Deep within the jagged mountainside of the Dark Scily Forest lay a secluded cave, its mouth swallowed by ancient vines and unnatural shadows. This was the sanctum of the Second Root, a place so hidden that only those bound by blood and sin knew of its existence.
A man in a sharp suit, his face obscured by a black mask, moved through the damp tunnels. As he drew closer to his destination, he stepped over scattered traces of blood that stained the limestone floor like rusted iron. He reached a massive stone door, where four guards stood like statues. With a silent nod, Seraph showed his insignia. The guards immediately saluted and gave way.
One of them moved to guide him toward the inner chambers. As they approached the master's quarters, the air grew thick with a metallic tang, and the high-pitched, desperate cries of a young boy echoed through the stone corridor.
Seraph's jaw tightened behind his mask. 'That disgusting pedophile. He's indulging himself again,' he thought, his stomach churning with revulsion.
"Master Seraph is here. Sir, I'll take my leave," the guard whispered, lowering his head before retreating into the darkness of the tunnel.
Seraph watched the guard flee. 'What kind of security is this? Does he even care about the safety of his master? No matter. I must prioritize my mission,' he commented inwardly.
The cries from within the room suddenly stopped, replaced by a sickening, wet crack. Seraph flinched as the heavy scent of fresh blood wafted through the door.
"Seraph... please, enter," a voice called out—smooth, yet dripping with a hidden malice.
Seraph stepped inside. On the floor lay the fresh corpse of a boy, no older than twelve. The child's body was broken, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling in a final expression of terror. Seraph's gaze drifted to the lower part of the culprit, and he felt a wave of explicit disgust.
"Greetings, my friend. What can I do for you?" asked the host, Arak, casually wiping blood from his hands with a cloth.
Arak was a monster in human skin—a Tamer and an immortal. He had brown hair, a long mustache, and a feminine face. From his stomach to his chest, he was covered in thick hair, a stark contrast to his delicate facial features. His sky-blue eyes sparkled with unsettling glee as he smiled at his friend.
"There is something I want you to have," Seraph said, his voice cold. He handed a sealed letter to the tamer.
Arak broke the seal. As he read the contents, his eyes sparkled with unsettling glee. "What is this, milord?"
Seraph raised a gloved hand, pointing a sharp index finger at him. "A new prophecy has been added. Your presence is no longer a request; it is a necessity. You are to complete this task without question. The Grandlord wants an absolute guarantee that the mission will be completed without delay."
Arak picked up the attached photo—a picture of Hermes Archnemesis in his mask.
"Are you telling me I must kill this masked child, my liege? Oh, my... this is interesting. How old is he?" Arak asked, a dark blush creeping onto his cheeks.
"He is fifteen, Arak," Seraph snapped.
"Oh, boy... he's no longer my type," Arak sighed, waving the photo dismissively. "I prefer fresh meat, like this little one here. He entertained me so well, but I'm afraid I accidentally cracked his neck when he resisted earlier."
"The Grandlord's words are absolute!" Seraph barked. "He wants you to kill that boy before his guardian demon—that butler—can intervene. I'm not interested in your hobbies, Arak. Remember, you only possess immortality because of our Master's power. Do not disappoint him."
Arak looked back at the letter. "It says I should bring all my men. We are only eight here right now; my brothers are still in the village. Is the child really so powerful that he requires all of us?"
Seraph folded his arms, his mind flashing back to his humiliating defeat four days ago. His limbs still ached from the curse Justin had placed on him.
"Numbers are an advantage," Seraph replied. "Trust me, going alone is a mistake. The Grandlord scolded me severely for underestimating him last time."
Arak's playful expression finally vanished. He looked at the photo of Hermes with newfound focus. 'For real? This kid is actually a threat?' "Lord Seraph," Arak began, "I am still burning with shame from my previous failure. I am grateful the Grandlord is giving me this chance at redemption."
"Shame of what?" Seraph asked.
"One week ago, you asked me to send my 'puppy'—the Demon Wolf—to murder the children of the Camelia household. But I failed. Someone interfered and killed my pet. I am beyond infuriated! Whoever did that will pay in blood. The prophecy has been delayed because of them," Arak yapped, his eyes flashing with rage.
Seraph smiled internally. 'Good. His hatred will ensure he doesn't hesitate.'
"Then you're in luck," Seraph said smoothly. "It was Hermes and his butler who slaughtered your wolf. And right now, he is heading this way... with the two children."
Arak's eyes lit up. "For real? This is the best day of my life! Tell me... are the children girls?"
