Thank goodness, thought Nemo. Oliver's wrists had metal armor plates, and he couldn't feel the cold sweat from his palms.

He tried his best to look like he was in control of everything, but his neck seemed to be rusted by the nervousness, so he couldn't look back at Oliver's face. No matter how innocuous he tried to find an explanation for himself now, the truth always ran counter to his expectations. Nemo didn't know what expression he had on his face right now, but it must have been a far cry from "calm".

This is the third time he has directly confronted the real superior demon.

The first time is to face Pandora. At that time, he only heard the other party's cry for help, and he didn't have the slightest idea of ​​his own identity. The other party gave up the attack first, and the whole thing passed in a daze; the second time was to face Witherspoon. At that time, his state was very delicate, and he had no sensual impression of using "power" itself.

This is the third time.

This time he was sober and determined that everything was of his own will. Because of this, he felt more deeply how unnatural the status quo was.

A normal mage cracking spells must analyze every feature of the enemy formation step by step, and then make the most appropriate response in time during the cracking process. Just like the silent chess players - they carefully calculated the opponent's intentions and all possible future moves, and finally mobilized their remaining pieces to win the game. To do this, knowledge, experience and strength are indispensable.

The world he saw was completely different.

What is in front of him is not chess pieces and chessboard, but stones and wood, which can be overturned by raising his hand. And those abyss magic had no resistance to his actions. No matter how much Nemo avoided it, he could see that it wasn't normal. If it wasn't for the fact that the demon was in poor physical condition, he could even ignore the changing magic circles and forcibly break through, heading straight to the source of the spell.

There is no record of this in any book, not even in the collection of the Church of the Abyss. Whether it is abyss magic or surface magic, the rules and constraints are like truth and cannot be broken.

But he did. No spells and formulas needed, just feel and domination.

He is only one sure piece of evidence. Nemo's chest got clogged. He didn't want to think about that possibility. The word "Demon King" seemed to have a thorn in it, and it could bring out the pain like a cut when swiping across his mind. He'll have to talk to Oliver about this when it's over.

The memories by their side continue.

"Vengeance." The legendary "Superior Demon Slayer" repeated Colestoro's answer, "...I respect your choice."

Oluori took out a small communication crystal from the pocket on his waist, and threw it at the white demon, his voice was neither salty nor dull. "If you change your mind, use this to contact me."

"You're different from the rumored one." Colestoro tucked the crystal into a rough pocket. "I thought you were going to kill me directly."

"Rumor? Forget it... It's just that you reminded me of a person, unfortunately, I owe him." O'Luo Rui's voice came from behind the wriggling helmet, in a cold tone There was a moment of rare sadness. "Now enjoy the rest of your life, my countryman."

Oluori sighed softly, turned her back, and walked away steadily.

And Nemo squeezed Oliver's wrist and quickened his pace. This is already the shortest route - after all, this is not the time to stop and visit other people's memories, they don't have much time.

It doesn't feel good to walk through the intersection of memories, like the whole person is struggling to pass through a thick layer of skin. When they stepped into the next memory, Nemo almost stopped subconsciously. Oliver also apparently stopped for a moment, and Nemo almost dislocated the opponent's wrist.

The season should be spring, and they saw Duran Fergil in the forest.

It was nothing but a slender Duran Vergil—Mr. Vergil looked like a dead twig, completely dehydrated, sitting at the easel, awkwardly depicting the distant monster skeleton. Yes, only the skeleton. Right now, the Church of Silence doesn't even have a shadow, which is at least 600 years ago... And the appearance is not vaguely similar, Nemo is very sure, that is their client. Even if he was so thin that he lost his appearance, the details of his face matched all the features.

In this way, Duran Fergil is a demon warlock who has lived for at least six hundred years.

His dress is still familiar to them, except that the large and small bags are placed on the ground aside. The linen shirt on Vergil's back was soaked with sweat, revealing a very visible spine and ribs. And there was a young man standing beside him, the white robe was a bit dazzling.

Colestoro stood silently beside Vergil, arms folded, eyes fixed on the canvas.

