The flame summoning contract hovered in the air, casting a flickering light across the face of the ember sentinel demon. A wide, toothy grin spread across his features.

  The other demons nearby erupted in chatter the moment they saw that.

  “Looks like some ‘lucky’ soul decided to summon Pyrion this time, huh? And it's just a second-rank contract, no more. Talk about a stroke of luck, like someone brought him a gourmet meal served on a silver platter,” one demon said with a low chuckle.

  “Lucky bastard! Why couldn’t it have been me?” another cursed under its breath.

  “Perfect timing. I was just about to die of boredom. You guys stay here and keep guarding. I’ll go grab a quick snack and be right back.” Pyrion stood up as he spoke, licking his lips.

  He reached out his ring finger and signed the flame contract, and in the next moment, his body vanished into thin air, leaving behind a crowd of envious subordinates who could only stare after him.

  …

  Pyrion couldn’t move. Or rather, it was more accurate to say he didn’t dare to move; even the tiniest twitch of a finger seemed out of the question.

  At first, when he saw the level two summoning contract, he had assumed it was a simple summoning ritual carried out by a dark mage. That kind of thing happened in Hell every day. What had caught his attention was that brute-rank being had somehow managed to summon a high-rank demon like him.

  Among all beings, those of the dark element stood out as the most cautious; some would even say they were the biggest cowards. Summoning a demon far beyond their ability to control was quite rare.

  Pyrion hadn’t given it much thought at the time. There were always arrogant fools who thought they could control something far stronger than themselves. Most of them ended up as nothing more than a snack.

  The moment he arrived, he made a wide grin, and his bloodlust ignited as he looked around, eager to find the one who had extended the pact.

  Only when he saw those deep blue eyes, so clear, so naive-looking, did he understand how grave his miscalculation had been.

  If he had known things would turn out this way, he would’ve chopped off his own hand rather than sign that damn contract.

  What ... what the hell is this thing? he wondered, his entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

  Standing in front of him was nothing more than a human boy, one who looked quite harmless, almost innocent in a way. Under normal circumstances, Pyrion would have been delighted. The flesh of a young, gifted mage was one of the finest delicacies known to demons.

  But at this moment, every single inch of Pyrion’s body screamed in alarm. Every cell in his infernal flesh was howling at him, warning him that this “child” was not human at all.

  No, it is something wearing the skin of a human to appear less threatening!

  From the depths of his soul, a primal fear took hold, an ancient, bone-deep instinct to submit, to cower, to not provoke whatever this was.

  As the head warden of one of Aithon Palace’s gates, Pyrion had seen many terrifying demons in his time. He met fiend-rank demons almost every day, encountered many nightmare-rank demons, and even saw a few grand demons. And he had once stood in the presence of Etios, one of the seven supreme commanders of the palace.

  And yet, not a single one of them had ever stirred such fear within him.

  The boy in front of him made him feel as if he were staring straight into the Abyss.

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  Pyrion clenched his teeth, forcing down the rising dread in his chest, and began to lower himself. Bit by bit, he sank to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. His arms reached forward, hands turned upward, one lying over the other on the floor in front of him. It was a posture of absolute submission, the highest form of submission among humanoid demons of Hell.

  “A high demon, almost reaching fiend rank. I still underestimate you, Luther,” Acher muttered.

  Maybe it was because the boy was a reaper, or maybe it had something to do with the ascended power that remained dormant inside his body and interfered with the summoning process. That was Acher’s guess.

  “M-my lord, what is it that you require of me?” Pyrion asked at last.

  His voice was cautious and deliberate. Each word was chosen with the care of someone walking a tightrope strung over an active volcano, terrified of offending Luther in any way.

  “That’s enough to test the spell. There is no need to reveal any more information. Luther, go ahead and destroy the contract,” came Acher’s voice, and of course, only Luther could hear him.

  “How to. Do that?” Luther turned to him.

