This Isn't an E*otic Game?-Chapter 67: Reverse Tour

Mammon had already infiltrated Scrap Yard by dividing his followers into two factions.

One faction had wormed its way among the factory owners, relentlessly stoking their insatiable greed.

The other had embedded itself among the labor theorists, endlessly fueling their revolutionary fervor and rage.

Once these opposing forces reached their breaking point and collided, the resulting explosion would ignite a civil war—one designed to drag on indefinitely.

And it wouldn’t stop here.

There was a high probability that the entire empire would descend into chaos, torn apart by the struggle between capitalists and labor theorists.

Mammon intended to bask in that anarchy, gorging himself on the souls and grudges that would rain down amidst the power-hungry and greed-driven slaughter.

But the most critical part of his plan was ensuring that his true identity remained hidden.

Mammon needed only to pull the strings from the shadows, feasting on the hatred that festered in the wake of his manipulations.

Unlike Satan of Wrath, who preferred to charge headfirst into battle with the Celestial Pantheon, or Leviathan of Envy, who thrived on direct confrontation, Mammon had found a far safer, far more profitable method.

That was why his followers, too, had taken every possible precaution to avoid exposure.

They had been meticulous—careful not to provoke the Celestial Pantheon, cautious not to attract the imperial family's attention. They had spent years ensuring their secrecy...

And yet.

And yet.

“What the fuck are you guys? Why isn’t my ability working on you?”

The Saint unfastened his belt, gripping it tightly as he spoke in a murderous tone. His words alone were enough to make the followers’ faces twist in despair.

What the hell was going on?

It was as if time had stopped—the entire room remained eerily still, devoid of movement. Only they and the Saint existed in this frozen world, the sole beings capable of action.

“You filthy bastards. You were deliberately egging Kal Lenaro on, planning to make him spill blood, weren’t you? You intended to soak this place in death, offering the resulting resentment and souls to the one you serve, right?”

The Saint’s voice was thick with rage, and the followers’ eyes darted wildly.

They were confused—overwhelmingly so—but their instincts told them they needed to act fast.

“Mammon! Grant us your power!”

A crimson dagger, conjured entirely from blood, materialized in each of their hands.

Then, without hesitation, they lunged at the Saint.

Their cover was blown—there was no other choice.

Revealing themselves would undoubtedly draw the attention of the Celestial Pantheon and the imperial family, but it was already too late. Now, the only option left was to eliminate the Saint.

They infused their bodies with dark magic, strengthening their muscles with unholy reinforcement. The enchanted daggers they held carried a curse potent enough to harm even a soul directly.

To them, the Saint seemed like easy prey.

The space was cramped, like a narrow alleyway, the perfect environment for assassins like them. They had killed countless people in conditions just like this—sneaking through the slums, cursing their victims in secret, snuffing out lives before anyone could cry for help.

And judging by the Saint’s soft features and clueless demeanor, he was the type who had never been in a real fight before.

There was no way he could win.

But the very next moment—

“Alright then. Let’s fucking do this, you pieces of shit.”

With a sharp crack, the belt sliced through the air.

And in an instant, the followers’ teeth were flying.

****

Mammon.

That was a name I recognized.

Of course.

It made perfect sense that a rat like him would be lurking in this festering cesspool.

The way they had pushed Kal Lenaro so aggressively—

Now that I thought about it, it was obvious. They were deliberately stoking the conflict between the working class and the capitalists, all so they could feast on the resentment and souls that would fall from the slaughter.

I couldn’t fucking stand it.

There were people outside, starving to death because they couldn’t afford food. There were sick people, rotting away because they had no way to get treatment.

And these sons of bitches were planning to turn this suffering into some kind of grudge-fueled soul factory?

“You goddamn demons!!”

I swung my belt.

Sidestepping the follower lunging at me, I lashed out.

With a satisfying snap, my belt struck one of them across the mouth, sending his teeth scattering into the air before his body crashed against the wall.

But the space was too damn small.

By the time I had dealt with one of them, the other two had already closed in.

I felt the cold bite of a dagger sink into my stomach.

Their faces split into victorious grins.

“We got him—!!”

“AARGH!!”

But the next moment, they screamed and staggered backward, dropping their weapons.

Blood poured from their hands.

How?

Simple.

I had frozen time.

Specifically, I had locked the space directly in front of my abdomen in a time-stop field.

The moment their daggers entered the frozen space, they stopped moving—while their own hands, still gripping the hilts, kept going.

They had essentially stabbed themselves.