"One of them is a girl," Seraph answered.
Arak licked his lower lips, a sickening grin spreading across his face. "Another sacrifice. With her soul, the Demon Lord will be revived today! I will take down that child and bring the two in our custody," Arak said confidently.
"I thought you only wanted the girl? Don't tell me—shit. You make me sick to my stomach," Seraph rasped, his voice dripping with unfiltered loathing. He turned on his heel, the fabric of his suit snapping as he walked away.
"Oh, please. You're leaving over that? How cute," Arak chorused, his voice a mocking lilt. "Besides, there's something special I want to do for that little male lamb. Fresh meat is an absolute must for my dinner tonight."
'Fucking pedophile,' Seraph commented inwardly, not looking back.
Two guards entered the room at Arak's signal, grabbing the boy's cold remains by the ankles and dragging the corpse out of the chamber. Arak grinned, his sky-blue eyes wide and manic as he raised a blood-stained arm toward the damp ceiling. "All hail the Grandlord!"
Meanwhile, the group arrived at their destination. The atmosphere here was a sharp contrast to the gloom of the cave. The Seerside Forest was the most abundant and secure territory held by the Camelia family. Bathed in the mana flowing from the mountains and the Great Dark Tree, the area resembled a sprawling, ethereal garden where rare herbs sprouted like common weeds.
On the right, a river with crystal-clear water rushed past—the same river that, miles downstream, carried the grim evidence of Arak's handiwork to the village.
The young Don sat down on a fallen log, spreading out the fragment of the newspaper to protect his trousers from the dirt. As he leaned back, he felt the subtle, cold shift of the Slime Armor beneath his clothes. He turned his gaze toward the kids, who were happily filling their baskets in the floral garden. Nearby, the Priestess—still draped in his jacket—was watching a group of birds perched on a small tree.
"Slime, measure her," he commanded under his breath.
The slime responded instantly. "Yes, Master."
"Sir Aljen, look! There's a Redpula on the tree! Look, look, it's so cute!" Venus called out, pointing with excitement. Hermes merely offered a dismissive wave of his hand. Fortunately, the Priestess was too enchanted by the wildlife to take offense at his silence.
The slime took a few moments, pulsing against Hermes's skin as it calculated.
"Height is 165 cm. Hips are 32 cm, waist is 28 cm, and her bust size is 81 cm, sir," the slime reported dutifully. "Fertile, healthy, and she possesses a good body structure for labor. A good catch, Master. I advise waiting for her to reach legal age before—"
Hermes suddenly spat his water out, coughing violently. He slammed the cap back onto his tumbler and wiped his chin. "Why the hell did you measure her body? That's not what I meant!" he hissed.
"Eeeeh? What's wrong, Master? You commanded me to measure her. You didn't specify the parameters," the slime answered politely.
"I don't care about her body measurements, you moron! Measure her affection bar toward me," Hermes muttered, his voice low and nonchalant. "I don't give a damn about her chest or trivialities. Read the lines carefully next time."
"Aaah, I see. My apologies," the slime joshed, its tone turning playful. "Are you planning to take her out, Master? I can't blame you. You are a healthy boy, after all."
"Cut the crap. My life is on the line," Hermes reminded him, his eyes narrowing. "Just do your job."
"Master, I cannot simply 'measure' love, but I can read her physiology," the slime explained. "In biology, attraction is a chemical process. I can trace deep attraction to its logical sources: increased heart rate, sweatiness, and so on."
Hermes rubbed his jaw, intrigued. "Oh, really? How so?"
"When the target sees their 'beloved,' the brain sends signals to the adrenal glands to secrete hormones like adrenaline and norepinephrine," the slime added. "This causes the heart to beat faster and stronger. It is a measurable surge."
"Good. I understand. Now, do it," Hermes commanded.
"But, Master..." the slime hesitated. "You must understand the risk. The host must get closer to the target."
Hermes sighed, standing up from the log. "Fine."
He walked toward Venus, who was inspecting a flower. Sensing his approach, she removed her hat and used it to cover her mouth, her eyes peeking over the brim.
"What do you want, Sir Aljen?" she asked.
Most boys would have been captivated by her gaze, but Hermes's pragmatic resistance acted as a shield.
"May I look at your hands?" Hermes asked calmly.
Venus turned a bright shade of crimson, her fingers fidgeting against her hat. She tilted her head, looking up at his mask. 'Kyaaaa!' she screamed in her mind.
