Chapter 67
Mammon had planted his followers in two distinct groups across Scrap Yard.
One, hidden among the factory owners, stoking their insatiable greed—again and again.
And the other, embedded within the labor activists, endlessly fanning the flames of their rage and thirst for struggle.
When those two forces—wrath and greed—both reached their boiling points and finally collided, the result would be an explosion so massive it would plunge the city into a prolonged civil war.
And not just here.
The entire Empire would likely spiral into chaos, a battlefield where labor and capital tore each other apart.
And in that inferno of power-hungry, wealth-obsessed madness, Mammon would feast on the falling souls and resentments, growing ever more bloated and powerful.
But for that to happen, one thing was critical: his identity could not be revealed.
Mammon simply had to pull the strings from the shadows and consume resentment.
Unlike the raging Satan of Wrath or the jealous Leviathan, who clashed head-on with the Pantheon, Mammon had chosen a much safer, more profitable path.
And so his followers had taken every precaution to remain hidden.
To avoid provoking the Pantheon or the Imperial Court.
They were careful. Obsessively so.
Or… they had been.
Until now.
“Who the hell are you?
Why isn’t my ability working on you?”
With a deadly tone, the Saint unfastened his belt and gripped it in his hand—
And the expressions on the cultists’ faces instantly contorted in horror.
What… what the hell was happening?
The room was completely still, as if time itself had frozen.
Only the Saint and the cultists could move—
As if they were the only ones who still existed in this world.
“Filthy bastards. You were deliberately provoking Karl Lenaro to spill blood, weren’t you? Planning to offer the blood, the resentment, and the souls to your master.”
The fury in the Saint’s voice made the cultists’ eyes dart wildly.
They were shaken. But their judgment was quick.
“Mammon, grant us strength!!”
A blood-red dagger materialized in each of their hands.
And just like that—they charged at the Saint.
Their cover was blown. He had to die.
Even if it meant exposing themselves to the Pantheon or the Imperial authorities, there was no other choice.
They enchanted the daggers with powerful black magic—
A spell that strengthened the body and could wound even the soul itself.
And they lunged.
To them, the Saint was nothing more than an easy target.
The frozen space was narrow, like a cramped back alley,
And they were specialists—assassins and hexers who’d killed in the shadows for years.
That clueless Saint, who looked too kind and gentle to have ever been in a real fight—
There was no way he could stop them.
But then—
“Yeah. Come on, then. Let’s do this, you sons of bitches.”
With a violent whip-crack, the belt sliced through the air.
And a cultist’s molars went flying, scattering through the air like popcorn.
Mammon.
Even I knew that name.
A Demon King.
Of course a rat like him would be hiding in this rotten, festering gutter.
Now it all made sense—
How they were driving Karl Lenaro into a corner,
How they were intentionally trying to set the workers and capitalists at each other’s throats to harvest the resentment and souls that would fall between.
I couldn’t forgive it.
Out there, people were starving—dying because they had no food.
People were in pain with no way to get treatment.
And these monsters were trying to turn that suffering into a factory for resentment?!
“You demonic sons of bitches!!”
I dodged to the side as one of the cultists lunged toward me—
And then I whipped the belt again.
CRACK!
With a satisfying sound, another cultist was launched backward, blood and teeth spraying as they crashed into the wall.
But the time-frozen space was small.
And while I was handling one—
The other two managed to close the distance and drove their daggers toward my gut.
Their faces lit up with twisted glee.
“We got him!!—AAGHH!!”
But then—
They screamed in pain and dropped their daggers, stumbling backward.
Blood trickled from their hands.
How?
Simple.
I had cast Time Stop in the space directly in front of my stomach.
Their daggers had stopped cold in that frozen time barrier—
And their own momentum had driven the enchanted blades into their own hands.
Thank you, Archmage Orgen.
Your psychic amplifier’s control fidelity is off the charts.
Nothing like the clunky stuff I used to use.
“Wh-Who the hell are you?! What kind of monster wields power like that?!”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a Saint, you f**ing* morons.”
“LIES!! None of the gods in the Pantheon can stop time!! Who—what the hell are you?!”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is, you’re getting your asses beat today.”
CRACK!
The belt cut through the air again.
