Chapter 137 — Do Demons "Fake Orders" Too?
Gideon's question fell like a blade through the silence.
Carlby froze.
For a long moment, he said nothing. His lips trembled, and finally, he whispered:
"Maybe… maybe I can still—"
"Still earn the demon's mercy before your blood runs dry?"
Gideon finished the thought for him, voice calm but merciless.
Carlby's fists clenched… then loosened again.
The priest was right. It was a fantasy — just another desperate delusion.
Just like the first two times he had been fooled.
If this went on, the entire town could be dragged into the ritual — every innocent life siphoned away.
Gideon's tone softened.
"Mr. Price, that's why I told you from the start — we're your only hope."
Carlby looked up, his eyes red-rimmed.
"You… you can actually stop the demon?"
"I can't prove it," Gideon admitted. "But you don't really have a choice, do you?"
The old man shut his eyes. The fight left his shoulders.
When he spoke again, his voice was tired, almost hollow.
"What do you want to know about the ritual?"
"Everything," Gideon said. "How it works — and how to end it."
Carlby exhaled deeply, as though surrendering the last of his pride.
"The offering begins when the crops ripen," he said.
"To accelerate the harvest, the land itself becomes saturated with dark vitality — fertile, lush, alive… but it's a lie.
The crops appear to reach perfection, but it only lasts for fifteen minutes. After that, they rot instantly — their decay feeds the ritual's core."
He paused, voice trembling.
"That decay poisons the air and the mind. The people inside the house… they turn on each other. Those who die in rage or despair have their souls bound to the land forever."
Silas, Zal, and Bente exchanged uneasy looks.
Carlby went on.
"Recently, the ritual was interrupted — a new demon appeared and interfered. But aside from that… there's no other way to stop it."
He explained that the ritual was woven directly by a demon's will. Its anchors — the instruments of the offering — existed in another plane, impossible for mortals to touch.
Only at the moment of "harvest" did they briefly manifest in the human world. Destroying them in that fleeting window could end the ritual entirely.
"But the objects are surrounded by intense corruption," Carlby warned. "It's like standing inside the demon's lungs. The miasma devours spirit and sanity alike. Step inside it unprepared, and you'll die within seconds."
That revelation left the group silent.
If they couldn't locate or destroy the relics, then the only way to stop the ritual… was to let the new demon continue interfering.
But they all knew that was wishful thinking.
Yes, the new demon had helped Gideon earlier — but Carlby's story stood as a brutal reminder: Demons never help without reason.
If that creature ever left, the ritual would resume — and the Solomons, along with the entire town, would be the next offering.
Gideon frowned, rubbing his chin.
"So the only real option might be to drive the new demon out, let the ritual restart naturally, and then find a way to destroy it mid-process."
He muttered the plan aloud, though it felt like a mad gamble.
Silas spoke up suddenly.
"Wait. The Church once recorded a method to invalidate a demon contract."
Gideon looked up sharply.
"If the contractor makes another deal," Silas explained, "the demon must present the original contract again to negotiate. If someone seizes and destroys it in that moment, every soul bound by it can be freed."
A faint spark flickered in Carlby's eyes — and Gideon immediately understood what Silas was trying to do.
It wasn't just strategy. It was compassion.
He wanted to give the old man one last chance at redemption.
But Gideon's expression stayed measured.
"Tempting," he said quietly. "But I'll reserve judgment."
He had seen too many devils twist their own rules. Even if the plan was sound in theory, demons didn't deal fairly. To tempt one into another "transaction" would require a significant price.
And what did Carlby still have left to offer? His wealth was gone. His soul had long since been sold. He was little more than the demon's puppet.
Gideon couldn't imagine what kind of "bargaining chip" that would leave.
He sighed, thinking.
Meanwhile, something else tugged at his awareness.
From the moment their conversation began — the new demon at the Solomon farm had remained eerily silent.
No movement. No interference. Not even a flicker of hostility.
It hadn't attacked. Hadn't even tested them.
That, Gideon thought grimly, was the most unsettling thing of all.
"A quiet demon…" he murmured. "Either it's watching us… or it's planning something worse."
Whatever wards and countermeasures Gideon had prepared, none of them were being triggered. The demon remained still. Watching. Waiting.
"What the hell is this thing after…?" he thought, narrowing his eyes.
The night gradually faded. A faint golden glow crept over the horizon. The endless sea of sunflowers seemed once again vibrant, their golden petals turning toward the dawn.
