While the young Don fought for his life inside the void, Justin had been running nonstop, his senses dialed to their absolute limit as he searched for the box's whereabouts. He recalled a similar spatial trap being used against him when he was first separated from his master three days ago. However, there was a powerful presence vibrating within the shadows tonight—a malevolent weight that felt far more ancient and structured than anything he had previously encountered.
After several minutes of high-speed searching, he sensed a massive fluctuation of mana near the Fourth District exit gate. Justin leaped from the rooftops, landing silently on the cobblestones with practiced grace.
"Oh, my. I didn't know you were here," Justin said, calmly fixing his hair after he landed. "What are you doing here, Seraph of the Visigoth Cult?"
"Hoho, what do we have here? The most notable killer in the history of the demonkin has found me," said Seraph, removing his hood without turning his head. "Should I still call you by your old name, or should I stick with your new identification as Mr. Justin with no surname? I don't know how you managed to know my true identity despite the mask. Oh, well. Good to see you again, old friend."
The butler's gaze sharpened into a lethal glare. "Old friend, my ass. When that mission came to end his life, I already removed you from my friends list, Seraph. Are you involved in this situation?"
Seraph smiled with glinting teeth. "C'mon, man. You realize we are always there to do what should be done in the first place."
"In other words, you're part of this scheme. That powerful item absorbed my master. Don't you know the consequences of your stupidity? That's my master!"
"Don't be mad at us," Seraph giggled, placing his hands on his waist. "Don't you know it was the right decision to follow the prophecy? We are doing the right thing. Just like her instructions suggested."
Justin's jaw tightened. He knew exactly who Seraph was referring to. Memories he had tried to suppress for a millennium surged to the surface. He remembered that woman in the flowing blue cloak, her features as sharp and unchanging as they were a thousand years ago. He recalled the cold, calculated depth of her eyes—like a winter sea—and the way she had stood by their side before the Empire fell. They had been comrades once, friends who shared a common goal before the civil unrest and the death of their master tore the Empire apart. Though he knew her name as well as his own, he refused to let it cross his lips, as if speaking it would give her power over him again. She was the shadow behind the curtain, working in tandem with Seraph to set this stage.
"That 'man'... that bastard is repeating the same mistake from a thousand years ago before the Empire fell!" Justin clenched his fist, his aura beginning to crack the pavement.
"The Grandlord has the ability to foresee the future," Seraph countered. "That kid you pledged your loyalty to isn't the person you should serve. Be loyal to our real master!"
"I have found my real master! I can see his soul," Justin argued, crossing his arms defiantly. "I'm a hundred percent sure that kid—no, the young Don—is the reincarnation of our Supremo! It took me a hundred years to find his trace, and I won't let you do as you please. Fuck destiny. As long as I'm alive, I won't let you—"
"He's dead," Seraph interjected.
Justin's eyes opened wide in shock. "What?"
"The assassin hired from the Mafia Rights Council lent us their hand to kill that man. Like I told you before, it was the wish of the Grandlord. That kid was already destined to die. I saw his head separated from his body within that dimensional place."
The butler's expression shifted from shock to a terrifying, quiet rage. "I don't believe you, stupid. My master won't be killed that easily. He's weak, pathetic, and sometimes clumsy. But I'm a hundred percent sure he's alive. Now, let's get to the point, Seraph. How exactly can we get inside that box? Who is the owner right now?"
"Seriously?" Seraph heaved a disappointing sigh. "You're still the same. Fight me if you want to know."
"So be it." Justin grabbed his weapon.
Justin quickly cast his dark magic, [Dark Cumonoe], to lock the space and prevent Seraph from escaping. The two collided in a brutal display of close-quarters combat. Fists blurred as a man-to-man confrontation initiated, the sound of punches emerged near the gate and none of them used magic that could get the attention of the authorities.
…..
As the Ogre dropped like a mountain of lead, Hermes heaved a massive sigh of relief. He looked at his trembling hand. Using his finger as a "shield" earlier had been a desperate gamble—he could feel the bone was nearly fractured. If it wasn't for the Slime's intervention, he'd be nothing but a smear on the floor.
"Splendidly done. Good job, Slime," he praised, leaning against the void air. "Don't be shy. You have the authority to speak."
"Thank you, Master," the Slime spoke, its voice echoing in his mind. "But I don't like being called 'Slime.' Give me a name."
Hermes clicked his tongue. "You're making awful demands. Why should I give you a name? You're an item to help me in a crisis. Just accept it."
"How awful you are, Master. Just like the old times," the Slime sighed.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but the fight is over. How do we get out of here?"
"Master, this dimension is created by the Demon Box," the Slime explained. "It is an item created by an Alchemist thousands of years ago, also known as the Alchemy Cube. Dark mages use it to trap targets and confront them with their desires. Only the 'bureaucrat owner' has direct control. However, an individual bestowed with authority—like a specific visitor—can enter and exit."
Hermes glanced at the newspaper still in his hand, the one the "benevolent" girl had sent.
