The scene in the Seerside garden was as absurd as it was deadly. On one side, the High Priestess and the flamboyant assassin were locked in a spirited debate about the latest textile trends in Romue. To any outsider, they looked like old friends sharing "girlish talk," but Hermes knew better. He watched Venus closely, convinced her chatter was a desperate distraction to shield the children.
Behind his mask, Hermes was deep in tactical analysis. If they were to survive this encirclement, he needed a trump card. His hand brushed the concealed Demon Box—the relic that had been whispering to his subconscious since he arrived in this volume.
"Slime, do you think my plan will work?" Hermes asked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration.
"There is only a forty-six percent chance of total success, Master," the Slime Armor pulsed against his chest.
"Forty-six, huh," he grimaced.
"Do not despair, Master. The odds are not entirely against us. Based on the atmospheric mana and the positioning of these sinners, there is a distinct opening. I have calculated every variable in this clearing," the slime consoled him.
"I still don't know enough about the Demon Box's combat forms. This is risky," Hermes sighed.
"Master... the souls of these people look so tasty," the slime whispered, its hunger radiating through the suit. "Can you activate me? Let me devour these sinners."
"Do you think I'm going to do something that reckless right now? I'm not a fool," Hermes murmured back, ensuring only the slime could hear.
He turned his attention to Mambo, who was standing stiffly by the twins. "Mambo, listen. There is a narrow trailhead connected to the north side of this forest. Take it. It leads to the river. Jump in and let the current take you downstream toward the village."
"But Sir Aljen, that's a single-path bottleneck," Mambo fretted, cold sweat beading on his brow. "They'll catch us before we even hit the water."
"That's exactly why I'm going to divide their attention," Hermes said, his voice dropping into the authoritative tone of a Young Don.
July tugged on his sleeve, her small frame shuddering. "B-Brother... can we really get away? I'm scared."
Hermes knelt, looking her in the eye. He pounded a fist against his chest and offered a rare, reassuring wink. "I guarantee it. Every one of you is going home safely. You have my word."
July's lips upturned in a fragile smile as she nodded. Hermes then petted Troy's head. "Troy, you're the man of the house right now. Take care of your sister."
"I will, Brother," Troy promised, his smile broadening with newfound courage.
"When do we move, sir?" Mambo whispered.
"Just wait for my signal. I will raise my hand when the time is right. Don't do anything stupid while your master is doing her job," Hermes advised gravely.
"Y-Yes, sir. Please, take good care of my master," Mambo begged, his voice trembling with sincerity. "She really loves you so much. I know she's naive and clumsy sometimes, but bear in mind, she's still a child like you. I know you're not an ordinary boy, Sir Aljen. This is why I will leave my master under your care temporarily."
"I know that. There's no need to remind me," Hermes replied, his eyes turning sharp. "I swear on my parents' grave that I will protect her no matter what."
"Thank you, sir. I will entrust my master's life unto you," said Mambo. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head in respect.
Hermes turned his internal focus back to the slime. "If I touch Arak, can I trap that madman inside the box?"
"A hundred percent success rate if you make physical contact, Master. I will empower the box through our neural link. Even though you were born without magic, the relic will respond to my support. We are one."
"Show me the procedure," Hermes commanded.
Within his mask, the slime projected a rapid-fire sequence of combat maneuvers—the exact timing and hand placement needed to trigger the spatial collapse. Hermes clenched his fists, his lips pursed. He began to walk forward, his eyes locked on the spiky blonde hair of the Tamer.
"—and that's why the lace must be hand-stitched!" Arak was saying. "Now then, girl... would you like me to buy that dress of yours?"
"Never," Venus said, her tone suddenly grave.
Arak giggled. "C'mon, name your price! I can guarantee enough gold to buy ten villages for that fabric."
"No. It was a gift from my father. Never," she declared, her cheeks puffing out in defiance.
"Hey, Arak," Hermes called out. He stepped up and tapped the assassin's shoulder, keeping his other hand behind his waist.
Arak turned, looking annoyed. "What do you want? Can't you see we're busy?"
"The situation has changed, hasn't it?" Hermes said coldly. "Allow me to show you something real quick."
He pulled a small, intricately carved object from his pocket. Arak's eyes widened. "Wait... is that what I think it is? T-t-the Opalnim?" he fretted.
"Yep," Hermes nodded. He rolled the tiny object from his palm onto the grass.