Fergil was talking ragged, with a wry smile in his voice: "...I would have quit earlier if I had known. Alas, people are like this, they always think they have a lot of time. You know eh? I've been stuffing myself in a closet-like room, dealing with materials and samples all day long—to be honest, I don't really like my job."

"Duri," Colestoro said, holding a **** animal limb. "You should eat something."

"It's Duran." Vergil corrected him patiently, "I don't eat raw food, thank you, I'll clean it up later."

Crestolo frowned and said nothing. He looked away from the canvas and stared at Vergil, who was nagging while he was drawing, his eyes burning—the eyes that looked at his prey.

It's easy to understand, thought Nemo. Duran Fergil's aptitude is good, his limbs are intact, and his mind is clear. While it's not clear why he looked so weak, human disease was never a big problem for a superior demon, even one dying like Colestro.

Colestoro stared at the prey like a real leopard, waiting for the opponent to reveal the most vulnerable moment, planning to kill it with one blow. After all, this place is remote, and the scope of personal activities of this incomplete contract is extremely small. It's hard to come across a skin with acceptable qualifications, and the opportunity is really rare.

The death of the superior demon is very long, at least decades. Colestoro looks very patient, and is bound to win the contract with the human beings in front of him. Nemo could see his strategy. This superior demon decided to accompany this weak human first to gain the favor and trust of the other party. Regrettably, Colestoro apparently couldn't get much useful information out of the current brain diseased body—his gestures were too clumsy.

The white demon sullenly shoved the **** raw meat into Virgil's face.

Fergil pushed that hand away with a smile, coughed twice, and continued to paint on the drawing board in front of him.

"Wrong drawing, human." Colestoro's gesture was rejected, with dissatisfaction in his tone. "Stop painting, I said, you should eat something."

"What's wrong?" Vergil raised an eyebrow.

Colestoro grabbed the brush unceremoniously and scribbled quickly.

The crooked and crooked paintings disappear, the devil's brushwork is rough, but the shape is very accurate. Vergil smacked his lips loudly. "Do you want a drawing board?"

"Why?" Colestoro's tone became more and more dissatisfied.

"Because mine is going to be changed back to the way it was."

"But that makes no sense."

"...Look at my current situation." Vergil's eyes were slightly curved with a smile, "Is it like pursuing some 'meaning'? I just like painting."

The demon watched him quietly, the raw meat in his left hand was still dripping blood slowly.

"I've pursued the 'meaning of life' all my life, Colesi." Vergil's tone was very gentle, "Working step by step, living according to the expectations of the elders. But I have only now discovered...other people's 'Meaning' has no value to me."

"I don't understand." Colestoro sounded flat. "You're in pain, and you have to have a purpose in your pain."

"No." Vergil shook his head, "Live naturally, die naturally. That's fine."

Nimo resisted the desire to stay, he dragged Oliver forward, leaving the phantom of the two behind him.

Fergil in the next flashback looked even weaker, his tall body curled up, trembling with pain. And Colestoro still stood silently beside him, his face was not very good-looking.

The forest is full of vitality in summer, and the cicadas are noisy. Vergil was still holding the brush, and he painted the clumsy painting with each stroke.

"Don't you have any wishes, Douri?" asked Colestoro. In his hand he was carrying a piece of meat with bones, this time it was charred black. "Want to talk?"

"...It's Duran." There was an unpleasant phlegm in Vergil's low laugh. "Wish? There are many. The world is beautiful, isn't it? If I want to say the most... I want to go to the end of the world to see the glaciers, and I've been bored in a city for the rest of my life. It's a big loss."

"Oh." The white demon was lost in thought. "I don't feel pretty."

"You don't need to agree with me." Vergil glanced at the piece of meat, and the smile on his thin face grew stronger. "Clessi, what's your wish?"

Colestoro looked away, almost crushing the bones in his hand. "I want painless relief," he said, trying to suppress the hatred in his voice.

Nemo heard Oliver sigh behind him. They are very close to the source of the spell, and the speed of the flashes of memory is getting faster and faster.

The last memory is probably an autumn day. The lush forests are mostly gold and red. But this time the easel was not erected, it fell to one side, and was buried in most of the fallen leaves. Vergil was half-lying, his almost skeletonized body leaning against a tree, and his skin was abnormally gray. He looked like he could die at any moment.

