Chapter 122: The Grateful Dead (1/2)

“D*mn it! That little b*stard… how dare he!”

Cecil was returning to his room in utter indignation, but he could not help shivering the instant he stepped inside his own room.

It was not the cold air, however, despite the hearth being not ignited.

What made him shudder was the ice-cold evil energy that was filling the room. The noble fur-coat he was wearing was not just for looks—he wouldn’t feel the chill even if he were outside and it was pouring snow, much less within the castle.

That was when he noticed further a man dressed in a black cloak with a hood up that hid his face inside the room, sitting contentedly in his lounger.

“Who are you?!” Cecil growled the question and calmly grasped the hilt of his sword.

In the next instant, green flames ignited on the hearth, dancing and reaching out of the hearth itself while licking the bricked wall around it.

The terrible light promptly filled the room with faint sulfuric odor.

Then, the door closed itself without any wind blowing on it, which made Cecil even more nervous.

“Long time no see, eldest young master of the Faust family.” Only then did the other person slowly rose, giving a bow that was totally subpar that gave the impression of nonchalance. “You seemed to have run into… certain troubles lately.”

Cecil could not help grimacing at the familiarly hoarse voice—it was the same person from the Secret Eye Society who had persistently reached out to him.

“That’s not important.” The other person replied and slowly approached Cecil. “Could you not want to… remove that ‘little thing’ who’s giving you a hard time?”

“Little thing…”

Cecil appeared slightly moved.

Seizing the moment, the other person promptly drew out a small bottle from his cloak. It was filled with something as thick as bee honey inside, but even the bottle did not give a good impression. “This is it.”

Cecil also noticed that the other person was wearing heavy leather gloves then, and between the person’s cloak, hood, gloves and vaguely visible pants, he had basically covered every bit of their skin tightly.

“What’s this?” He asked carefully.

“The good stuff.” The other person slyly switched the conversation without really answering Cecil. “It would give you power you could never hope to gain for the rest of your life. Just put it in your mouth and gulp it down, and not even the bishops of most churches could best you.”

The person’s hoarse voice seemed to be enchanted, causing Cecil to unwittingly accept the bottle.

“Yes, just like that. With it, you would rule over everything!”

There was satisfaction in that hoarse voice now.

Be that as it may, Cecil’s rather shaky will put on one last resistance.

“At what cost? What does it cost me?!”

“There is only one cost.” The other person locked gazes with Cecil. “Become one of us.”

Cecil felt as if he had fallen within an icy abyss.

He had long suspected that the other person wasn’t human, but was completely certain of it now: those eyes had neither emotion nor warmth—they were amber-colored, with two black reptilian slits in the middle for pupils.

Demon.