The Shepherds Are Dense

Chapter 161. What Tricks Did I Use? Ch 161. What Tricks Did I Use?

York jolted awake, coughing violently.He rolled over, hacking up a clot of foul blood before his breathing eased.

Glancing back, he saw the archive room door closed. His attacker and their accomplice were gone.

His body began to transform. As he demonized, traits of the snare demon emerged.

Pink, tentacle-like buds sprouted on his arms, writhing unconsciously like antennae, sensing their surroundings—organs that fed on dreams and memories. His pupils turned misty pink with a dark red cross-star, his back hunched, his body emaciated. A snake-like tail slithered from his spine.

The transformation healed his wounds.

“I’m alive…” York muttered.

His voice turned shrill, feminine, laced with a metallic rasp.

All demon-possessed had robust vitality, a trait retained even as a demon host. A pierced heart wasn’t fatal.

To kill a demon-possessed cleanly, one had to destroy the head, sever it, or rip out the heart. Even a torn heart could regenerate with the demon’s vitality.

Like the savage trolls of the Southern Continent, early Avalon executed demon-possessed with fire, believing it stopped regeneration, as it did for trolls.

But fire killed them through sustained damage, burning as they healed, prolonging agony. Queen Sophia abolished this cruel punishment, opting for standard executions.

His attacker, also demon-possessed, knew this vitality.

Leaving York alive was deliberate.

York felt little anger—some, but not much. The intel mattered more.

His foe was bound by their mentor’s orders but seemed disloyal, possibly constrained by a contract, forced to “kill” him once.

It made sense.

A shadow demon-possessed, with much of their body and soul under its control, could overpower a third-tier at first-tier. Their mentor’s distrust was reasonable.

Their defiance showed in sparing York and revealing their origins.

What did they want?

A possibility struck York: “The ‘Breach’ technique?”

“Heh…” The snare demon inside chuckled. “Keep guessing—you’re 1% there.”

York snapped mentally.

The demon always lied, leading him astray to sabotage him. After falling for it initially, York stopped trusting it.

It was plausible.

The Lloyd Society held the secret “Breach” technique, allowing one to break contracts and oaths without consequence.

If bound by a contract, seeking York’s help to break it was logical.

But why not approach President Lloyd?

And if aligned with Lloyd, why need York for Boca’s address?

Demonized, York’s mind raced.

A plausible theory formed: his mentor wasn’t from the Lloyd Society but Noble Red.

Only Lloyd’s faction fully aligned with Noble Red. York and Boca, though members, held “Transcendent hearts,” noticed by Noble Red’s leaders.

They were kept for balance, to extract benefits from both sides.

But his mentor’s faction—or Noble Red itself—now deemed Lloyd sufficient, aiming to purge Boca’s group, unbeknownst to Lloyd.

It all clicked.

They knew only Boca and York’s names, attacking the firm because they couldn’t pinpoint York’s residence, lying in wait.

The demon-possessed hedged their bets, sparing York to keep options open, distrusting their mentor’s plan.

York’s deductions, based on what he saw and his survival, were likely mostly true, even if slightly off.

“I need to fake my death,” he realized. “If I show myself, their mentor might send them back to finish me.”

He couldn’t handle this alone—he had to inform Boca.

Leaving the archive room, he dialed Boca’s number from the living room.

“I’m Bran Boca,” a steady voice answered instantly, despite the predawn hour.

“Trouble, Mr. Boca,” York said quietly.

“I know,” Boca replied.

York thought.

Boca quickly clarified, “Your voice? You’re…?”

“It’s York. I was attacked, killed once, and demonized. It’ll take half a day to recover.”

He shared his theory: “The attacker was a strong demon-possessed, likely from Noble Red. They’re close to Lloyd and aiming to eliminate us.”

“Shadow demon-possessed?” Boca asked.

“How’d you know?” York blinked. “You met them?”

“No. Last night, Aiwass was attacked and abducted by them. That’s why I’m up early. Aiwass hasn’t inherited the Moriarty title yet, but he’s close. His disappearance is big enough to shake the Round Table Hall.”

“Weren’t we the ones who sent people to attack Aiwass?” York frowned.

“Yes, they’re all dead. I’m still piecing it together… They might’ve been killed by this shadow demon. If they’re with Lloyd, it makes sense.”

Boca’s voice, calm but tinged with suppressed anger, continued, “They’re thwarting my plans! They recognize Aiwass’s status and talent, fearing he’d join me. They’d rather expose the Lloyd Society than let that happen.

“They killed my men and took Aiwass, likely to force him into their faction. We may need to prepare to take Lloyd down entirely. A Moriarty turning against us would be catastrophic.”

“I think…” York began.

Before he could finish, shadow blades pierced his chest, shoulder, and skull.

The phone slipped from his hand.

A shrill scream escaped, waking his servant.

“York? York!” Boca’s voice called from the receiver, but York’s death was certain.

As he glanced back, a shadow hound bit his throat, pinning him down. Dozens of blades stabbed rapidly, blood spraying but caught by shadows, like splattering ink.

He stopped moving.

A shadow guillotine severed his head.

In his final moments, York faintly heard a door open. “Good thing I came back. Using such a卑鄙 trick to survive…”

Fury, resentment, and the snare demon’s mocking laughter filled him as his consciousness sank into the abyss.

He had no chance to become a demon—his soul, sold to the snare demon, was claimed.

[Killed a fourth-tier Transcendent, gained 130 free experience]

Aiwass thought, smiling silently.

He hadn’t returned—he never left.

Hidden in the shadows behind the living room sofa, he waited for York to make the call, striking from behind.

Seeing the kill’s experience, Aiwass picked up the dropped phone, handing it to the shadow demon, now a hound tearing and dissolving York’s body.

“Here, your line.”

“Hello, Mr. Boca. I’m Alastair. Mr. Lloyd sends his regards…” The shadow demon’s low, raspy voice dripped with menace. “Don’t be alone. I know where you are.”

Aiwass hung up, ripped out the phone’s cord, and tossed it into the shadows.

“Well said,” he remarked. “Your reward: one receiver.”

“You should give me a syringe,” the shadow demon grumbled, swiftly dissolving the body, blood, and receiver. “You fed the Butterfly so much blood. It’s my turn.”

“Tomorrow and the day after, you get it all. You’re the star next, so you need overtime pay,” Aiwass said with a grin. “But aren’t you worried about becoming a Great Beast?”

“The Butterfly said her consciousness is fused with yours—she sees what you see. So I’m not afraid. I just fear being sealed in darkness,” the shadow demon replied.

Aiwass raised an eyebrow. “A shadow demon afraid of the dark?”

“…Not exactly.”

“Then you’re afraid of loneliness,” Aiwass stated confidently.

“Maybe,” the shadow demon hedged.

“Don’t worry,” Aiwass said softly. “I’m with you.”

“…Mr. York?”

The startled servant crept into the pitch-black living room, having heard chewing and ghostly whispers.

He turned on the light, searching thoroughly, even checking closets. Nothing was missing except a phone receiver.

“Weird… Nightmare?”

Shaking his head, he returned to bed.

As his door closed, Aiwass emerged silently by it, leaning against the wall, the shadow demon coiled around him.

“Good night, sir. Catch some more sleep; it’s not dawn yet,” Aiwass said softly, smiling at the servant’s room.

“Young Master, what’s next?” Lily materialized beside him.

“We wait,” Aiwass replied. “Let things simmer.

“But first, let’s crash somewhere. The bishop’s place sounds good. We’ll meet Sherlock, confirm the plan, and share the good news of York’s death.”

(Chapter End)