Chapter 595: The Arrest of the Devil
"Mark, don’t hesitate anymore. You were born to inherit this place. This is the legacy your Father left for you—forever yours."
"Enough, Frank."
The youth named Mark gripped the whip in his hand, his gaze fixed on the distant herd of sheep grazing across the endless expanse of deep green grass. He clenched his jaw, saying nothing more.
But if one looked closely, a chilling truth would become apparent—Mark stood utterly alone.
Mark Brown was the rightful heir to this fertile land and its flocks.
Decades ago, his father, Tommy Brown, had been nothing more than a peasant laborer. But after joining the Kingdom of Ashen, he climbed the ranks, eventually wresting this land and its herds from the hands of a Northern Noble.
Yet fortune did not last. Due to a recurrence of old battlefield wounds, Tommy passed away shortly afterward, leaving behind only a seven-year-old Mark and his grieving mother.
With such a vast pasture to manage, a woman and a half-grown child could not survive on their own. Soon, an uninvited guest arrived—the so-called Uncle Gordon Gray, Mark’s stepfather.
Even more unsettling to Mark was how quickly Gordon and his mother welcomed a new son—Theodore Gray—named for the divine blessing he was said to carry. From the very beginning, the boy was doted on, adored.
Theodore. A child blessed by the Divine Being. The name alone spoke volumes about the love lavished upon him.
Hearing the infant’s cries echoing through the night, watching his mother beam with joy in Gordon’s arms, Mark clenched his fists. A crushing weight of despair settled in his chest. He felt like a stranger in his own home.
Not long after, Mark’s mother—already weakened by years of mistreatment under a former master—fell gravely ill, her days numbered.
Once she was gone, Mark would have no remaining bloodline kin. Only the cold, alien presence of his stepfather would remain.
“Will this land, my father’s legacy, truly become the Gray name?” Mark thought, gazing at the familiar pasture, the crowded sheep. A silent sigh escaped him.
He had sat here among the haystacks for hours. The night had grown pitch black. He wanted to return to the house his father had left behind—but he could not face the man he now called “father.”
"Mark, haven’t you realized yet? If you keep hesitating, if you keep showing mercy, you’ll become a slave to the Gray Clan."
A hissing, spiny-voiced whisper echoed in Mark’s ear—the same voice.
After his father’s death, Mark grew withdrawn, isolated. He had few friends in the village, often weeping alone beneath the stars.
But his stepfather and mother poured all their attention onto the new life—their “son”—completely unaware of Mark’s suffering.
Yet in recent months, Mark had found one true friend: a creature with tattered wings and crimson skin, named Frank.
No one else could see Frank. Not his mother, not his stepfather—no one.
At first, Mark had despised the being, wary of a creature claiming to be a wish-elf. But as the neglect from his own household grew heavier, Mark began confiding in Frank, sharing every sorrow, every secret. Their bond deepened until they spoke as freely as brothers.
"Frank… even so, they’re my family. I can’t do this to them," Mark whispered, voice trembling, eyes distant.
But Frank leaned close, his spiny voice soft and cold in Mark’s ear:
"Family? Did they ever treat you like one? Think carefully, Mark. The pasture, the house, the sheep—your mother’s love… all of it should belong to you."
"But now? You’re just their servant."
Frank’s words were sharp, venomous—like a dagger smeared with poison, plunging deep into Mark’s heart.
"No… it can’t be!" Mark shook his head violently, throwing off Frank’s clawed hand, curling into a ball beneath the haystack.
"I… I still have my mother. She’ll never abandon me. She always loved me."
Frank flapped his ragged wings, hovering beside him, then gently patted his shoulder—a gesture meant to comfort.
"Mark, I understand your pain. But ask yourself—why did your mother fall so suddenly? Think about it. If she dies, who gains the most?"
"Your father’s hard-won wealth—the sheep, the pasture, the house… who would inherit it all?"
As Frank’s words twisted deeper into Mark’s mind, the boy, eyes glistening with tears, whispered the name he had long refused to speak.
"Gordon Gray."
"More precisely," Frank added with a mocking chuckle, "your little brother—Theodore Gray. The Divine Child. What a name full of ambition."
He laughed again, low and bitter.
"In the face of such easy gain, even a wife’s life is worthless. Imagine, Mark—once your mother is dead, Gordon Gray can claim your home, your flock, and pass everything to Theodore. And you? You’ll be nothing more than a slave to the Gray Clan."
Hearing this grim vision, Mark trembled with rage. His eyes burned red with fury.
"No! These are my father’s things! He gave his life for them!"
"Yes, little Brown," Frank purred, delighted by the unfamiliar title. "You should take up your weapon. Before they strike first, kill that damned invader—and his bastard spawn."
But Mark hesitated. To him, a common shepherd boy, the thought of murder was unimaginable.
"But… that’s a crime! The Empire’s Public Order Unit will never forgive me!"
"Crime?" Frank leaned in, voice dripping with scorn. "You’re defending your rightful inheritance. You’re protecting your father’s honor, guarding your homeland. Even the gods’ own judge would not condemn you!"
"But…" Mark curled tighter into the hay, his face a storm of anger, fear, and confusion.