Arak jumped away before it was too late. The Priestess, on the other hand, tilted her head in confusion. Hermes didn't wait. He lunged forward, grabbing Venus and pulling her into a protective embrace, shielding her body by hugging her close.
"[LAQUEUM]!" Hermes roared.
The Demon Box ignited, and half of the group of bandits within the area were instantly absorbed into its void.
"Y-You bastard!" Arak grimaced. He frantically activated five barriers to prevent himself from imprisonment, but the high pressure of the wind released by the box blew him away.
"Mambo, NOW!" Hermes directed, pointing toward the extraction point.
Mambo moved like a shadow, scooping up the children and sprinting toward the path instructions.
As the dust settled, Hermes looked down at the Priestess. "I thought you were buying time, but you were actually just having a long discussion with that guy. You're a weird woman, Venus."
"Eh?" Venus stammered, her face flushed red. "I told you! I wanted to chat with him because he's a fellow fashionista!"
"Never mind. Run to that direction and follow them!" Hermes commanded, pulling a .38 caliber pistol from his jacket.
"What are you going to do?" she asked worriedly.
"I'm going to buy us time. It's unfortunate that I failed to capture that Arak guy, so I have to take responsibility. Go now before those people call for backup!"
"Master, the Demon Box has returned inside of me," the slime reminded him. "We need to go."
Hermes noticed that the Priestess hadn't followed his instructions. Instead of fleeing with Mambo, she stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and stubborn devotion.
"Venus, why are you still here? Get out of here now!" Hermes demanded, his voice cracking with urgency.
"No, I'm coming with you!" she cried back.
"I told you to get away from—oh shit—dodge!" Hermes lunged, his body colliding with hers as he shoved her roughly to the side. A fraction of a second later, a jagged ice bullet hissed through the space where her head had been, shattering against a nearby oak with a sharp crack.
Venus tumbled across the forest floor from the impact. "O-Ouch," she whimpered, rubbing her hip and massaging her joints. She tried to stand, but a sharp pain flared in her ankle. "My leg..."
'This is exactly what I wanted to avoid,' Hermes ranted inwardly. "Venus, please don't do anything stupid. He's only after me!"
Venus clutched her sprained ankle, her lips trembling. 'Please don't die on me,' she prayed silently as she watched him move.
To draw the heat away from her, Hermes sprinted toward a clearing, calling out to get Arak's attention.
"You can run, but you can't hide, child!" Arak cackled from the treeline.
"I can run, but you can die, pal," Hermes chuckled, his hand hovering over his gear.
"I'm not a 'pal,' I'm a girl! You're disrespecting the LGBT community, child!" Arak fumed, his face twisting in theatrical rage. He swung his arm, releasing a massive, spiraling vortex of ice magic toward the boy.
"I respect the community just fine since my country doesn't discriminate against your race. But to be honest, you're releasing major 'pedo vibes' toward that little boy, so don't meddle with those humble people. Shut the fuck up, you freak!" Hermes argued.
His former country had been a vibrant place where unique culture and a friendly atmosphere made it a hub for tourists and migrants alike. From Americans to Europeans, people loved it for its equality and safety. It was a nation where the law dictated that everyone stood on equal ground.
"F-f-freak? You're calling me a freak now? How dare you! Take this!" Arak grimaced, conjuring a sphere of ice the size of his own long legs.
Despite the close encounter, Hermes moved with uncanny grace. The Slime Armor boosted his reflexes, allowing him to dance through the magical bombardment. "Ha! You missed!" he scoffed.
"You've got some guts to mock the Great Tamer of Scily Island, child. Then, how about you meet my pets?" Arak fumed. He brought two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing, rhythmic whistle.
"Summon the Tommy gun right now," Hermes ordered.
"Yes, Master," the slime replied obediently.
Hermes tucked his pistol away just as the heavy weight of a submachine gun materialized in his grip. He locked his eyes on the treeline as four Demon Wolves emerged. They were monstrous, standing two meters tall with fangs like elephant tusks.
"Oh, shit. That's not even funny, you coward. Fight me fair and square!" Hermes shouted. He opened fire, the rat-tat-tat of the submachine gun repelling the first wolf as it tried to smash his head. Hermes slid down a muddy slope, switching his magazine to Tier 7 armor-piercing bullets.