"Wait," Hermes muttered. "If only the owner or someone with authority can leave... and that girl sent me this... does that mean she has the authority over this box?"
The slime is quiet.
"Bureaucrat, huh? Like Wikia positions in a fandom community? I wonder who is responsible for this," Hermes mused, scanning the sterile, shifting horizon of the void. "Anyway, can we find the owner of this item so I can beat him up?"
The Slime pulsated on his arm, its voice echoing clearly in his mind. "Master, I scanned the place. Unfortunately, the owner has been kicked out and the right to control the dimension has been forcibly removed for unknown reasons from the owner."
The young Don quickly asked, "Wait, does that mean we cannot escape from this place now?"
The slime replied, "Fortunately, we can. There are two options. The first one is to kill yourself and let your body be absorbed by the dimension. The Demon Box doesn't tolerate any non-living things or corpses within its boundary. It will be removed automatically like flushing your feces from a toilet bowl."
"Okay, okay, forget about the first option! I don't want to be killed again. Alright, what's the last option?"
The slime simply answered, "Kill the last person with you. Only one person has the right to adopt this item."
Hermes tilted his head. "Wait, I already killed the monster, though. Wait, don't tell me—"
Haaaa... haaaa...
The sound of an exhausting monster breath drifted through the void, carrying a bad omen. The holes where the Desert Eagle bullets had hit were slowly knitting together as if nothing had ever penetrated its chest. The monster slowly stood up from the dimensional floor and picked up its weapon with a cold, hollow stare.
"H-H-H-Her... mes..." it croaked, calling his name repeatedly while its blank eyes concentrated on his face.
Hermes heaved a weary sigh. "So, slime. The only way to fully adopt the dimensional box is to win against this monster, right?"
"We can tell it is the same thing as killing the candidate in this battle royale," the slime answered.
"This is too tiring. I wonder what Justin is doing? He's probably looking for me, but I have to finish this myself." Hermes reloaded his weapon, forming a steady firing stance. "Now, they always say: shoot the monster in the head."
"You took... 'verythin'... from... me!" the Ogre roared as it rushed toward him.
"Oh, come on! Just stay dead and rip in pieces, moron. I have no plan to die in this place!"
Suddenly, the Ogre jumped a hundred meters into the sky. It opened its maw, and a fire orb appeared. It released its power toward the young Don like a fire cannon.
"Wha— the heck is that?! That's against the rules! I've never heard of an Ogre casting spells. That's cheating!" Hermes complained, sprinting as explosions rocked the void behind him.
"Master, are you really talking about yourself?" the slime asked, sounding amused.
"Shut it! I'm not a cheater like that monster!" Hermes kept running, dodging the cannonballs that pursued him.
"Stop... right... there!" the ogre jumped again, swinging its sword. Hermes ducked his body backward, the edge of the blade missing his nose by an inch. He rolled between the monster's legs to escape.
"You've been followin' me around. Are you in love with me?" Hermes taunted as he jumped to his right. "Sorry, I don't take deep shit with same-sex relationships. It's disgusting to have someone like you."
Bang!
The monster's left knee buckled as a bullet hit home. It wasn't enough to stop it, the wound knitting together instantly.
Bang!
The right knee was hit next, causing the Ogre to lose its balance. Rushing forward with the assistance of the Slime Armor, Hermes jumped directly at its face. As the monster turned its head, Hermes aimed and shot its forehead three times.
The Ogre let out a brittle cry as its right eye was vaporized. It swung its sword blindly in pain.
"Unbelievable. It looks like somebody is starting to feel sleepy," the young Don challenged. "Do you want me to read you a short story and sing a lullaby, sloppy?"
The Ogre became angrier, swishing its sword nonstop, but none of the assaults could scratch the young Don's enhanced agility.
"C'mon, is that all you got?"
"Fuck... You!" The Ogre gripped its sword with both hands for a massive overhead slice. Hermes jumped down, sliding between its legs once more.
"Forbidden technique: Shooting Balls."
BANG!
"Oowwwgg... my... balls..." The weapon clattered to the floor as the Ogre collapsed, clutching its crotch. It knelt on the dimensional ground, weeping with a brittle sound.
Hermes approached the kneeling beast with a look of pure disgust, but he stopped when the monster began to mutter more clearly.
"The gang... the money... the Fourth District... you... ruined... it all..." the Ogre wheezed.
Hermes paused, his finger hovering over the trigger. 'The gang? The Fourth District?' He looked closely at the creature's distorted, pulsating features. 'Wait... those greedy eyes. Renzo? Is that you? What the hell did you do to yourself to become this ugly?'
The Ogre looked up, its remaining eye filled with a very human hatred. "You... Archnemesis... brat... I'll... kill..."
Hermes's expression turned stone-cold. He didn't know how the man had transformed, but he knew a cornered rat when he saw one. "So you sold your soul just for a chance to kill me? And even after turning into a literal monster, you're still kneeling at my feet. How pathetic."
He placed the cold barrel of the Desert Eagle against the creature's forehead.
