Devil Slave (Satan system)

Chapter 1172: Perseus Hunts the Treasures

There was no response from the looming castle, only a sudden rush of darkline magic—a malevolent force that exploded outward, sending wind in every direction. Peasants and cripples scattered in terror, fleeing as the air itself seemed to darken, their screams drowned in the howl of the wind. The ominous energy swirled around Perseus, ruffling his long coat but leaving him otherwise untouched, as though the magic dared not harm him.

A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed from within the castle walls, thick with mocking cruelty. The darkline magic dissipated, and in its wake, demons appeared. They crawled forth from the shadows—creatures of Greed, twisted and grotesque, their eyes gleaming with hunger as they encircled Perseus like a pack of starved wolves eyeing a lone piece of meat.

Their forms were hideous—scaled, bloated bodies that seemed to ripple with gluttonous power. Each demon bore a twisted crown of jagged bone upon their heads, a mark of the royal Greed family.

Their skin was a sickly shade of green, shimmering with an oily sheen, and their long, clawed fingers twitched with barely contained excitement. Their mouths gaped unnaturally wide, filled with rows of needle-like teeth dripping with saliva, as if they could already taste the flesh of their prey.

Perseus stood in their midst, unfazed by the growing horde, his cold gaze locked on the castle.

A voice, deep and ancient, filled with disdain, boomed from within the fortress. It was rich with malice, each word dripping with arrogance. "Perseus of the Lenny royal family....Hahaha!... You fool. You are outnumbered. You actually came. Did you really think you could stand against the DEMON royal family of Greed?"

The demons snarled in agreement, their monstrous laughter blending with the voice. "You, a mere human in a world that devours your kind? You will die here, Perseus, forgotten like the dead world you come from—the lost Eighth Earth. You’re nothing more than an insect crawling to your own death."

It had been many years since the eighth earth had been put within Odin’s sleep. None could enter nor leave. For this reason, it had come to be called a dead plane.

Of course, this was a tag the royal demon families gave it as a result of the fact that they wanted to save face since they were not able to capture it all those many years ago.

Also, they had suffered a terrible defeat at its hands. A defeat that they wanted no ears to hear.

regardless of the threat, Perseus did not flinch. A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a spark of defiance in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, and in a low, almost amused tone, he said, "I didn’t come alone."

The moment those words left his lips, the shadows around him began to stir. The air shifted as a massive presence descended upon the battlefield. From the darkness, hulking figures emerged—werewolves, towering and powerful. Their fur was pure white, glowing faintly under the pale light, their eyes burning with an eerie blue fire. Muscles rippled beneath their coats, claws gleaming in the dim light as they surrounded Perseus, their growls deep and menacing.

The demons of Greed faltered for a moment, their hunger replaced with caution as the werewolves revealed themselves, massive and poised for battle.

These were werewolves, Great grand children of Victor, and now one of the defining threats in the underworld.

Rumors of important figures that had fell by their claws and teeth spread around the underworld like wild fire. And yet, it is said that no one is ever truly able to catch sight of them.

It was also unknown who they worked for. Only that since the Royal demon families have been hunting treasures, these group had also taken a deep interest in them.

Naturally, there was now a conflict of interest. And now, there was a face off.

The tide had turned, and Perseus, no longer alone, stood tall. "Now," he muttered, the electricity crackling around him once more, "let’s see who gets devoured, DEMON TRASH!"

"TRASH!!?" A Scream came from within the castle. "I’ll show you who is the real trash..."

Perseus’s lips barely moved as he muttered, "I’m only interested in their cores. Dispose of this disgust."

"Yes... lord Perseus..." They responded in sync.

The moment those words escaped his mouth, the white fur of the werewolves seemed to shimmer, glowing faintly before solidifying into bronze armor. The armor bore intricate symbols of the Lenny royal family—spirals of power and lineage etched into the plates.

It clung perfectly to the massive forms of the werewolves, a gleaming contrast to their ghostly fur. With slow, deliberate movements, the beasts advanced, their eyes locked on the demons of Greed, who hissed in response.

And then, without warning, the werewolves roared, their mighty voices shaking the ground. They leapt with terrifying speed, claws extended, fangs bared, and the battle began.

It was a brutal, savage clash. The werewolves tore through the ranks of demons with ferocious precision, their claws ripping through flesh and bone. Limbs flew, blood splattering the ground in thick, dark pools. One demon shrieked as a werewolf’s claws plunged into its belly, pulling out its entrails with one swift motion. Another demon attempted to swipe with its razor-like claws, only to have its head crushed between the powerful jaws of a werewolf, skull cracking like dry wood.

