Old man, pay up! (Please keep reading!)

"Damn it, that scared the hell out of me..."

Returning to his room, Herbert let out a long breath and collapsed onto his bed, feeling utterly drained.

"What a surprise ambush. I almost fell for their trap!"

This time, Herbert had taken the initiative to report to Bishop Thorn, and he had been on high alert, terrified of revealing any flaws. Even so, his thoughts had been subtly influenced by those hiding in the shadows, and he had nearly exposed himself.

"Aren't you all supposed to be holy men? How could you be so despicable!"

A bunch of old fogies, lacking any shred of honor, actually ganging up to bully a young eighteen-year-old comrade like me... It’s simply outrageous! Their methods were so low that even a contractor of an evil god like me couldn't stand it.

"You've even started playing with mental manipulation? Are you planning to resort to cognitive corruption and personality drainage behind the scenes next?"

"No, I must strengthen my soul's defenses! I have to find a way to arm my soul!"

After two mental interferences from Nienasha and Bishop Rust-Nail, Herbert was almost developing post-traumatic stress.

"Improving my strength takes time, and not all monster materials provide soul-protection abilities. What should I do?"

After pondering for a long while, Herbert suddenly had an idea.

"If internal methods don't work, then I'll just use an external cheat!"

He climbed off the bed, sat at his desk, pulled out a piece of stationery, and began to write rapidly.

"Dearest Father, I am your favorite second son. It has been a long time; please send me money... No, that’s not right, it shouldn't be so affectionate."

*Scratch.*

Herbert took a fresh sheet of paper and started over:

"The Honorable Duke Albert, I am Herbert. It has been a long time since we last spoke. I hope you are well, and may the grace and wisdom of the gods always be with you."

"I am doing well at the monastery. This place is holy, yet the aliens in the prison are dangerous, and my soul is frequently harassed."

"Therefore, I, your second son, standing on the edge where light and shadow intertwine, humbly request your assistance."

"What I seek is neither gold nor silver, nor power or glory, but merely a curious artifact capable of guarding the soul."

"I hope for your understanding. I am deeply grateful."

After finishing, Herbert frowned and pondered for a moment.

"Hmm... the tone isn't quite right."

The sense of detachment in the words was sufficient, but it still felt a bit too intimate and servile. Why did it feel like he was begging?

No!

*Scratch.*

This time, Herbert cut out the flowery language and wrote directly:

"Duke Albert, I am Herbert."

"Shadows harass me; I require soul protection."

Perfect!

Looking at the few lines of the family letter, Herbert nodded with satisfaction.

Look at how well this letter is written!

Unapologetic, cold and hard in tone, with only one theme throughout—Hey old man, send money!

"Heh, that'll do."

Herbert didn't know if his father had been involved in the plot against him, but at the very least, there had been no quarrel between them when they parted in the Royal Capital. Since they hadn't burned the bridges yet, he could ask for things openly.

What he was performing in the letter was the role of a shut-in monk who had closed his heart after being persecuted, a cold machine devoid of emotion that had forgotten what love was...

"So, regarding this result, will you be happy, or will you feel sad and regretful? I really look forward to seeing the look on your face when you receive this letter."

It was a pity he couldn't see it himself in the short term. At the same time, he believed that this letter would not only land on the Duke's desk; those who were observing him in the shadows would surely see it as well. Once they saw it, wouldn't they be even more convinced that Herbert had completely lost heart and was prepared to live as a recluse? Would they show a smug smile?

"Let them laugh a little longer."

As for whether Duke Albert would actually send him a magic-guided artifact, Herbert didn't really care. It was like shearing a sheep—if you try, you might not get anything, but if you don't, you definitely won't. He would just treat it as trying his luck! If he sent it, fine. If he didn't, he'd just consider himself as having no father.

My friends, if you thicken your skin, many things are not as difficult as you imagine.

Herbert only wrote this one letter and did not attempt to contact anyone else. His mother from this life had passed away from illness ten years ago; there was no one left in the family worth missing. He had once had a decent relationship with his other two brothers, but they were too suspicious after he fell into misfortune, and he couldn't be bothered to probe them.

After Herbert entrusted the letter to another monk to be sent out and returned to his room, there was still some time before nightfall.

"This evil god is just too incompetent!"

"Wait, are we in some kind of long-distance relationship? We even have to wait for time zones to communicate... tch."

Herbert waited for a while, feeling quite bored, not knowing how to pass the time. Just as he was listless, he suddenly remembered the hidden red hair.

Oh, I have an idea.

"This is easier to swallow than those scales from before."

Herbert looked at the strands of hair, which he had washed repeatedly and which shimmered under the candlelight, and took a deep breath. Preparing himself, he closed his eyes, grabbed a handful, stuffed them into his mouth, and without trying to chew, attempted to swallow them directly.

Then...

"Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey... *cough, cough, cough!*"

Strange.

This feeling was just too strange! The eerie sensation of the strands sticking to his throat, the pain of wanting to swallow but being unable to, struck at his soul. At that moment, Herbert had a bizarre feeling. He felt as if he had become a stalker—someone who followed others, observed their every move in the dark, and even collected their fallen hair to satisfy his own twisted desires.

Wow, that is so perverted, brother!

*Ugh.*

There was no helping it; Herbert couldn't keep going, spat out all the hair in his mouth, and rinsed his mouth repeatedly.

"Bleh—*cough, cough*, forget it, forget it. I can't swallow it; I'll just wait for Nienasha to handle it."

...

["Did you eat it?"]

"I did not! Don't spout nonsense; be careful, or I'll sue you for slander!"

Herbert denied it vehemently, refusing to admit he had done such a thing.

["Heh, let's just say you did."]

Nienasha chuckled, not taking his excuses to heart, and added casually:

["Oh, I forgot to tell you, although it does need to be consumed, the key is actually in your blood."]

Herbert: Hmm? Oh!

Wait, was that a thing? Then why did I insist on eating it with my mouth before? Could it be... I actually enjoy it?

No, no, no. Impossible, that is absolutely impossible! How could I be that kind of person...

["Alright, my ally, are you ready?"]

"Ready for what?"

["Be careful, her will will be much harder to endure than the previous ones."]

"What are you talking about..."

As Herbert was wondering, his blood dripped onto the crimson strands, and a thick red mist surged up.

The next moment, fire appeared before Herbert's eyes.

Endless, infinite fire!