"Take this, you motherfucking dog!" Arak cursed, raining down offensive spells to cover his beasts.
The lead wolf's head was shredded instantly by the high-impact bullets, dying on the spot.
"Oh, my gosh! Ricardo! You killed my Ricardo! How dare you do that to my favorite Ricardo!" Arak shrieked, firing new ice needles. Hermes dodged the assault, leaping onto a sturdy tree branch just before the spell obliterated the ground where he had stood.
"Go, Messi, Ronaldo, and Suarez! Kill that filthy child! Rip and tear until he's done!" Arak commanded.
'Are you serious? Soccer legends?' Hermes thought, a sneer tugging at his lip. He sprayed a burst of lead at the circling monsters, but they darted into the brush.
Suarez, one of the larger wolves, let out a howl, summoning a dozen miniature clones to swarm Hermes from every direction.
"Master, there are six on the left and eight on the right," the slime warned. "Kill the host before they overwhelm you at once."
"Roger. Track the host, slime!"
"Third one on the right. That's the host of the cubs," the slime advised.
"Take this, you motherfuckers!" Hermes locked his sights on the host and put a bullet through its skull. The two remaining huge wolves jumped away as their brother died, and the tiny henchmen evaporated instantly.
"Master, the wolves are going to summon more!"
"Copy," Hermes pulled the trigger, but only a hollow click responded. "Damn it, I'm out!"
"Master, you have no ammo. Switch weapons now. Open the newspaper to read the file; I am initiating Combat Mode."
Hermes snatched the newspaper from his pocket. The ink pulsed with a violet light.
[WEAPON 1: Mr. Tommy Gun] — Magazines: Out of Ammo.
[WEAPON 2: Available]
Summon Genesis? (Caliber .45, 7-Round Mag).
"Yes, I want it now!" Hermes barked.
The submachine gun dissolved, reshaping itself into a sleek, silver handgun. A skull logo—the Archnemesis emblem—was engraved on the slide next to the name 'Genesis'.
[NOTIFICATION] Lesser Sin Spirits detected in the vicinity.
Absorb souls to create ammo for Weapon 1?
"Yes!"
[ANALYSIS COMPLETE]
200,000 Lesser Sin Spirits found.
Collection Completed.
[WARNING: VIRUS DETECTION]
Host has reached maximum soul capacity.
Soul count: 200,000 / 50,000.
Excess: 150,000.
Penalty: Host will die if excess is not released or used for
Armor Upgrade immediately.
"Two hundred thousand? What the fuck?!" Hermes screamed, ducking just as a wolf tried to behead him. He rolled across the ground, standing up quickly. "Just how many bastards died in this forest?!"
He opened the newspaper again, his eyes scanning for the upgrade option.
The newspaper fragment in Hermes's hand began to vibrate with a violent, rhythmic heat, the ink shifting into a deep, necrotic violet that bled off the edges of the paper. The air around him grew heavy, smelling of ozone and ancient dust as the system processed the sheer volume of spirits it had just harvested.
[VIRUS DETECTION] The host has a chance to upgrade his Slime Armor to Level 2. Souls required: 150,000. These sinners fell during the ancient battles between Cartage and the Old Republic of Ratican two millennia ago. They were the looters, rapists, and murderers of history. As the new Grim Reaper, the host must execute judgment upon them all at once.
Hermes swallowed hard, feeling the restless malice of 200,000 ghosts clawing at his skin through the slime layer. This wasn't just energy; it was a cemetery's worth of historical sin pressing against his ribs.
"Master, the pressure is reaching critical levels! The armor's structural integrity is melting!" the slime screamed in his mind.
"I can feel it! Do it! Upgrade!" Hermes commanded, his voice steady despite the cold sweat.
<< Congratulations: Slime Body Armor upgraded to Level 2. >>
<< Soul Capacity: 250,000. >>
<< Achievement Unlocked:Armageddon — An ancient siege weapon capable of leveling cities. Requirement: One Immortal Sinner Soul. >>
<< Weapon 1 (Tommy Gun): Ammo Restored. >>
"Can I use it now?" Hermes asked. But before the reply came, the newspaper disintegrated into black flakes. His veins popped on his forehead as he stared at his empty hand. "Don't just disappear when I need you most! This is outrageous!"
"Master, calm down. Focus on the threat," the slime advised.
"I told you, kid—no matter what you do, you can't escape!" Arak cackled, readying a fresh ice spell.