Thanks for this one, Jörgen.

This psychic amplifier was a fucking miracle.

My control had improved to a level I never could have managed before.

“W-Who the hell are you?! What kind of being has this kind of power?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m the Saint, you dumb motherfuckers.”

“That’s impossible! There’s no god in the Celestial Pantheon who can stop time! Who the hell are you?! What are you?!”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m about to beat the shit out of you.”

With another deafening crack, the belt lashed out once more.

Now that they had lost their weapons, the two remaining followers didn’t stand a chance.

After reinforcing my body with muscle enhancements, my strength and reflexes had been cranked up to absurd levels. At this point, “followers” was too generous a word—these guys were nothing but punching bags.

A few well-placed hits later, and all three were lying on the floor, faces swollen beyond recognition.

I had made sure not to kill them.

I needed them alive.

I needed answers.

What was their plan?

Why the hell were demon worshippers masquerading as labor theorists?

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I stepped closer.

I was about to crank the pain sensitivity up to 3000% and get some goddamn answers when—

I stopped.

The three of them had begun convulsing violently.

But their expressions...

They looked ecstatic.

“Aah! AAAAAHHH!! HE DESCENDS!!!”

“M-MAMMON!! I OFFER MY BODY TO YOU!!!”

The next second, a black, writhing mass began to engulf their flesh.

Their bodies melted.

The three of them fused together, their forms twisting like wet clay, merging into a single, grotesque abomination.

I didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

But I did know one thing.

This was bad.

My instincts were screaming at me to run.

I immediately tried to freeze time again.

But—

“Kh...!! Guhh...!!”

I was too late.

Before I could do anything, something grabbed me by the throat and hoisted me into the air.

[SKILL USE PROHIBITED.]

[SKILL USE PROHIBITED.]

Time-stop.

Body reinforcement.

Absolute Hypnosis.

Sensory Amplification 3000%.

Nothing was working.

Completely helpless, I dangled midair.

And then—

[So, the Crawling Worm of the Abyss was telling the truth after all.]

A voice that reverberated through my very soul.

A grotesque form with dozens of eyes growing across its flesh.

The fused mass had reshaped itself into a humanoid figure, staring up at me with a sadistic grin.

[Time-stop, hmm? There isn’t a single god in the Celestial Pantheon capable of that. I thought it was absurd. I didn’t believe it could be true...]

A hundred pupils locked onto me at once.

He didn’t introduce himself.

But I didn’t need an introduction.

I already knew exactly who he was.

[Asmodeus, the Demon King of Lust, playing the role of a Saint? Pandemonium will lose its goddamn mind.]

Mammon.

The Demon King of Greed had manifested before me.

The ability to stop time—not just in the human realm, but in Heaven, Hell, and even the Abyss itself—while moving freely alone.

As far as Mammon knew, time-stop was an ability intrinsically tied to Lust.

How many times had Asmodeus used that ability to backstab him and run away?

Even recalling just a few of those memories made Mammon’s blood boil.

But fortunately, the one using time-stop now was utterly incapable of wielding such an overwhelmingly broken power to its full potential.

To think he had released the time-stop right in front of Mammon’s own followers.

It was practically an open invitation—an advertisement that Asmodeus’ power was here.

He had made it too easy for Mammon to pinpoint his location and manifest.

Compared to how Asmodeus used to wield time-stop at his peak, this was nothing short of a pathetic display.

Mammon observed the so-called Saint.

Unkempt, malnourished from tending to the sick, barely cleaned.

Greasy, tangled hair.

A pungent stench.

What in the actual fuck was this?

Mammon couldn’t help but laugh.

It was amusing. It was unexpected.

But it wasn’t shocking.

Because this was Lust.

The most depraved, vile, and revolting of all desires—yet also the most radiant, the foundation of life itself.

That was Lust.

A desire that could create both demons and gods.

That was why Lust had always been able to disguise himself perfectly, slipping in and out of both the Celestial Pantheon and Pandemonium as if they were his own backyard.

Of course, in the end, his luck had run out.

Of all the Demon Lords in Pandemonium, Asmodeus was the only one who had perished in the Heavenly War.

[Asmodeus. We were never exactly on good terms, but I wouldn’t say it was the worst, either. You didn’t actually think you could waltz in, ruin my carefully laid plans, and walk away unscathed, did you?]

Mammon sneered, tightening his grip around the Saint’s throat.

[“A blessing in disguise” was never more fitting than it is right now.]

The bastard Evil God had been right.