"Huh? W-Why? Do you want to read my palm?" she asked, a small giggle escaping her. "I didn't know Sir Aljen was a fortune teller. Fufu~"
Hermes scratched his chin, feeling a rare prickle of embarrassment at her reaction.
"Master, you need to actually touch her," the slime reminded him, its voice vibrating against his ribs.
"Ah, my bad. I'm not really into that," Hermes muttered. He steeled himself and looked at the Priestess. "By the way... can I hold your hand?"
Venus blinked her eyes thrice, her brain momentarily short-circuiting before she snapped back to reality. She let out a small, dainty cough and adjusted the hat on her head.
"Umm, okay. Here," she said, her face becoming a mask of emotionless calm.
But internally, she was a chaotic mess. 'W-What? How bold! Kyaaa, oh my gosh!' her mind screamed in pure joy.
Hermes took her hand. He closed his eyes, concentrating. To Venus, it felt like time had stopped. One by one, the young Don's fingers traced her palm and lingered at her wrist, searching for a pulse. Then, he gripped her hand firmly, holding it so tight that the Priestess had to bite her lip to keep from letting out an audible squeal of excitement.
Mambo, standing a few paces away, nearly dropped his guard. His lips flattened in surprise. "How bold, Sir Aljen," he murmured to himself. "Sir Justin will be so proud."
After a full minute of silent observation, Hermes opened his eyes. Without a single word of explanation, he released her hand, turned around, and walked away.
Venus stood frozen, her face turning a deep shade of sunset orange. She touched her cheeks and began fanning herself with her hand. 'Kyaaaa! What was that all about? Don't tell me... he's hitting on me now? Kyaaa!' She shook her right hand up and down, overwhelmed by the physical contact.
"What's the status?" Hermes whispered to the slime once he was out of earshot. "Did I get a positive number? Is it more than 50?"
"Master, negative," the slime reported. "The heartbeat reading only registered a 10 percent elevation. It appears she doesn't feel comfortable with you at all. She likely views you as nothing more than a casual friend."
The young Don's eyes went blank. His face turned a sickly blue, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. "Fuck!" Hermes hissed, slamming his fist against a log in despair.
'So, I was just assuming she was into me? She thinks I'm just a "nice guy"? Fuck my life!' he screamed in silent agony.
"How pitiful. Master got friendzoned. My condolences," the slime chuckled.
Unbeknownst to the slime's sensors, Venus possessed a rare, high-level ability to control her own physiology. Because she had been so startled by his sudden boldness, she had instinctively suppressed her heart rate to hide her embarrassment. She was terrified of appearing childish or "easy" in front of her crush. Following the strict instructions of her attendant, Ylla, she was playing the part of a confident, timid, and intuitive maiden—someone a boy would have to work hard to earn.
"Master, I've detected a strong aura coming from the north," the slime's tone suddenly shifted to high alert.
"Are you sure?" Hermes asked, his personal heartbreak instantly replaced by his pragmatic survival instincts.
"Yes, sir. It's a powerful, chaotic aura—completely unfriendly. I advise an immediate evacuation."
"I know. I don't need a reminder," Hermes said, his voice regaining its cold edge. "How long until they're on us?"
"Five to six minutes, Master."
Hermes didn't hesitate. He called out to Mambo.
"Sir Aljen, what's wrong?" Mambo asked, sensing the shift in the air.
"We've got company coming from the north," Hermes said, pointing toward the approaching threat. Even as he spoke, the shadows between the trees began to shift. Demon beasts, the "puppets" of the Tamer, were already beginning to encircle the clearing.
Mambo's face grew grim. "How did you know?"
"Doesn't matter. If you want to live and keep these children safe, we need to bail out right now before the perimeter closes," Hermes deflected.
Mambo nodded and immediately turned to the others. "Master! Children! We must leave!"
"What's wrong?" Venus asked, startled.
"Mambo is right. Children, unpack only the essentials and leave the rest! Do not ask questions! Make haste!" Hermes commanded.
"Copy!" the children replied, sensing the life-or-death urgency in his voice.
Venus approached Hermes, her face clouded with worry. "Sir Aljen, is there an enemy? How do you know they're 'bad' people? Do you have proof?"
"You don't need to know," Hermes said, his voice feebler as he scanned the treeline. "People in my position don't reveal their secrets."
Suddenly, Venus grabbed his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.
"W-What is it? I have to scout the area! Go now!" he bleated.
"Sir Aljen, please... let me remind you that you should be more open with people," she said softly. "It's quite rude to just push me away like this."
"Umm, what? I'm lost. Look, we only have minutes! You'll be left behind!" Hermes stressed. "What are you even thinking?"
