The Shepherds Are Dense-Chapter 46: The Mastermind

There were less than twenty minutes left until the ritual ended.
To be precise—twenty minutes.
Even if Aiwass managed to control the Hook Demon and have it guide him, there simply wasn’t enough time.
Not to mention how terrifying it would be to ride in a carriage with
that
thing, even if he
could
think of a way to make it work, he wouldn’t make it in time.
The ritual allowed for four hours total, and Little Aiwass had already been cursed the moment they entered.
According to the ideal scenario calculated by the Pillar God who constructed the dream, Aiwass should have immediately taken Lulu and left the cathedral for Justice Square, a journey that would take thirty minutes.
Upon arrival, the Hook Demon would appear for the first time. After they repelled it with Sherlock’s help, they would still have over three hours left to gather allies, follow the Hook Demon’s trail to the real culprit, and defeat them. That would require Sherlock’s intelligence and deductive skills.
That meant the enemy’s hiding place wasn’t so easy to find—likely requiring the logic of the Path of Wisdom.
But Aiwass considered himself pretty smart too. With the Hook Demon as a guide, he should be able to find them.
The only thing he hadn’t anticipated—was how
stubborn
this enemy was.
Even after testing Bone Carver once, the curse caster hadn’t given up. They sent the Hook Demon to try again.
But this second attempt failed too, and the Hook Demon ended up injured. That proved the Bone Carver truly was a powerful transcendent—likely the party’s muscle. As a result, by the time Aiwass himself was attacked, nearly all their time had already passed.
That should’ve been a good thing. It meant he only had to avoid danger to survive and win.
But what Aiwass
wanted
—was to strike back.
Even if he couldn’t learn the true mastermind’s identity, he at least wanted to
see
what the curse caster looked like.
...Which meant he had to gamble on a “possibility.”
He still had one chance to meet the curse caster in less than twenty minutes.
Not through teleportation—he had no way to reflect the curse back and target the caster.
—But through reverse summoning.
Once the Hook Demon completed its task, it would be recalled by the curse caster, just like it was after failing to curse Lulu.
Appearing suddenly before the curse caster would essentially
be
teleportation.
All he had to do was mimic Jack the Ripper and fuse his consciousness with the Hook Demon.
This ritual had made it very clear—it wasn’t necessary to survive.
That meant he could finally conduct an experiment.
An experiment he could never attempt in reality...
—What happens when one offers their
entire life
as a voluntary sacrifice for “Shepherding”?
With no auxiliary materials, without great personal strength—would the efficiency of a self-sacrifice be enough to rival Jack the Ripper’s years-long serial killings to empower the Hook Demon?
In any case...
“Feast in silence, my lamb.”
Staring into the Hook Demon’s wide eyes, Aiwass muttered softly, gripping the utility knife.
“I am the sacrament—this is mercy.”
He had no essential oils to infuse with mana, and the blade was no ceremonial silver ritual knife—it was just a utility cutter.
Like a banquet missing all seasoning or garnish.
But if the food is
delicious
and
plentiful
, its natural flavor will suffice.
Especially when the diner wasn’t a proud higher demon—just a filthy Hook Demon born from the broken embryo of a soul shredded by a hook.
A creature born of hatred and pain, twisted into being from the refusal to “never have been born.”
It had no pride to speak of.
“Drink deep from the blood of my throat—as sweet wine—”
Aiwass intoned, and with the knife, made a resolute slice from left to right across his neck.
He severed the artery above his collarbone.
His mind went fuzzy. His vision dimmed.
Yet his brain felt
clearer
—as if time itself slowed.
He could feel his life ebbing away—but not into the void.
Instead, his soul and burning mana flowed out with his arterial blood, condensing into crystallized essence.
Thud—
“He’s probably killed himself,” Sherlock said gravely as the death knell tolled.
Lulu sadly nodded.
In the abandoned warehouse, “Julio’s” lifeless corpse collapsed heavily backward.
But his blood did not soak the ground—it erupted upward, defying physics, like a crimson fountain.
Not liquid, but a stream of ruby-like gems—floating skyward, congealing into crimson pearls.
Like a starving puppy, the Hook Demon whimpered, its rage and ferocity vanishing completely, replaced by unfiltered greed and obsession.
The glimmering blood gems flew into its body.
It devoured them hungrily.
Frost marks melted visibly from its skin. Its body swelled—from the size of a hunting dog, to that of a teenage boy, then a grown man.
The wet, bloody crimson surface receded, revealing smooth pale skin crisscrossed with bloody red seam-like markings. Muscles bulged on its four arms. Its rusted hooks vanished.
Its face became grotesque and malformed. Massive head, misaligned features.
Each of its four arms pointed in a different direction.
Its six limbs were uneven in length, thickness, and joints—completely asymmetrical.
It crouched like a nightmare sketch of a human—something out of abstract horror art.
The bewildered hatred in its eyes slowly cleared, revealing a faint and broken trace of humanity.
Its rage and fury congealed into something deeper—
grief
, and
resentment
.
The blood didn’t last long. It licked up every last drop.
Then, whining low, it crouched beside Aiwass’s corpse and continued licking at his severed throat.
And then, it howled—like a wolf under the full moon.