Mammon had refused to believe it. The idea that Asmodeus—Asmodeus of all beings—was actually playing the role of a Saint?

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It was too absurd.

And yet, here it was. Undeniable proof.

Now, Mammon had no reason not to devour him.

With time frozen, the Celestial Pantheon wouldn’t be able to interfere.

Sure, the moment the Saint died, the Imperial Family and the Pantheon would descend upon Scrap Yard with their full force, completely dismantling Mammon’s long-gestated plans.

But so what?

If he succeeded in devouring another Demon Lord’s power, who cared if a few decades of preparation went up in smoke?

It would be more than worth it.

It would be a massive gain.

The hand not gripping the Saint’s throat slowly shifted—

Sharpening into a razor-thin spike.

Mammon carefully pressed it against the Saint’s chest, aiming directly for his heart.

[You made a foolish mistake. Think about it. If time is frozen everywhere, but only a select few of my followers can move, wouldn’t that naturally attract attention? Asmodeus of the past would never have been this careless.]

Mammon burst into laughter.

[Once I’ve devoured your power, I’ll use it to bring unparalleled suffering upon the human world. And all the souls and resentment that rain down from it? They’ll all be mine to consume. You’ll get to witness firsthand as I become Pandemonium’s strongest Demon Lord—stronger than any who came before me.]

“...No... please... don’t...”

Tears welled in the Saint’s eyes as he weakly struggled.

But it was too late.

[The Celestial Pantheon. The Evil Gods. The other Demon Lords. None of them can stop me right now.]

[For making it this easy to devour you, I truly am grateful.]

The spike plunged into the Saint’s chest.

His heart burst.

A choked cough tore from his lips, a torrent of blood spilling from his mouth.

For a moment, his body trembled.

Then he went still.

Dead.

Now, his soul would separate from his body.

All Mammon had to do was swallow it whole.

With it, he would devour Lust’s authority.

[Hahaha...! HAHAHAHA!! To think it would be this easy! What an unexpected fortune!!]

Saliva dripped from Mammon’s lips as he greedily yanked at the Saint’s soul, pulling it toward himself.

Just a little more.

Just a little more, and Lust’s power would be his.

With it, he would surpass Lucifer of Pride.

He would become the absolute ruler of Pandemonium.

Drunk on the ecstasy of his imminent triumph, Mammon laughed.

And then—

[...Huh?]

Something was wrong.

The scene around him had changed.

This was not the underground chamber in Scrap Yard, frozen in time.

No.

Mammon was now standing in a cold, white world.

[A mental realm...? Wait, why am I here?]

Confused, Mammon turned.

And then, from behind him—

[So you’re the bastard who hurt my little Saintpipi.]

A deep, rumbling voice filled the air.

Mammon whipped his head around.

A man stood before him, cradling the unconscious soul of the Saint in his arms.

A square-jawed, muscle-bound man.

With a strangely shaped goatee.

The moment Mammon laid eyes on him, he knew.

[...Lust? Is that you? What the fuck is with that ridiculous appearance?]

[Why did you hurt my little Saintpipi?]

Mammon stared, momentarily stunned.

And then he burst out laughing.

[Saint...what?]

He couldn't help it. This was the most idiotic thing he had ever seen.

Shoulders shaking with laughter, he shrugged.

[It’s just a human soul. Why should I care?]

[Come now, Lust. Stop resisting. If you and I join forces, we could rule Pandemonium together. Don’t you think Lucifer’s had his turn for long enough? It’s time for us to take the throne.]

[And what if I refuse?]

[Refuse?]

Mammon chuckled darkly.

His body began to expand.

In an instant, Lust and the Saint were reduced to mere insects beneath his colossal form.

[You think you can win against me? After [N O V E L I G H T] 300 years without devouring a single grudge or soul?]

Mammon sneered.

But Lust simply placed the Saint’s soul gently behind him.

[Good thing my Saintpipi is unconscious. I wouldn’t want him to see this.]

And in the next instant—

Lust grew.

Bigger.

Bigger.

Until Mammon was the one reduced to a speck beneath his feet.

Mammon’s face twisted in horror.

[W-Wait, where did you get this...?!]

[How much faith do you think I absorbed in the capital over the last six months?]

Lust’s lips curled into a smirk.

[You got something very wrong, Mammon.]

[You didn’t devour me.]

[I entered you.]

[Because this way, it’s easier to devour you from the inside.]

[And for hurting my Saintpipi, I’m going to make you pay.]