"Are you planning to stay behind and fight them to buy us time?" she implored, her eyes shimmering. "Please don't do anything crazy. If you're staying, let me join you."
"Venus, this is not the time to play hero! You're the Priestess of the village—do you even know how to fight? Please, I'm begging you. Get out of here!"
'If you get caught, I'm screwed. Stop being stubborn!' Hermes begged internally.
However, the Priestess saw it differently. To her, he looked like a knight in shining armor, desperately trying to protect his lady. Her heart throbbed—though she kept her pulse steady for the slime's sake. 'He really cares about me. He's just too stubborn to admit he loves me. Kyaaaa! If he wants to stay, I stay!' she determined.
"Master, Sir Aljen, this is bad," Mambo said breathlessly as he and the children scrambled back into the garden clearing.
"Why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to evacuate the children?" Hermes chided, his voice sharp with mounting frustration. "You had one job, Mambo. One job!"
Mambo hung his head, his face pale. "I apologize, sir, but—"
"Brother, brother, there are weird people out there," Troy interrupted, clutching Hermes's shirt so hard the fabric strained.
Hermes shifted his gaze to the treeline. July was trembling, her small arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her head pressed against him in terror. "There's a man... he was looking at me with such a disgusting face," she whispered. "He licked his knife while he watched us."
"Oh, my gosh! The Evil God is truly on our side today. I can't believe all my targets are gathered in one place. I'm so lucky!"
A man draped in a flamboyant pink cloak appeared suddenly, perched on a thick tree branch like a predatory bird. One by one, his followers emerged from the shadows, encircling the garden from every direction. The man pulled back his hood, revealing spiky blonde hair, ears weighted down by multiple piercings, and a large ring through his nose. His pupils dilated with a manic, trembling excitement as he surveyed the group.
The moment his eyes landed on Troy, he licked his lips slowly. The boy shivered, a cold dread washing over him.
'Ah... a pedophile,' Hermes noted inwardly. The realization made his blood run cold. 'He's aiming for the twins.'
"Who are you?" Hermes demanded, stepping slightly in front of the children.
"Good grief," the man replied, winking at Hermes with a theatrical flourish. "Haler! I'm Arak. Founder of the Second Root, the sole provider of true followers for our greatest creator, and one of the finest independent agencies of the Visigoth Cult."
'Visigoth Cult again?' Hermes's lips curled in disgust. "Oi, pedo. Can we skip the introduction? Tell me what you want."
Arak's flamboyant expression flattened. He looked genuinely disappointed. "Sure, young man—or should I call you 'child'? Haler, figures. What I want from your little group is none other than you." He pointed a long, dirty index finger directly at the young Don.
Hermes didn't hesitate. He pulled his handgun from his bag and aimed it squarely at Arak's chest. "I get it. You're aiming for me. Leave the kids, the useless guy, and the woman alone. Fight me instead."
"No! I told you, I'm fighting with you!" Venus insisted, stepping up beside him.
"Me too, sir," Mambo added, though his hands were shaking. The twins nodded in unison, refused to be left out of the defense.
Arak let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, what a bold group! Hey, lady—I know it's rude to ask, but why are you wearing a summer outfit? It's winter! Regardless, I love the dress and the jacket, baby. Where did you buy such a thing?" He placed a hand on his waist, gesturing toward Venus's attire with a critical eye.
"It's a gift from my father in Romue!" Venus answered brightly, momentarily forgetting the danger. "I was planning to show it to my crush!"
"Oi, don't answer him!" Hermes snapped.
"I'm sorry, but he likes my dress!" she apologized, looking back at Arak.
"Hmmm," Arak tapped his chin, analyzing the design. "From where exactly? Haler! Can you remember the name of the district?"
"No idea. Maybe in the East? Wait... aren't we skipping something here?" Venus paused, her brow furrowing as she realized the absurdity of the conversation.
"Ah, yes! I forgot to ask for directions," Arak agreed.
"Right! There's a nearby store, and the street there has so many cute things—"
"I said don't answer him!" Hermes shouted, lightly hitting her arm to snap her out of it.
"I'm sorry!" Venus pouted, rubbing her arm.
"Lady, we still have time for that," Arak declared, hopping down from the branch and landing gracefully on the grass. "I could kill you any minute, but I'm fascinated by the design. Could you remove the jacket? It hinders your beauty. Haler! Your outfit is fabulous. S-U-P-E-R-B." He traced the letters in the air with his finger. "Superb and marvelous. The designer needs a raise!" He punctuated the statement by slapping his own hip.
