The Shepherds Are Dense

Chapter 131: Alastair’s Shining Moment

Antler fled, retreating to a storage room—not his own, but Alastair’s.He revived the two remaining corpses to protect himself and petrified the door, planning to stay until the ritual ended.

The revived corpses, stripped of the Love, Beauty, Wisdom, and Transcendence domains, couldn’t use those Paths’ abilities.

These bodies, likely Red’s and the monk’s, aligned with Love and Wisdom Paths, making them mere moving shells.

But that was fine.

The door was sealed—no one but the giants could enter.

If giants arrived, he’d offer the corpses for them to consume.

“At most, three survivors remain…”

Antler muttered.

“Gray can’t possibly survive.

The ritual’s practically over.

I just need to stay here and outlast them.”

He couldn’t imagine Gray surviving Alastair’s attack.

For a demon-possessed man with weak sanity, low intellect, and a penchant for madness, chasing a swift, stealthy assassin was like a cat hunting a mouse—stoking their predatory instincts.

The shadow demon’s ability to pierce shadows rendered Gray’s stealth useless.

“I hope Gray holds out a bit longer.”

Antler smirked maliciously.

“You young folks have plenty of chances.

Leave this one to me…”

What a demon, he thought, terrifying.

To demonologists, demon-possessed were mere dangerous beasts.

But to others, especially at low tiers, a demon-possessed with a high-ranking demon was far deadlier than a demonologist.

From demonology knowledge traded through the Noble Red Society, Antler knew a first-tier demon-possessed could wield a tenth of a high-ranking demon’s power or a third of a lesser demon’s.

As they traded more with their demon, their strength grew.

Demon-possessed were ideal vessels, their bodies molded to suit the demon’s needs.

To demons, they were “armor” bypassing weaknesses or “houses” manifesting in the material world without contracts—valuable assets.

Unless necessary, demons wouldn’t kill their hosts.

Thus, demon-possessed could trade control of their bodies for greater power.

As tiers rose, their bodies strengthened, unlocking techniques to borrow more demon power or permanently warp into demonic forms.

Until demonologists advanced to Demon Avatar, becoming immortal high-ranking demons, their combat strength lagged behind same-tier demon-possessed, much like barristers struggled against inspectors.

Casters were weaker in sudden combat.

Demonologists collaborated with demons, higher-tier ones nearly enslaving lesser demons.

But demon-possessed were always subordinate, their challenge to overcome the demon’s control over their fate.

Alastair, clearly enslaved by his shadow demon, fit this mold.

His voice in the waiting room—inhuman, likely the shadow demon’s—suggested he’d traded much of his soul for power, stronger than typical demon-possessed due to a lack of guidance.

At this rate, he’d be an empty shell by third tier.

But Antler had underestimated him.

When the shadow hound appeared, he abandoned probing and fled.

He recognized it—the shadow demon’s signature attack, its embodiment.

Antler was friends with Vice-President Boca of the Lloyd Society, also a Noble Red Society member who introduced him to the group.

Boca, a high-tier demonologist, had used a powerful high-ranking ritual spell, “Bite of the Shadow Hound.”

It summoned a shadow hound form of the demon for a single attack before banishing it.

The hound, dog-like but with a maw taller than a person, could swallow someone whole.

If it leapt and attacked, it could drag its prey into the dream world’s shadow realm, erasing that part of the body—or the whole person if swallowed entirely.

Unlike material races, all demons could physically enter the dream world.

Humans couldn’t—entering meant instant death.

If the hound perfectly hit a fifth-tier powerhouse and swallowed them without them breaking free, even they would die instantly.

This was a classic Transcendence Path spell, trading preparation time and material costs for a risky, complex ritual with a chance at a one-hit kill.

Boca had once succeeded, making a stronger arbiter vanish without a trace.

If Alastair could summon the shadow hound, the shadow demon’s power was already manifesting through him.

As a vessel leaking demonic power, he was one step from losing control, like a demon egg ready to hatch.

“…No matter.

Victory’s still mine.”

Antler reassured himself.

This advancement would hasten Alastair’s demise—his will nearly eroded, this ritual would be the final straw.

He’d overheard Thunder urging Knight to flee, but Antler doubted Knight could escape.

The only survivor would be him, hiding here.

Once Alastair advanced and was consumed by the shadow demon, Antler would be the sole victor.

He was in Alastair’s starting storage room, a brilliant hiding spot he’d struggled to find.

His logic was simple: Thunder’s team had three members, while Alastair started alone.

A room with two corpses had to be Alastair’s.

It was a mental blind spot.

Alastair would either chase Knight or seek the Holy Lance.

With time so tight, no one would backtrack to their starting point, especially after a long detour.

“Seventeen minutes left.”

Antler murmured.

As a Twilight Path transcendent, he was keenly attuned to time’s passage.

“Soon, very soon…”

“—What’s soon?”

A faint, low voice came from beyond the door.

Antler’s breath caught.

Immense fear gripped his heart.

Though this was a dream, the incomprehensible, imminent danger made him feel suffocated.

He suppressed his fear, forcing calm.

Without a word, he raised his hand, using his dwindling mana to fire another petrification beam at the door.

His right index finger bore a bone ring, crafted from an infant’s skull—a focus allowing instant first-tier spellcasting.

This was why, despite being slightly lower-tier than Red or Thunder, he’d taken the first seat.

He’d deliberately complained to Gray about lacking a bone staff and chanted slowly when petrifying doors, hiding his instant-casting ability to trap Gray.

If Gray thought he’d seen Antler’s full hand and attacked, Antler would surprise him.

But Thunder’s sudden awakening had forced him to reveal it, attempting to petrify Thunder instantly.

Strangely, Thunder had anticipated it—not reacted, but predicted.

Petrification was faster than a bullet; dodging after seeing it was impossible.

Antler couldn’t fathom what flaw he’d exposed.

Now, hiding was pointless—he could only seal the door.

The bronze door, unlocked, took strong warriors effort to push.

Welded shut at the lock, handle, and seams, Alastair couldn’t open it.

If Alastair lost interest, he’d leave—killing Antler was unnecessary, as he’d already secured advancement.

But a deafening crash sounded.

Something struck the solid bronze door, piercing it in one blow.

This was a temple door, not mere bronze plating!

Antler’s heart pounded.

“You’re insane!” he shouted.

“You’ll draw the giants!”

Alastair’s low, sinister voice replied.

“Then open the door, sir…”

Another crash shook the ground, raising dust.

Antler saw it—a massive spiral spear of shadows.

Even the blessed temple door couldn’t withstand the shadow demon’s full force.

One more hit would breach it.

“—You’re mad, you demon!”

Antler fired a petrification beam at the hole without hesitation.

But no third attack came.

Thinking he’d succeeded, he sent a corpse to check.

“Go look—”

“I’m right here…”

A low, hoarse voice murmured behind him, at his ear.

Instantly, countless barbed spikes erupted from behind, piercing Antler.

Blood dripped from slender black thorns, lifting him forward and upward.

“Urgh…”

Agony blanked his mind.

Before he could process, a massive black spiral spear pierced through his back, bursting from his chest.

“Is what you wanted to see?”

The shadow demon’s evil, raspy voice rang out.

Amid its maniacal laughter and Antler’s anguished screams, his body was torn to pieces from the limbs inward.