"Clessi," he murmured, "are you still there? I can't see you."

The demon jumped from a nearby tree, still expressionless. He was still carrying the meat, which seemed to be cooked just right. But he threw it aside.

"Hmm." He responded curtly.

Fergil smiled weakly, the flesh on his face wrinkled and collapsed, and the smile even looked a little scary.

"You're going to die." Colestoro commented calmly.

"Yes."

"Then make a wish." The white demon said, "I am a superior demon, I can let you live-Duri, you still have a chance to see the glacier at the end of the world."

"I know. I'm sorry to have kept you secret for so long... I have indeed been huddled in a small place, sorting out materials and samples—as an exorcist's assistant." Fergil said with a sigh, " Kolesi, I know what you want."

Crestolo sat down directly opposite Virgil, but Virgil's eyes could only stare at the void. The spreading abyssal toxin had taken away his vision. "But you didn't leave." The demon spoke very slowly, "You know I'm here, but you didn't report."

"Yeah, I'm a mean little guy." Fergil said, "If I'm going to do something 'meaning'...I should pretend not to know, leave your activity area and notify the nearest army. Then they will... solve your hidden danger."

Crestolo looked at him silently.

"But I know what happened to you, Mr. Cliff Nightmare Leopard." The thin man coughed heavily, and the bloodshot from the corner of his lips was close to purple-black. "You did nothing wrong...and I know how desperate it is to be trapped in a dying body."

"...I don't need human mercy."

"No way, maybe I'm too sentimental." Vergil's voice was low, "I moved myself on my own, ran away and waited to die on my own, liked on my own..."

I don't know because of the pain or something, he stopped talking and took a few deep breaths.

"I make a wish to you." When he spoke again, Vergil's voice became smaller and smaller. "I want to make a wish to you."

"And that wish...you will surely come true," he said, "I'm sorry I have a position as a human being. But there is one more thing I can do...my wish is, 'Please You don't want to kill innocent people'."

His body twitched and gasped for a while. "You can take this body directly, and then you can go anywhere, even if you go to the abyss to kill yourself... You just need to swear to me..."

"I see." Colestoro was silent for a long time before finally speaking.

Fergil's arm moved, as if trying to make a hand-raising motion, but ultimately failed. He lowered his head, bowed his head in resignation, and fell into a dying drowsiness.

And Colestoro approached again with flesh and blood, but the purple-black flesh was still pulsating.

His own flesh.

The white demon pursed his lips and slowly painted the circle. On the other side, the throbbing flesh seemed to come to life—it wrapped around Vergil's neck and burrowed into the back of his neck. The dark-colored blood flowed slowly.

"You should continue to draw," he said to the unconscious human, "you draw too badly."

Colestoro straightened up and stood for a moment, expressionless. Then he turned his body and walked towards the skeleton of his own body without turning his head. Nemo could see the cold sweat oozing from the demon's forehead and the slightly quivering body—the flesh was drained, and his strength could no longer suppress the pain. Now they are making a comeback.

"Lord O'Lorre." The white demon activated the communication crystal, "I changed my mind."

"Seal me...the sooner the better."

"...what did he do?" Oliver's voice came from behind Nemo, and it sounded unpleasant.

"Oli, like I told you before. Theoretically, there is a very rare occurrence of demon warlocks." Nemo found his voice extremely dry. "The superior demon gave up the contract and voluntarily gave power."

They give freedom to each other, but no one really succeeds. Considering the complexity and obscurity of the erosion spell, the ancient passages that were secretly broken open under the church, how well Vergil knew about the Silent Church—

As things stand, Duran Fergil has never been truly free.

"He's fulfilling Colestoro's wishes." Oliver's voice was soft, "Are we really going to intervene? Wouldn't it be a little rude to Mr. Vergil?"

"I don't know," Nemo said, his voice shaking a little. "But in theory...there is a better way."

Common sense, Vergil's choice may be the most reasonable. Nemo took a few deep breaths, trying to think as calmly as possible. If his guesses weren't wrong, if he really had that terrifying unknown power—

Then another option does exist.

(m..=)