The demons fought back with equal ferocity, wielding blades of darkline magic that seemed to hunger for destruction. One demon slashed across a werewolf’s side, the magic blade swallowing the fur and flesh beneath, but the beast barely flinched, driven by the rage of battle. The werewolves pressed on, unstoppable, snapping necks, shattering spines, disemboweling any demon that dared stand in their path.

The air was filled with the sickening sounds of flesh tearing, bones breaking, and blood spraying. It was a massacre—bodies piled up, limbs twitching in the dirt, the stench of death overpowering the battlefield.

Yet amidst this chaos, Perseus walked forward, untouched by the violence that raged around him. His chest was out, exposed to the danger, but nothing came near him. He moved with the calm confidence of a man who had faced death and won, again and again.

It had been many years since Perseus left the Eighth Earth, and the passage of time had etched its marks on him. His once youthful face was now hidden beneath a thick beard, rough and untamed, his appearance almost homeless. His hair, long and disheveled, framed his face in a wild mane. But his eyes—his eyes held an intensity that spoke of a life lived hard, a life where survival was never guaranteed. Those eyes gleamed with a fierce will, a burning determination that had kept him alive through trials unimaginable.

Though unkempt, there was still an undeniable handsomeness to him, a rugged allure that could only come from the bond of the Lenny family.

His features, strong and sharp, bore the legacy of his lineage. There was something magnetic about him, a charisma that cut through the grime and weariness like a blade through fog. Even now, disheveled and scarred by time, he exuded power—an irresistible force cloaked in mystery and danger.

As the battle raged on behind him, Perseus strode through the field of carnage, untouched by claws, blades, or magic. The werewolves tore the demons apart, but no blood stained him, no blade ever dared to strike him.

He stepped into the castle, the doors creaking as they closed behind him. The darkness within seemed to swallow the light. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and ancient, forgotten things.

Suddenly, a massive vine, thick and knotted, shot out from the shadows. It wrapped around Perseus with astonishing speed, binding him in place, lifting him into the air like a ragdoll. The vine squeezed, the bark digging into his skin, but Perseus remained calm, his expression unchanging.

He gazed down at the vines with a detached curiosity, as if this were nothing more than an inconvenience. His body hung in the air, but his eyes burned with the same unyielding fire. "Is that all?" he muttered under his breath, unbothered by the grip that would have crushed a lesser man.

From the shadows of the castle, the demon revealed itself. It slithered forward, its body a grotesque amalgamation of writhing vines. Each vine was alive, pulsating with sickly green energy, twisting and coiling as though it had a mind of its own. The vines were slick, covered in a thick, viscous substance that smelled of decay. Yet, despite their vile nature, they glittered with gold and silver, precious metals fused into the creature’s very form, dragging it down like an obscene display of wealth.

Embedded in the writhing mass were jewels—emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds—each larger than a man’s fist. The stones glowed faintly, casting an eerie, unnatural light across the demon’s grotesque body. They jiggled as the vines slithered, clinking together like mockery of treasure. But the weight of the gold and jewels did not make the demon majestic; instead, it seemed heavy, burdened by its own opulence. The treasure, beautiful as it was, became part of the hideousness, a twisted display of greed and power.

The creature’s eyes—if they could be called that—were nothing more than dark, gaping holes amidst the vines. From deep within those holes, two faint glimmers of red stared at Perseus with hunger and malice. Its voice was a deep, wet rasp, like the sound of something ancient and long decayed, rising from the depths of the earth.

"I know why you have come, Perseus of the Lenny family," it hissed. "You’ve gathered treasures… treasures of unimaginable power. Give them to me, and I may let you walk free from this place."

The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The demon’s voice dripped with menace, each word heavy with malice. It loomed closer, its vines twisting and curling around Perseus, tightening their grip ever so slightly, as if to emphasize the severity of the situation.

"I am a Great Demon," it continued, the words rumbling through the room like the growl of some terrible beast. "The power I command now… could END even a country. A single thought, a single wave of my hand, and nations would crumble to dust beneath me. You, human, are nothing but a worm beneath my heel. Yet, I offer you mercy. Give me the treasures you have gathered, and perhaps I will spare your pitiful life."

The vines squeezed again, just enough to make the threat clear, their movements sharp and deliberate.

But Perseus remained utterly unmoved. His expression didn’t change, his eyes still burning with the same cold intensity. He did not flinch, did not struggle. Instead, he tilted his head ever so slightly and spoke, his voice calm, almost casual.

"The treasure you seek…" Perseus paused for a heartbeat, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the creature. "Where is it?"

The Demon looked on a bit. "Huh!? Don’t tell me that even you have not heard of it. Since you will surely give me the others, I’ll give you a hint, "it concerns a certain High Elf nation that went into hiding hundreds of years ago... We are going to steal their..."