Frank pressed on, relentless:
"Do you want your father to be disgraced? He was a hero who defeated a Northern Noble. And you, Mark… I was wrong about you. You’re just a coward, a timid wretch, watching helplessly as your homeland is stolen, your mother bowing to another man!"
"Enough!" Mark suddenly roared, rising to his feet. His youthful face, once soft, now bore a terrifying ferocity.
Frank’s eyes lit up. He perched on Mark’s shoulder, praising him.
"Face it, Mark! That’s what a hero does—destroy everyone who has wronged you!"
"I will not shame my father," Mark growled, teeth clenched. "I will become a hero like him. I will protect my homeland."
He reached for the pitchfork buried in the haystack, turned, and stared at the dimly lit house.
The invader and his bastard son were asleep. Anan, the baby, lay safely in the home his father had left behind.
The moon shone bright. The wind was gentle. Now was the moment.
Mark stepped forward, his resolve unshakable. He would use the pitchfork to erase all—no matter the cost.
At the door of the old house, he took a deep breath, steadying himself. I’m not wrong. I’m defending my homeland.
"Go on, Mark. Do what you must. There’s no shame in it," Frank whispered.
Mark pushed the door open—creak.
Silently, he slipped inside.
There they were: his mother, betraying him; his greedy stepfather; the infant, oblivious.
Mark trembled. Slowly, he raised the pitchfork.
"Think of all you’ve suffered. Kill them. Kill them all," Frank urged, his voice rising like a crowd’s roar, fueling Mark’s fury.
He remembered every silent night of tears. The cold stares. The mother’s indifference—whether deliberate or not.
No more hesitation.
"This is what you deserve."
He whispered the words, held his breath, closed his eyes—
"Stop!"
The room exploded into light. Bright lamps flared, turning the dark space into daylight.
Gordon, his mother, and the baby all jolted awake.
"Mark, what are you doing?" his mother shrieked.
Mark collapsed—like a balloon pierced by a needle. All the courage he’d gathered, the fire in his heart, vanished in an instant.
"Kill them! Now! This is your last chance!" Frank screamed, desperate.
But Mark stood frozen. His legs shook. He slowly turned around.
How… could this be?
Behind him stood a line of fully armed Tiefling Soldiers, rifles at the ready, their insignias unmistakable.
The Imperial Emblem of Ashen—the very symbol Mark had dreamed of.
At the front stood a Tiefling Captain, rifle leveled at the air, trigger finger tight.
"Imperial Guard! By order of His Majesty, we are arresting an unauthorized Devil trespassing in the Empire. All bystanders—leave immediately!"
"A Devil?" Mark turned, eyes wide, staring at the crimson-skinned "wish-elf" beside him.
Frank’s form had transformed—horrifying, monstrous.
Mark realized with dawning horror: his closest companion… was a creature of the Abyss. And he had nearly been corrupted by a Devil, ready to commit unspeakable crimes.
"Insolent mortal!" The once-childlike figure, almost innocent in appearance, now twisted into a nightmare. Blood-red aura pulsed around him—dark, ancient evil.
"Ahh!" Mark fell to his knees, paralyzed.
His mother and stepfather screamed in terror. The baby wailed, nearly fainting.
"Fear, mortal! I am Frank, your nightmare!" The Devil sneered, trying to terrify the soldiers.
But the Tiefling Captain remained unmoved, cold, focused.
"A mere little Devil dares to deceive the Imperial Guard? How foolish."
No more words.
The rifle fired—crack!
A rune-etched bullet shot from the barrel, slicing past Frank’s shoulder.
"Ahh!" The Devil howled in pain, clutching his burned arm, eyes wide with shock.
He knew—he was exposed.
Frank’s bravado vanished. He raised his hands, grinning weakly.
"We’re kin, aren’t we? You’re Devil blood too! We’re comrades! Let me call upon the Lords of the Nine Hells—"
"Enough!" The Captain’s voice cut through the air like steel.
"We serve the Supreme King, Kai Xiusu. Our blood is dragon-fire, pure and hot. We have no kinship with the filth of Hell. Choose: surrender… or die."
Suddenly—pop.
A puff of crimson smoke erupted where Frank had stood. The Devil was gone.
Only a snarl remained, echoing in the tongue of the Abyss:
"You damned scum!"
The soldiers didn’t flinch. They turned, smiling.
"Thank you, Lord Charlotte."
A man in a long robe stepped forward, removing his hood with a cheerful grin.
"Nothing to thank me for. Just serving the Empire."
He opened a burlap sack, summoned a Mage Hand, and lifted the half-charred Devil into the air.
"You’re under arrest, Devil Frank."
"Let me go! You insolent mortals!" The tiny Devil raged inside a birdcage-like prison, pounding the bars in vain.
All across the Empire, such scenes played out.
Devils from the Abyss—once feared and powerful—were now helpless before the might of the Imperial Favored.
Imperial Duke Meizhuolashi had established an Exorcism Unit, summoning players across the realm to hunt down traces of Devil presence, one by one.
And every time, the outcome was the same.
The Devil was captured.
(End of Chapter)
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