"Oh, really? Try this, freak!" Hermes pivoted, the Tommy gun feeling lighter and more responsive. He let out a controlled burst, the bullets tracing a perfect line. One by one, the remaining demon wolves—Messi, Ronaldo, and Suarez—fell as Tier 7 rounds erased their heads.
"No! My beloved pets! Unsummon [Messi]!" Arak shrieked, his voice reaching a glass-shattering pitch. "I won't let Messi die! You little shit, fight me like a man!"
"Now we're talking! You fucking freak, I'm the one who deserves a fair fight here!" Hermes shouted back.
"I'm a bisexual, you fool!" Arak argued, his flamboyant cloak fluttering as he prepared a massive spiral of ice magic.
"Yuck, disgusting. You're a freak. Freddy Mercury wouldn't be proud of you for aiming at little boys. Be consistent, freak!" Hermes insulted, his pragmatic mind already calculating the distance to the waterfall.
"Who the fuck is Freddy Mercury?! Just shut the fuck up!" Arak exploded, his composure completely shattered.
"Slime, how long is the cooldown on the Demon Box?" Hermes whispered.
"Three minutes and twenty seconds, Master. The best place to use it is the waterfalls on the left side of the Seerside garden. It's a single path with a hundred-meter drop—he won't be able to jump away."
"Heading to the falls," Hermes declared, breaking into a sprint.
"Sir Aljen! Please, don't go there!" Venus cried, limping forward. She summoned an ice shield to cover his back. "I'm here to help! How can I prove I'm the best girl for you if I run?"
'Best girl?' Hermes felt an unexpected heat rise to his cheeks.
Venus turned scarlet instantly. "D-d-don't get the wrong idea! I mean best buddy, not wife candidate! No, please don't look at me like that!"
"Right. I know. No need to correct yourself," Hermes said, his voice a bit strained.
They reached the edge of the Seerside Falls three minutes later. The roar of the water was a constant thunder. "Twenty seconds, Master. The box is ready," the slime reminded.
"Sir Aljen... it's a dead end. We're trapped!" Venus cried, tugging his sleeve at the cliff's edge.
"Just stay still. I'll handle it. Trust me," Hermes avowed, standing tall.
"Sir Aljen, you're truly... truly..." Venus swooned, watching his silhouette against the mist.
Arak arrived five seconds later, laughing hysterically. "You silly bastard! You have nowhere left to go! Accept your fate!" He raised his palm, charging a lethal ice spear.
"Let's see about that, freak," Hermes scoffed.
"Master, activate the box!"
"[LAQUEUM]!" Hermes roared.
"[AL QUUMA]!" Arak screamed, launching the spear.
"Sir Aljen, NO!" Venus squealed. Before Hermes could react, she lunged forward, pushing him out of the path of the spear.
The Demon Box ignited, and the field was swallowed by a blinding, transcendent light.
Meanwhile…
Mambo and the children were intercepted by the bandits who had been partially trapped in the box earlier. Four men blocked their way.
"Kids, cover your ears," Mambo instructed firmly.
"Capture the kids! Kill the black guy!" the sub-leader ordered, brandishing a blade.
"Shut the fuck up, you dirty animals," Mambo growled. He stepped forward, his fist connecting with a bandit's jaw with a sickening crunch.
"This black is fighting back!"
"This is why they should just stay as slaves for eternity!" the sub-leader snarled. "He's just a no-name slave! Kill him!"
"Fucking racists. I have a name, you morons," Mambo said. He moved like a blur, breaking bones and finally beheading a henchman with a single, brutal slash. "Shut the fuck up, whitey!"
"R-Run! The captain is dead! Retreat!"
Mambo closed his eyes and activated his Tier 5 spell: "[GLUTEN PROPAGATIONEM]." His eyes flared a brilliant yellow. He vanished from his position, and in the span of a heartbeat, every remaining member of the chasing unknown group was silenced. He reappeared and collapsed.
'I need two minutes... keep them safe, Sir Aljen.'
"Mambobo!" Troy ran over.
"Mambobobo!" July followed.
"Are you alright, Mambobo?"
'Mambobo?' Mambo sighed, too tired to correct them. "I'm okay. Just don't look over there. It's full of... cowshits. It's bad for kids."
"Copy!" they chimed. Mambo petted their heads. "Good kids."