The Demon Lord's Bride (BL)-Chapter 661: You never know where the ball is rolling

While the Lord and his family were having a lovely time in the Castle, their dedicated spy was...having an overtime.

At first, Heraz’s duty was only to follow and observe the Hero. It then suddenly evolved so much that he even got to be on a mission with the young master directly. But now, there were so many things he had to do that he was no longer leading a squad, but a whole department.

He had to manage the fake leads to fool the church while cooperating with the humans. And also watching over the church’s movement. Oh, and preparing some stuff in case they had to attack the church. That wasn’t too bad; he only had to go all over the Human Realm. Looking for a Necromancer and a Soulmancer promptly was just...a bonus.

Haa...

Heraz hadn’t seen his house for two years.

But it was fine. His father told him that the patriarch appointed the old man to the elder council, so his family should be safe and looked after well. Not incurring the Lord’s fury and staying alive was more important.

At any rate, it was his fault. He should have locked the human and waited for instruction instead of killing him. He knew it was by the young master’s grace that he wasn’t demoted, so he better fix his mistake by working thrice as hard.

Fortunately, the Lord sent another squad as reinforcement to look for a Necromancer and a Soulmancer, so he didn’t have to rearrange his subordinate’s existing task. Unfortunately, most of the necromancers and soulmancers were staying in the empty region or the border--to make it easier for them to run away--and those places were far away from their headquarters.

Because of this, Heraz couldn’t look for those people himself, since he should stayed in the headquarters to command the whole operations in the Human Realm. And by the Lord’s fire--it was so frustrating waiting for news from someone else instead of digging it himself.

"Haa...we don’t have much time," Heraz massaged his temple as a week passed by since the order without any result.

The more time they spent, the more the body would decompose. Not to mention, the soul would start to drift into the realm of nothingness as time passed. If they were to fail...the extent of the Lord’a fury was something they’d rather not imagine.

Thankfully, someone finally came up with a good result.

"We found another one," one of Heraz’s most trusted colleagues--now subordinate--called Sore reported to the headquarters.

"This is the fourth already. Are you sure about his credibility?" Heraz pointed at the shapeshifter.

"I’m certain this time."

"Who vouchs for him?"

"No one," Sore shrugged, and then added before a vein could protrude off their boss’s temple. "But he was employed by the church before."

Heraz paused and stared at Sore’s black eyes. For a while, there was only silence in the room. Even the busy subordinates managing the flow of information in the background stopped their activity to stare at Sore. Nonchalantly, but also sincerely, the black eyes blinked and Sore solemnly nodded.

Heraz raised his hand and lowered his head. "Pfft--" he buried his face in the table as muffled laughter filled the room. Exactly five seconds later, his hand went down and he raised his head, already in his expressionless state. "Alright, that’s enough. Indeed, the best people to vouch for you are your enemies."

Just like their young master, who was feared and respected more by the demons instead of the humans who only saw him as a tool. What a bunch of fools.

"Still, talk to them first," he slid a contract scroll toward Sore. "Use your own judgment; if you think they’re valid, contract them right away. Money does not matter."

"Yes, Sir."

Immediately, Sore disappeared into a burst of light, and Heraz exhaled slowly, praying that this one would be it. "Phew--let’s get back to the fake leads."

And back to the grind.

* * *

Inside a dingy pub in a questionable area near the black market of Karte--a kingdom not far from Lenaar--Sore used a squire disguise beneath a cloak of a decent quality that was intentionally smeared with dirt to make it look shabby.

For anyone else, it was clear that Sore was someone sent by a noble or a rich merchant to look for something illegal--which was exactly what the shapeshifter was after. The scruffy middle-aged man in front of them was clearly more cooperative after thinking they brought more money, but not brazen enough to be rude.

"Are you sure it’s doable?" Sore asked sharply, with a stiff demeanor as if they were a knight.

"Look here, Mister. It’s not up to me, okay?" the middle-aged man, the Soulmancer, patted the table between them. "I can call a soul that still lingers around, but I won’t be able to do shit if that soul is already dragged to the corridor."

Make sense. That was what they thought too. "How can you know the soul is still here?"

"How long ago did this person die?"

