with radiant sigils, barred all dark forces. Even for a lord demon, breaching them would demand exhausting effort.  

The bishop had clearly prepared for this.  

Yet such extreme defenses only stoked curiosity. What was he hiding?  

The powerful demon lord paused, then activated a communication spell, relaying instructions to his counterpart.  

With that settled, Sata drifted elsewhere.  

The Vatican was vast and labyrinthine. Normally, even a lord demon would risk exposure by roaming freely. But tonight was the charity banquet—crowds of celebrating commoners thronged the periphery, providing ample cover. The Church’s strongest forces were concentrated in the main hall anyway.  

Then again, why fret?  

demon lords feared gods, not humans. And the gods had long since turned away from mortal affairs.  

His employer was Prince Anqiluo, a noble born to privilege, standing at the pinnacle of human power. Their adversary? Just a human—or rather, a half-breed succubus.  

The term alone made Sata sneer.  

Edwin. What did he truly possess? Half-breeds were scorned precisely because they could never fully harness either race’s gifts.  

The bishop clung to his human identity because he knew the stolen power of false faith far surpassed anything a lowly half-demon could muster.  

Pitiful.  

The lord demon’s malice swelled. His seed still festered within Edwin, corrupting him ceaselessly.  

Soon, a mere snap of his fingers—  

The magic seed would detonate, flooding the bishop’s veins with demonic essence.  

Anqiluo had chosen the timing perfectly. Soon, Edwin would address the Grand Cathedral as the Church’s representative, before countless witnesses.  

This human who had once wounded him would be ruined, stripped of all power.  

The Vatican would become a laughingstock, its authority shattered.  

Then, his contract with Anqiluo would be fulfilled. The prince would ascend to humanity’s zenith, claiming everything. In return, Sata would receive a steady feast of fresh human souls—steeped in unwilling terror, a demon lord’s favorite vintage.  

Of course, a minor shadow loomed in the background.  

That “presence behind the bishop” had somehow helped Edwin overcome the last crisis. After careful consideration, Anqiluo deemed it a secondary threat—one that would collapse once the bishop fell.  

Sata pondered this as he drifted, until the moment arrived.  

His contract prevented him from straying too far from Anqiluo. Now, he sensed the prince’s summons, drawing him toward the plaza outside the chapel.  

No risk of getting lost.  

The crowd flowed that way.  

The banquet had ended. Satisfied guests and devout commoners gathered, murmuring prayers and exchanging blessings, eager to hear the bishop’s sermon.  

The speech itself mattered little—just the usual pious platitudes and benedictions. The Church’s bishop would wield his scepter to shower divine grace upon all present, a spectacle of fervor and loyalty. The radiance of his holy light would also, indisputably, reflect his power.  

Edwin showed no trace of nerves.  

He was about to take the stage, yet his demeanor remained serene, his faint smile identical to the one he wore during morning prayers. This was one of the rare occasions where even the prince and emperor stood among the masses—albeit closer to the front.  

The restless one was the prince. He glanced around like a novice at his first rite, his sky-blue eyes deceptively transparent yet sharply observant.  

Only when he felt the lord demon’s approach did his tension ease slightly.  

Simultaneously, ravenous ambition surged through Anqiluo’s heart. For the first time, victory felt within reach. His ever-disguising eyes finally betrayed their venomous core.  

From the front row, only Bishop Edwin could clearly see his expression.  

Whether unnoticed or long anticipated, the bishop remained unshaken.  

He began to speak, his voice like tempered steel, steady and calm:  

“It is my greatest honor to stand before you all, gathered here by your faith in the Light, as I convey our god’s will to our brothers and sisters…”

Of course, his feet were rooted to the spot, leaving him able only to stand in place.

Edwin expertly concealed the mockery in his eyes. Only Angelo, the one closest to him, could fully perceive the emotions swirling in the bishop’s gray pupils—cold yet burning arrogance, as if everything rightfully belonged to him, all within his grasp.

“You…”

Seeing Edwin’s composed and unruffled expression, Prince Angelo suddenly lost all strength. He understood that all his struggling had become meaningless, and there was no room left to turn the situation around.

Regret began to set in. His life flashed before his eyes like a carousel of memories—his insatiable greed still unfulfilled, his unfinished endeavors, the plans yet to be set in motion. He had once believed himself on the brink of victory.

Edwin’s face bore a mournful expression as he shook his head at the onlookers.

The gesture implied that Angelo was beyond saving. No one questioned his judgment. The prince appeared utterly defeated by evil forces, his body crumbling before his will, his pale blue eyes brimming with tears—perhaps in repentance for a lifetime of sins. As was customary, Bishop Edwin leaned down to hear the dying man’s final words.