With their daggers gone, the two cultists were no match for me anymore.
Thanks to my physical augmentations, my strength and reflexes were cranked up to inhuman levels.
It wasn’t even a fight.
A few more sharp, meaty impacts echoed in the narrow space.
And then—
The three cultists were down, groaning, bruised, and flattened like steamed buns on the floor.
I didn’t kill them.
I needed answers.
What were they planning?
Why were these demon cultists pretending to be labor activists?
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I stepped forward—
And approached the three of them, lying defeated at my feet.
I was preparing to activate Perception x3000 when I said:
“This is going to hurt like hell. It’s going to hurt, but it won’t kill you. I don’t want to get any more blood on my clothes, so let’s just wrap this up quickly. Just be honest with me—what exactly were you trying to do in this city...?”
I stopped mid-sentence.
All three cultists began convulsing violently, as if suffering from a seizure—
Yet their expressions were pure bliss, almost orgasmic in their ecstasy.
“Ahhh! Aaaah!! He descends!!”
“M-Mammon!! I offer it!! I offer you my flesh!!”
The mashed-up “steamed buns” on the ground began screaming—
And then something black began pouring into their bodies.
Their forms melted, merging together like warm clay, fusing into one monstrous lump of flesh.
I didn’t know exactly what was happening—
But my instincts screamed one thing, loud and clear:
Get. Out. Now.
I tried to cast Time Stop again—
“Kuh! Ghk—!!”
But I was too late.
Before I could do anything,
a hand seized my throat, and I was lifted slowly into the air.
[Skill use disabled!]
[Skill use disabled!]
Time Stop — blocked.
Body Modifications — blocked.
Absolute Hypnosis — blocked.
Perception x3000 — blocked.
Everything was failing me.
As I flailed helplessly in the air—
[When the Worm of the Abyss whispered rumors… I thought they were lies.]
A grotesque figure, covered in dozens of eyeballs bulging from its face—
A voice that echoed straight into the soul, all too familiar in its divine timbre.
The merged flesh of the three cultists had now taken on the form of a man.
A complete, fully formed human shape—
Grinning as he looked up at me.
[Time Stop, huh… Not a single god in the Pantheon has such an ability. It was so absurd, I didn’t believe it. But now…]
Dozens of eyeballs turned toward me in unison.
He hadn’t even introduced himself,
but I already knew exactly who I was looking at.
[Lustful Asmodeus playing the Saint… Pandemonium will lose its mind.]
Mammon.
The Demon King of Greed—had manifested before me.
In every realm—the human world, the heavens, even the Abyss—he had frozen time.
Only he could now move freely.
To Mammon’s knowledge, the Time Stop ability was a hallmark of Asmodeus, the embodiment of Lust.
He’d been sucker-punched and escaped from using that ability more times than he could count.
Just remembering a few of those moments was enough to make his blood boil.
But thankfully, this Asmodeus—this so-called Saint—was terrible at using the power.
Releasing Time Stop right in front of his followers?
That wasn’t just careless. It was practically an invitation.
If you were going to broadcast the existence of Asmodeus’s power, you might as well hang a sign saying “I’m over here!”
Compared to the way the original Asmodeus had once wielded it,
this was pathetic.
Mammon looked at the Saint now dangling from his grip.
Gaunt from caring for the sick.
Unkempt hair, greasy and stuck to his face.
A sour stench clinging to his robes.
Just what the hell was this supposed to be?
Mammon scoffed out a laugh.
Ridiculous.
Surprising, sure.
But not shocking.
Lust was a desire that could be more repulsive, corrupt, and filthy than any other—
But it was also the origin of life itself.
One of the most radiant, sacred acts in existence.
That was lust.
A desire that could create both demons… and gods.
Which is why Lust had always been the one to perfectly disguise himself, slipping in and out of the Pantheon and Pandemonium like it was his personal playground.
Eventually, his tail grew too long—
And he became the only Demon King to be truly erased in the Celestial War.
[Asmodeus. We weren’t exactly friends, but we weren’t mortal enemies either. You didn’t think you’d stir shit into my plan and walk away unscathed, did you?]
Mammon said, gripping my throat tighter, his tone dripping with mockery.