  “This is just a low-tier contract. As a reaper, all you have to do is focus your will and dismiss it,” Acher replied.

  Luther turned his attention back to the flaming contract still floating before him. He concentrated and thought to himself, ‘Dismiss.’

  Bit by bit, the fiery parchment began to fade, including the signature scrawled across it by the high demon.

  Pyrion waited in silence for his fate to be decided.

  He prayed to the Flow, if praying was even possible for a creature like him, that this thing just wanted some task done and would spare his life afterward. No matter how difficult or dangerous it was, he was willing.

  Just please don’t eat me. My meat’s tough. My blood stinks.

  His thoughts spiraled in every possible direction.

  All of a sudden, Pyrion looked up, eyes wide. He felt the contract vanish, and the next moment, his form disappeared from the Ravenswood house and reappeared at the forty-second gate of the Aithon Palace.

  As soon as he returned, the surrounding demons swarmed around him.

  “How’d it go, Pyrion? Was their flesh delicious?” asked a tentacle-faced demon with eighty limbs.

  “Got any scraps left? Even a bone or a drop of blood? I’ll pay you well,” another demon chimed in.

  Pyrion didn’t answer. He just stood there, still frozen, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

  That thing had erased a conclave of darkness using nothing but sheer will?

  …

  “Looks like you scared him half to death. You’re still too weak to control the aura of a reaper. Advancing another rank or two, and it should stabilize,” Acher remarked.

  Luther looked at himself, feeling nothing.

  “What aura?” he asked.

  “Of course, you can’t feel it yourself. And it was quite lucky that you only summoned a high demon this time. If it had been a fiend demon, or worse, a nightmare-rank one, it could’ve gotten a bit troublesome. Next time, make sure to adjust the amount of magic you use to either be the same or under what you just used,” Acher warned.

  “Got it.” Luther nodded. “What spell next?”

  Still preening his feathers, Acher replied, “That’s it.”

  Luther stared at him, his face blank.

  That’s it? Just three spells? Isn’t this raven supposed to be some great being of Hell or whatever?

  “Those three basic spells can be used in dozens of ways, and the higher your rank, the stronger they become. That’s more than enough for now. Besides, I’m not that familiar with low-tier magic; I’m more specialized in cosmic authority,” Acher said. “I was born divine, after all.”

  Wow. Luther blinked.

  After that, Luther continued absorbing magic until almost eleven o’clock, then he brushed his teeth and went to bed.

  “That’s all? Come on, just a few more hours of practice. You’ve got tomorrow off, don’t you?” Acher complained.

  “No. Sleeping early. Grow taller,” Luther answered.

  Acher’s eyes bulged.

  “Grow taller? Kid, when you become a god, you can shape your subform into anything you want. You could be as tall as the First Tree of Creation if you feel like it.”

  Luther ignored him. He climbed into bed, pulled the blanket up over his head, and within minutes, the sound of steady breathing filled the room.

  “You little brat.” Acher couldn’t help but laugh.

  …

  Besides Friday night, Saturday mornings were always the best part of the week.

  Luther slept in all the way past ten o’clock without a care in the world. It was the same every weekend; he had not much to do, and no friend to hang out with, so he allowed himself the luxury of extra rest.

  Even after almost twelve hours of sleep, he still yawned now and then. He had long realized that the more he slept, the sleepier he felt. On school days, sleeping eight or nine hours was enough. But on weekends, if he slept ten or eleven hours straight, he would for sure end up needing an afternoon nap too.

  Today was no exception. After lunch, he napped on the sofa for over an hour, waking up only a little before one o'clock.

  “You’re such a sleepy little piglet! To be honest, you should’ve been born as a descendant of that sleepy brat instead,” Acher commented.

  “Want some chips?” Luther offered as he popped open a can of Pringles.

  “Stop trying to change the subject!” Acher flew over without hesitation. “Hmmm, this one is better than the original flavor.”