"How long is the deadline?"

The Soulmancer shrugged. "It should be fine up until the fortieth night."

Sore nodded. There was no need to divulge the date that might reveal the soul’s identity. "That’ll be fine, then."

The Soulmancer was already used to his client being dodgy, so he ignored the vagueness quickly. "Alright, then I’ll need something strong tied to this soul."

"What do you mean?"

"Haa..." the Soulmancer sighed exasperatedly. It was tiring explaining things over and over again, but he remembered the money this client was willing to pay, so he put on his business smile. "Don’t you need something when you search for people? Their face, their characteristic, their scents--I can’t just go around the astral world calling souls by their names. Do you know how many pricks have the same name in this world? It’ll be different if I knew this person personally, but I didn’t."

"Fine," Sore pretended to be impatient and moved their chin haughtily. "What kind of stuff do you need?"

"Something they hold dears, or always carried around," the Soulmancer shrugged. "Weapons or accessories they always wear, their treasure...something like that."

Sore narrowed their eyes. Since they made the mercenary’s death to be as natural as possible, they did not take care of the body. They knew where it was buried, but the man’s belonging was probably either thrown away or looted by the other mercenaries.

But then again, they had a better one to tie down a soul.

Sore tilted his head; the black eyes flashed beneath his cloak. "What about his body?"

"Huh?" the Soulmancer blinked, staring at the inhuman cruelty beneath the cloak and burst out laughing after realizing what this client wanted to do. "Pfft--ahahahahah! You’re even more of a crook than I am!"

"Does it work or not?"

"Sure, that’s even better--the best, actually. It’s just people aren’t usually that crazy--or rich, y’know?"

The Soulmancer wiggled his brows, and his eyes flashed briefly as he saw an opportunity. "Hey, tell you what," he leaned forward and whispered, even though the pub was noisy enough that people wouldn’t hear their conversation clearly. "I usually trapped the soul inside a lantern, but if you’re going as far as patching up his body, I can make a vessel suitable to be placed inside the body--y’know, since you’re going that far. Of course, it won’t be cheap."

"Tsk," Sore scrunched their nose and pulled back with a poorly covered disgust. "How much?"

The Soulmancer’s pale eyes curled and yellow teeth showed beneath busy beards. "Just triple it."

The amount was nothing for them, but Sore slammed the table. "Are you crazy?!"

"Hey, you’re paying for quality! You’ll be able to tie the soul longer that way!"

Naturally, Sore looked at the Soulmancer skeptically. Rather than money, he wondered if this man was truly the real deal. Every source said he was, but...you never knew with these crooks.

"Trust me, man," the Soulmancer clicked his tongue. "Or you can try those other fakers and enjoy your spectacular failure."

"Fuck--fine," Sore grumbled and clenched their hand, glaring at the Soulmancer menacingly. "But if it doesn’t work--"

"Heh--don’t you know how good my reputation is? Wait--I guess I should say how bad!" the Soulmancer cackled and grinned widely.

Sore, on the other hand, scoffed. "How can I just believe that? I heard you’ve failed before."

"That’s a lie!"

The grin vanished from the Soulmancer’s face, replaced with an agitated flare. Sore sneered and leaned back, crossing his arms. "No. I heard from someone who knows this person in the chu--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t mention those people, fuck!" the Soulmancer looked around, hissing cautiously before leaning forward again. "Tsk, fine. Let me be honest; that job was a whack. They were the ones who duped me!"

"What do you mean?"

The Soulmancer frowned deeply. "Haa...I told you before, right? I can call a soul as long as they are still wandering here. But that time, it was either the soul already long gone or the item did not belong to that person."

"Isn’t that just an excuse?"

"Fuck--don’t tell anyone, okay?" the man lowered his voice even more. "You know the war in Lenaar--not the new one, the one in the past, with that brat they called a Hero or whatever."

Sore leaned toward the darkness to hide the twitch in the corner of their eyes. "What about it?"

"So, a couple of bastards came to me to call for a soul and ask about some spear or whatever. They said the person was dead not long ago--a priest, me think--and they brought me this small box to be used to trace him."

The shapeshifter felt their throat dried. "A priest?"