“Tell me,” the bishop said, stroking the rose-beaded necklace around his neck, “is there anything you cannot let go of, or anything worth confessing? This is your last chance. If you sincerely repent, God will forgive your sins.”

Angelo could only muster a faint sound. Calling out to Sata had drained the last of his vitality. He collapsed weakly to the ground, surrounded by the crowd’s fearful, indistinguishable murmurs.

Only Edwin could hear his words:

“I regret…” Each word was labored, as the prince uttered his final statement in this world, “I regret… not killing you ten years ago.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile finally curved the bishop’s lips. He stood up as Angelo’s body began to grow cold at his feet. Addressing the crowd in the name of God’s messenger, he declared, “He has repented.”

*

What followed unfolded as swiftly as a thunderstorm. The people gazed in awe at the bishop atop the platform, the light from his staff shining brighter than that of any predecessor.

Edwin ordered everyone to remain in place, with holy knights guarding the plaza’s perimeter. His words carried an undeniable authority, and all obeyed silently and promptly.

The bishop said, “I fear the demon is still among us.”

He felt a subtle irony in his own statement, though to him, it was a positive one. A child of a human and a succubus, acting as the voice of light, moved through the crowd. Wherever he passed, people bowed their heads submissively, listening to the crisp sound of his stiff leather boots tapping against the stone tiles.

At that moment, everyone seemed enthralled by a strange power—perhaps a twisted form of trust.

No one even felt afraid.

The events had been too horrifying: the nation’s most powerful prince had just met a gruesome end moments ago. Yet now, the crowd followed their shepherd like lambs, instinctively trusting he would lead them through the crisis.

No one doubted Edwin’s ability, even with a vague premonition of the enemy’s terror.

Edwin’s footsteps paused. He stopped.

As he raised his right hand, the air itself seemed to twist and scald from the heat. First came the demon’s hooves—legend said demons had cloven feet, though they were hidden beneath ornate boots. Then its massive form emerged: rough skin, eyes like torches, hellfire blazing in Sata’s gaze. Finally, its sharp, curved horns appeared.

The surrounding crowd was gripped by such terror; they couldn’t fathom a demon being so close.

They instinctively began to retreat, nearly sparking a riot, if not for Edwin’s timely intervention. As his staff touched the ground, countless tiny threads of light spread outward from that point, gradually revealing everything.

The demon’s face was grotesque, its fury toward the bishop almost overflowing. Yet the radiant dust around its ankles bound Sata tightly in place like chains. It thrust out its hands, unleashing flames, the sulfurous stench spreading as lethal attacks aimed at Edwin and the innocent crowd alike.

Every assault was blocked by the bishop of light.

“Confess your sins.”

His expression was solemn. Compared to the towering demon, his human frame seemed so frail. Holy light bound the demon’s hands, then its neck, piercing its shoulder blades and pinning it to the church plaza like an insect nailed to a board.

The people looked at Edwin as if he were their sole savior.

Even the nearby holy knights barely dared to breathe until Edwin signaled them. Only then did they step forward cautiously to restrain the demon. But by now, the demon was harmless, incapable of harming anyone further.

“Bishop,” Sata snarled, its nostrils flaring with furious steam as it struggled futilely, unable to believe it had fallen into a human’s trap—especially one not entirely human, “you’ll regret this! You’ll regret crossing a demon lord. My vengeance will be beyond your imagination—”

Edwin didn’t even respond. His gray eyes were like the eye of a storm, everything around him swirling chaotically as order was reshuffled. Yet he stood at the center, untroubled by anything.

“Demon,” he said calmly, “beyond your inherent wickedness, you will also be judged for the murder of Prince Angelo.”

There was ample evidence to prove it: the black fragments in Angelo’s corpse, their magical signature matching the demon’s perfectly; evidence of dealings with the demon would surely be found in the prince’s mansion. Even if Angelo had burned all traces, it mattered not—Edwin said it existed, so it did.

Everything had proceeded meticulously according to his plan.

Sata clearly knew this too. The demon raged, suddenly erupting into a manic laugh.

“You think you’ve calculated everything, don’t you?” it screeched. “You’ll face retribution, Bishop. Even if no one believes my words now, filthy blood runs through your veins. Everything you possess is stolen, and you’ll never achieve your desires. I refuse to believe you have no weaknesses.”

Edwin paid no heed to these curses.

He was often cursed; even coming from a demon lord, it was nothing remarkable.

Sata would soon be locked in the church’s dungeon, a place devoid of the darkness and dampness it was accustomed to, filled instead with blinding, searing light—perfectly effective against demons.

The people watched in awe as these unbelievable events unfolded. The demon was dragged away, and the bishop courteously apologized for the chaos, promising the church would investigate thoroughly and bless the frightened flock anew.

Some of the wiser onlookers regarded Edwin with more complex expressions.