"Oh, really? Thank you! But it's very cold," she replied.
"Master... this is not the time for jokes," Mambo whispered, his face in his hands.
"Wait, please!" Venus turned to Hermes. "This is my forty-fourth time having a chat with a fellow fashionista! Kyaa, I love this! Sir Aljen, this is an important discussion. He's very knowledgeable. Don't worry, we'll kill him after I get the details."
Mambo heaved a heavy sigh. "Master, we should be escaping, not debating lace patterns."
The twins blinked, looking at the excited Priestess. "Sis Venus is a... 'pastanista'? She's weird," Troy commented.
"July is interested too!" the little girl declared, raising her hand and hugging Venus's waist.
"Eh? You too?!" Troy's jaw dropped.
"Brother, please shut your mouth. This is a girl's issue," July said firmly, leaving her brother stunned. Troy scrambled behind Hermes, tears welling in his eyes.
"B-Brother Aljen, help me," he begged like a kicked puppy.
"Troy, I don't think I can help you with that. Girls' brains are impossible to understand," Hermes sighed, petting the boy's head.
Arak's second-in-command leaned in. "Sir... I mean, Ma'am... should we kill them now?"
Arak shook his head, his eyes fixed on Venus. "Nobody moves. I'm having a chat with a fellow fashionista. Anyone who dares to disobey my orders will be killed by me personally. Don't move without my signal, okay?"
The bandits, confused and worried, slowly lowered their weapons.
"Lady, you need some makeup," Arak protested, hands on his hips. "And no perfume? Are you a newbie? Boys won't look at you without the right scent, dear."
"Oh, really? No wonder he's not interested," Venus pouted, her shoulders sagging.
"Anyway, the dress is adorable. You could be a model, sister!" Arak complimented.
"Oh my gosh, thank you!" Venus beamed.
Arak noticed July approaching him from the side. "You, little one—I'm not interested in you, so back off," he jeered, waving her away. July's eyes trembled, her lip turning down in a pout. Arak sighed. "Haler. Fine. Call your brother over; I'll give him a look."
"Really? Brother Troy, come here!" July called.
"Oi! Don't get carried away!" Hermes barked, keeping Troy firmly hidden behind his back.
"Don't be shy, Troy! He's not going to harm you... I think," Venus pleaded.
"Master, please be careful. Do not get carried away by this... display," Mambo warned, his voice low and cautious as he watched the surreal interaction between the Priestess and the assassin.
"Oi, shut the fuck up, black guy," Arak gibed, not even turning his head.
All of his subordinates erupting in laughter, mocking Mambo from the periphery of the garden. Mambo's lips sucked in as the insult landed; his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The tension in his shoulders was a coiled spring, ready to snap.
Hermes stepped forward and lightly tapped Mambo's shoulder. The touch was grounding, pulling the butler-figure back from the brink of a reckless outburst. Behind his mask, Hermes's lips turned up into a sharp, predatory grin. He had realized exactly what was happening.
Venus wasn't just being "weird"—her sudden obsession with fashion was a clumsy but desperate attempt to stall. She was playing into Arak's ego to keep his finger off the trigger.
"Mambo," Hermes murmured, leaning in close so that his voice was a mere ghost of a sound that only the two of them could hear. "Take the children and escape through the side brush. The Priestess is buying us the time we need to move. I'll stay behind to ensure her safety, so go now. Don't stop until you reach the village outskirts. Call for help the moment you clear the forest."
Mambo's eyes widened slightly, then he gave a nearly imperceptible nod of agreement.
"July, come here," Hermes called out softly.
The little girl trotted over, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. "What is it, Brother?" she asked.
The young Don knelt down, closing the distance to the child to keep her focused and calm. He placed his hands on her small shoulders. "Listen to me carefully. I need you to run as fast as you can with Mambo and Troy, okay? Don't look back."
July searched his masked face for a moment, then nodded bravely. She understood the weight of the moment.
"Mambo," Hermes called one last time, standing back up and regaining his cold, pragmatic posture.
"Yes, sir?" Mambo asked, his body already angled toward the children.
"Protect them. Do not let a single one of them be caught. Do you understand?" Hermes's voice was as hard as iron.
"Affirmative. You can count on me," Mambo replied, placing a hand over his heart in a final, solemn vow.
As Arak continued to lecture Venus on the "proper" way to coordinate a winter palette, the shadows of the forest began to shift. The game had changed. The Don was no longer just a target—he was the distraction.