But everyone knew—it was just an illusion.
"We need to report this," Bente said grimly.
A sacrificial ritual was no small matter. It was far beyond the scope of what a handful of academy students and one freelance priest could handle.
No one disagreed. Bente stepped aside and began dialing the Church's emergency line.
Then—
"Ah… AH!"
A scream pierced the air.
Everyone turned toward the farmhouse.
Jess came stumbling out, her face pale, her eyes wild with terror. She ran straight toward them, clutching her right arm.
"H-help me!"
Her arm was covered in a dark bruise shaped like a claw mark. From the wound seeped the faint stench of rot and threads of blackened blood.
Gideon's expression hardened. He motioned to Judy. The little girl instantly pulled out a vial of holy water and poured it over Jess's wound.
The corruption hissed, then vanished.
"Thank you… that thing—it came again this morning," Jess panted. "When I turned around, I saw a face… it was black and green, like a corpse!"
Gideon nodded slowly.
The day before, they'd left in a hurry, telling Jess only one thing—don't tell your father the real reason for their visit. If Roy Solomon thought they were investigating a curse on his land, he might have thrown them out on the spot.
Now Jess's terrified gaze fell on them again.
"Father Gideon… did the Church send you to help us?"
Gideon was just about to respond—when the farmhouse door burst open.
"You again!" Roy Solomon strode out, a shovel clutched tightly in his hand. "What are you doing to my daughter!?"
"Dad—your hand!" Jess cried suddenly.
Roy blinked, glancing down. On the back of his palm was a dark-blue claw mark, identical to his daughter's.
Then dizziness hit him like a wave. When he looked up again, everyone around him—Gideon, the priests, even his own child—had become distorted shadows, ghostly silhouettes.
"AAAHH!"
He swung the shovel wildly.
"Get him down!" Silas shouted, rushing in.
They restrained him and poured a full vial of holy water over his head. The mark faded. The hallucination broke.
When Roy finally came to, gasping, Gideon's brows were drawn into a deep, cold frown.
Moments later, more people came stumbling from the farmhouse—Denise Solomon, Roy's wife, and John Burwell, the farm's former owner.
Each bore the same dark claw mark on their arms. Each told the same story—they had seen ghosts.
Gideon purified them one by one, his chants calm and methodical. The corruption faded, and the fear on their faces eased.
At least now, they finally believed Jess's story.
But instead of relief, Gideon's unease only deepened.
"What exactly are you doing…" he muttered, staring toward the fields. "What's your game, demon?"
The wounds were terrifying to look at, but shallow—more of a warning than an attack. Even if left untreated, they would have faded on their own.
That was what troubled him.
This "new demon" had repelled the previous one just the night before—a being powerful enough to disrupt a sacrificial ritual. And now? It was attacking people with harmless scratches?
Too deliberate. Too theatrical.
Gideon squinted at the field.
"Wait a second…" he murmured. "You're not… giving me work, are you?"
The absurd thought made him pause. A demon... deliberately creating exorcism cases? Trying to help his stats with the Church?
Before he could chase the thought further, a crimson haze erupted not far from them—thick, pulsing, and alive.
The air filled with wailing voices. The corruption streaked across the plain, surging toward the Solomons.
They froze in horror, paralyzed.
Gideon stood motionless, calculating.
Silas couldn't wait any longer. He ran forward, flipping open his Bible.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy—"
The crimson energy exploded outward, a shockwave knocking him off his feet.
"Ow—my spine!" he groaned, clutching his back.
Bente and Zal rushed to assist, each pulling out their own relics—but the moment they raised them, both were hurled back by the same invisible force.
Gideon sighed. His eyebrow twitched.
Beside him, Judy's small hand lifted hesitantly. He gave her a short nod.
She stepped forward, sprinkling a few drops of blessed water.
In an instant, the malevolent energy shattered, dissolving like mist in sunlight.
The ground beneath them rumbled. A creature of sand and dust began to take form—but it didn't approach. It lingered several meters away, almost… waiting.
Gideon's eyes narrowed.
"Go on, Judy."
She stepped forward again, tossed another vial, and the sand creature disintegrated into nothing.
The three academy students just stood there, dumbfounded.
"Did we just get… outperformed by a child?" Zal muttered under his breath.
Then, just as silence began to settle, the red mist rose again—this time closer to the farmhouse, and pulsing, as if deliberately beckoning them.
Gideon exhaled slowly.
"Oh, I see what you're doing," he muttered. "You want me to notice you."