Determined, it began
eating
Aiwass’s body.
When Aiwass awoke from the haze, the bloody ground before him was all that remained—his body was gone.
His viewpoint—was now that of the Hook Demon.
—Or rather, the
Limb-Twisted Demon
.
Born of malformed souls persecuted for their appearance, this demon harbored a deep hatred of all “normal” humans.
This was a high-tier demon—an elite above level 40. Barely ten levels shy of the Shadow Demon.
It had lost its teleportation tether to cursed victims.
But in exchange, it gained near-immortality, monstrous strength and speed, and the ability to reshape its six limbs at will.
Its intelligence, however, remained low.
But Aiwass could feel it all—endless vitality, the surging power within him, the pulsing of three hearts.
Now he was confident—even a chainsaw couldn’t kill him. Even if crushed repeatedly by a boulder, he wouldn’t die easily.
But the demon’s emotions—joy, sorrow, rage, hate—flowed into him as well.
Which meant it hadn’t been possessed or killed.
It had
volunteered
to become Aiwass’s companion…
…And his vessel.
Like a turtle bearing his soul on its back—until he could be reborn.
“So, sacrificing myself fully using Shepherding merges me temporarily with the demon?”
Two mouths murmured in a low, gurgling voice:
“And my ‘nutritional value’… was enough to evolve a low-tier demon instantly into a high-tier one…”
No wonder demons followed “Shepherds.” To those beyond the Paths, this was an irresistible feast.
Normally, evolving from Hook Demon to Limb-Twisted Demon would’ve taken
years
of grooming.
Aiwass had only hoped to gain enough growth for ten rituals. But clearly, he’d underestimated the power of the Shepherding ritual—and the value of a
voluntary
sacrifice.
It wasn’t that the Shadow Demon was gluttonous.
It was that Aiwass… was
delicious
.
With his three misaligned eyes looking in different directions, the grotesque demon adjusted to its bizarre new vision, learning to control its twisted limbs.
At last, he heard his “master” calling—anxiously.
“…William? William? Thank goodness, I’ve reconnected with you… If all goes well, come back quickly, good boy! Don’t make too much noise—don’t reveal yourself—”
The monstrous demon crouched low… and grinned with horrifying delight.
“Waaa—aaah—!”
It mimicked the Hook Demon’s baby-like cries—high-pitched and incoherent.
The curse caster clearly wasn’t expecting this.
“Whoa, whoa, stop crying—I’ll pull you back right now, don’t move—”
He triggered the reverse summon without hesitation.
The world twisted.
It felt like an elevator’s sudden free-fall, except the gravitational pull came from
behind
.
As if some force was yanking him backwards through reality.
And then—Aiwass arrived.
Standing before him was a middle-aged man with dark, leathery skin and ten fingers adorned with massive gemstone rings.
He looked to be in his fifties. Slightly overweight, with a round belly and a stooped back. His oily black curls, beady dark eyes, and narrow face made him resemble a simple peasant more than anything else.
Were it not for his luxurious attire, he might’ve passed for a rural merchant.
“William, good wo—”
The curse caster started speaking instinctively.
But when he saw the thing crouched in the circle—
like a spider
—he froze.
His expression turned to stone.
A silent, unmoving statue of fear.
This was—
A Limb-Twisted Demon?!
How could a demon’s species
change
?!
Or was this even William?
Had another demonologist stolen William’s contract and sent
this
thing through the reverse summon—?
But there was no time to think.
Aiwass, controlling the Limb-Twisted Demon, extended a malformed limb—so fast it blurred.
What had looked like a normal “right hand” stretched grotesquely thin, growing over two meters long and sharpening to a claw.
It seized the man’s face and slammed him against the wall, lifting him up.
“Who are you…”
The demon’s voice was wet and distorted—like a nightmare come to life.
It could speak?!
The curse caster’s face crumpled in horror.
He gripped the arm, trying to stop his neck from being torn apart by his own weight.
Only an
experienced
summoner could make a Limb-Twisted Demon
talk
this clearly…
Was this… a
senior
?
“Tell me your name…”
The demon squeezed tighter. The skull beneath the skin creaked ominously.
“—Aziz! Aziz bin Abdul—please, spare me… senior! Have mercy!”
But the demon did not loosen its grip.
It squeezed harder.
“Who do you work for?” it asked in a sharper, more inhuman voice.
“—Moriarty! Professor James Moriarty!”
Aziz howled in terror, betraying his employer without hesitation.
“I was just following orders—please, it wasn’t me—I beg you! Please don’t kill me!”
Splat—
The extended limb crushed Aziz’s skull like a ripe tomato.
Even if the ritual was fake, Aiwass had no intention of forgiving him.
“That’s just interest, Aziz. I hope you’re not
actually
dead yet.”
The Limb-Twisted Demon growled hoarsely:
“I remember you…
“I’ll find you again.”
Aiwass
should
have felt triumphant.
He’d confirmed the upper limits of the Shepherding Ritual at no cost, and completed everything he needed to
before
the ritual ended.
He should be celebrating.
But instead, he felt a heavy weight settle in his chest.
Because among all the things Aziz had said—was a name he
dreaded
, though he had half-expected it.
—
James Moriarty.