With Prince Angelo dead, the bell of a new era had rung. The lofty bishop, young as a freshly forged dagger, made the old pope’s death seem inevitable. “Boundless potential” was too frivolous a phrase for him; in truth, the authority he wielded nearly represented the entire human world—half the continent.

Power now rested in his hands, much like the beautiful ruby staff he held.

He would attain unprecedented heights with just a few more steps, as long as he avoided any blatant self-sabotage. A golden carpet stretched out beneath his feet to the horizon. By tonight, nobles seeking an audience with Edwin would likely trample the church’s threshold.

—And most of them wouldn’t even be granted entry.

*

Edwin’s eyes betrayed no emotion. His gray gaze was a mist, its depth inscrutable. He knew he couldn’t show his feelings—revealing emotions allowed others to guess at your weaknesses.

He had succeeded.

Flames burned beneath the fog as he ascended the steps of the white tower, feeling an unprecedented lightness. To have his wishes fulfilled—this must be it. All his schemes had borne fruit, his ambitions finally settled into place.

He knew—he had always known—that he would be the last one standing.

His steps grew lighter, though others couldn’t discern the subtle shift. He allowed himself to indulge in those long-suppressed desires, feeling exhilaration for the first time,狂喜 surging as he finally grasped everything. At the end of this path, he stood victorious, surveying the corpses strewn beneath the steps with a blood-soaked smile.

And at the journey’s end, Edwin stood before a door, unable to suppress a grin. The corner of his mouth curved as he recalled Tal saying he liked this smile—genuine, like that of a twenty-year-old youth.

At the end of the road, he wasn’t alone.

Tal. He reached out to touch the door panel, solid and silent. Tal. He inserted the key into the lock, eliciting a sharp click. Tal. He turned the doorknob, the familiar sound of mechanisms whirring to life. Tal. The wards he had set remained intact, steadfast and unwavering, tirelessly guarding his greatest treasure.

For the first time, Edwin felt an urge to share this moment with someone else. Like a young man about to meet his beloved, he became awkward yet elated in an instant.

He wanted to tell Tal he had succeeded, achieved something extraordinary. He knew the demon would grin and congratulate him on fulfilling his desires. Though he often misjudged Tal’s preferences, the demon was always particularly intrigued by his triumphs.

At seven years old, the parish bishop had said, “This child isn’t worth pitying in death.”

But Tal had told him, “You’re a remarkable human.”

Even if he heard countless such words in his future, Edwin told himself never to pretend they were the same. That one sentence outweighed gold—it had given him a reason to live without shattering.

He had done it.

The morning embrace had been too brief, the kiss cut short by haste. Those were the things he craved.

Would Tal offer them as a reward?

Or perhaps something even better—because Tal always exceeded his expectations just a little.

Edwin pushed open the door with eager anticipation. No more need for pretense; his gray eyes softened, like damp silk. The room was dimly lit, and he instinctively sought those garnet-red eyes.

The first sweep yielded nothing.

Perhaps the demon was resting.

Edwin approached the bed draped in deep purple curtains. He lifted the plush velvet, finding the bed pristine, just as he’d left it. No one was there—the demon wasn’t here.

“Tal?”

The bishop called out once, not yet fully aware of what had happened, though his voice was already trembling slightly.

Perhaps Tal was playing a prank. Demons loved such tricks—maybe he was just hiding in some corner of the room. Edwin checked under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the curtains. Yet every search ended in emptiness, everything silent and cold.

Silent and cold, with no echo to his calls.

Until Edwin suddenly noticed his hands shaking as he stood before the cabinet by the table.

It was the last cabinet.

The rosewood doors were tightly shut. Several times he reached out, but he couldn’t manage to push them open. It was the final place where a demon could possibly hide.

“Tal…”

Edwin closed his eyes. He had never felt so cowardly. He had to be strong, to be cold, to not feel fear. He pressed his lips together and yanked the cabinet door open with force.

—Nothing.

There was nothing.

Hadn’t he realized long ago that he’d been deceiving himself? The bishop’s knees buckled bit by bit. He braced himself with his hands against the top of the cabinet, the hard wood pressing tightly against his chest. He could barely breathe, but only this way could he maintain his balance.

He had noticed it the moment he entered the room—he’d just been pretending that it wasn’t over.

It was gone.

There was no scent of roses in the room, not even a trace. The fragrance of the demon, the rose perfume that filled this space every day, was absent.

If something had happened, this undoubtedly signaled that it was already far too late.

Edwin stood there, nearly dazed, surrounded by a bland, odorless void. The room was vast and quiet. He knew this silence well; he had lived with it alone for over a decade. But now, this silence felt utterly foreign to him.

He couldn’t even discern his own emotions.

…He simply couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t question. That was all.

And Tal wasn’t here.

Absolutely not.