"Hasta la vista, baby," he said, and fired the last bullet to finish him off.
<
<
"Congratulations, master. You are now recognized by the Demon Box as its new master."
"Whatever. Now, how can I even exit from this place?" Hermes asked, his voice echoing through the silent, white void that had become his temporary prison.
"Master, you must use the Latin word for the exit. Exitus is the right word," the slime replied. Its voice resonated directly in his mind, its gelatinous form mimicking an ordinary mask upon his face.
Hermes adjusted the edge of the "mask," his eyes narrowing with intent. "A'right. Demon Box... I command thee. Exitus!"
The world didn't just fade; it shattered like a mirror.
The moment Hermes opened his eyes, a violent shockwave slammed into his chest. A large explosion erupted right in front of him, sending debris and asphalt flying into the air. Through the swirling gray smoke and the orange flicker of residual mana, he saw two silhouettes locked in a dance of absolute lethality. He recognized the sharp, tuxedo-clad form on the right immediately and quickly called out to him.
"Hey~" Hermes waved his hands nonchalantly, standing amidst the chaos as if he had just stepped off a bus. "Justin! What the hell are you doing out there?"
The reaction was instantaneous.
Justin's head snapped toward the voice. Without a second thought, the butler's body blurred into a streak of black motion. He delivered a thunderous, lunging punch into Seraph's gut, the force of which sent the masked man spiraling backward through the air. Before the enemy could even hit the ground, Justin had already vanished and reappeared in a flicker of shadow directly in front of Hermes.
He dropped to one knee with predatory grace, his right hand pressed firmly over his heart—the salute reserved only for the Don. He raised his head, a rare, radiant smile breaking through his usually stoic mask.
"Don Hermes... I am glad that you are alive," Justin said, his voice thick with relief. "I knew you were not dead. Welcome back, master!"
Across the street, Seraph crashed into a pile of industrial trash bins with a deafening metallic clatter. He scrambled to his feet, coughing up a spray of crimson as he struggled to find his target. His eyes—visible through the slits of his mask—bulged in sheer disbelief when they landed on the young Don.
"How? How is that possible?" Seraph hissed, his hands trembling as he gripped his cloak. "I saw it with my own eyes... I saw him die in that dimension! Son of a bitch, this is not what the Grandlord had foreseen!"
Hermes watched the masked man struggle and turned a judgmental gaze toward his butler. "Who's that fucker? He's fuckin' you?"
He had intended to ask, "Who is that man? He must be giving you a hard time, right?" but the character's "badmouth" trait took the wheel, steering his tongue right into the gutter as usual.
Justin didn't miss a beat, rising to his feet and positioning himself like a human shield. "Don Hermes, that man isn't worth your time. You must escape from here. I'll handle this pest. Please, leave before anyone sees you here."
Seraph stepped forward, his aura flaring into a jagged, dark purple flame. "Hermes Archnemesis! It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I have known of you since the beginning, even if this is our first face-to-face. I don't know how you managed to escape that brutal end, but allow me to end you this time. Right here and right now!"
"Oh, man. He's creeping me out," Hermes muttered, stepping back. "First that crazy assassin woman. Second, that perverted girl in the void. Now this? A stalking gay? C'mon. Give me a break."
"Did you say something, my Don?" Justin asked, his tone sincere and sharp, never taking his eyes off Seraph.
"Nothing! Do what you have to do," Hermes barked, already pivoting on his heel. "I'm going to the extraction point right now. Just make sure the authorities don't see you!"
As Hermes began to sprint away, Seraph's hand snapped out like a viper. "[Saqueel]!"
A concentrated laser beam of black light erupted from his index finger, aimed directly at Hermes's spine. In a flash of violet sparks, Justin's mana barrier hummed into existence, the beam refracting harmlessly off the hexagonal plates.
"Damn it! Stop getting in my way, Justin!" Seraph roared, launching himself forward.
"I won't let you do what you want, Seraph!" Justin intercepted him mid-air, blocking a heavy, shadow-wreathed fist with his crossed forearms.
"Then die! [Serom!]"
A blinding, white-hot sphere of energy ignited between their chests, swallowing the street in a roar of light.
Meanwhile, high atop a nearby ledge shrouded in the midnight fog, the Lady in the Blue Cloak remained perfectly still. She had never revealed herself to the combatants below, yet her cold eyes—reminiscent of a winter sea—were fixed solely on the fleeing figure of Hermes. A faint, enigmatic smile played on her lips.
"I guess milady was right after all," she whispered to the wind, her voice a melodic chill. "But he is still not molded yet. The Grandlord would be displeased by this deviation... but who cares about that? The vase is finally beginning to mold."
She adjusted the collar of her cloak as the sound of sirens began to wail in the distance.
"I should probably send the small but terrible 'informant' in the next round," she mused, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Let's see how you handle a little more pressure, little Don."
With a graceful, silent step backward, she dissolved into the shadows, leaving no trace behind as if she were a ghost of the Empire itself.