[“A blessing in disguise”—that phrase fits this moment perfectly.]
The Abyssal god had been right.
He hadn’t believed it when told that Asmodeus was playing Saint.
It had sounded impossible.
But now that it turned out to be true—
There was no reason not to devour him.
Time was frozen.
The Pantheon couldn’t intervene.
No one could stop Mammon.
Yes, if the Saint died, the Empire and the Pantheon would retaliate.
Mammon’s centuries-old plan would be ruined.
But if he could absorb another Demon King’s power?
It’d be worth the cost.
No—more than worth it.
It would be the ultimate jackpot.
His free hand slowly transformed—
Fingertips elongating into a needle-sharp spike.
Mammon brought the tip toward the Saint’s heart.
[You idiot. Think about it—if time is stopped, and only some of my followers are moving, then obviously everyone’s attention will zero in on that. The real Asmodeus would’ve never made a blunder like that.]
Mammon laughed, booming and echoing.
[After I absorb your power, I’ll plunge this world into endless suffering.
And every soul, every drop of resentment that falls will belong to me.
Watch from within me as I become the strongest Demon King in all of Pandemonium.]
“N-No… please… don’t…”
Tears fell from the Saint’s eyes as he struggled—
But it was too late.
[The Pantheon. The Evil Gods. The other Demon Kings.All of them are frozen in time.No one’s going to stop me from devouring you.]
The spike drove deep into the Saint’s chest.
The Saint’s chest burst open as blood gushed from his mouth.
His trembling body gave a final jolt—
Then fell still.
Dead.
Now, the soul would separate from the flesh.
All that remained was to absorb the soul—along with the divine authority of Lust—and consume it whole.
[Heheheh!! Hahahaha!! Who would’ve thought it’d turn out like this?! What a stroke of luck!!]
Mammon drooled greedily as he began drawing the Saint’s soul into himself.
Just a little more.
Just a little more, and the authority of Lust would be his.
Then, he would surpass even the arrogance of Lucifer, and rise as the true absolute sovereign of Pandemonium.
He was already grinning at the rose-colored future—when suddenly—
[...Hm?]
Mammon blinked.
The scenery had changed.
He was no longer in the frozen basement of Scrap Yard.
Now he stood in a cold, stark, white world.
[A mental realm? Wait… why am I here?]
While Mammon struggled to process it—
[So it’s you. The one who hurt my Holy Pip.]
A deep, solid voice echoed from behind.
Mammon turned his head.
A square-jawed man. Towering. Muscular.
A strange, angular beard on his chin.
In his arms, he held the unconscious soul of the Saint—gently, protectively.
He stared directly at Mammon.
Mammon recognized him instantly.
[Lust? Is that you? And what’s with that ridiculous look?]
[Why did you hurt my Holy Pip?]
Holy Pip? What kind of idiotic nickname was that?
Mammon couldn’t help but chuckle at this unfamiliar, clownish side of Asmodeus, the embodiment of Lust.
He shrugged.
[That pathetic human body and soul? Who cares. Lust, don’t resist—join with me. If we combine our powers, we can become the new rulers of Pandemonium. Lucifer’s had his turn long enough. It’s our time now.]
[And if I refuse?]
[Refuse, huh.]
Mammon snorted, then began to grow—massively.
In an instant, Asmodeus and the Saint shrank to tiny specks at his feet, like bugs clinging to his sole.
[You think you can beat me, when you haven’t consumed a single soul or grudge in over 300 years?]
At his taunt, Asmodeus quietly laid the Saint’s soul behind him.
[Good thing Holy Pip is unconscious. I didn’t want him to see me like this.]
And in the very next moment—
Asmodeus began to grow, too.
Rapidly.
Until Mammon was now the tiny bug beneath his towering foot.
Mammon reeled back in shock.
[Wh-Where did you get that kind of power…?!]
[How much faith do you think I’ve absorbed over the last six months in the capital? You’ve got it all wrong, Mammon. You didn’t devour me.]
The absolute giga-chad.
No—Asmodeus, Lust incarnate—grinned wide with mockery and opened his mouth slowly.
[I entered you. I went into your very core… because it’d be easier to consume you that way. You’re going to pay—deeply—for what you did to my Holy Pip.]
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