"Mark, don't hesitate any longer. You were born the rightful heir to this place. This is the inheritance your father left you, and it will always belong to you..."
"Stop it, Frank."
The young man named Mark gripped the whip in his hand. Gazing into the distance at the flocks of sheep and the boundless deep-green expanse of grassland, he clenched his teeth and fell silent.
Yet a closer look would have revealed a chilling fact—there was no one beside him.
Mark Brown was the legitimate heir to this fertile land and its herds.
More than a decade ago, his father, Tommy Brown, had been a lowly serf. But Tommy joined the Kingdom of Cinders, rising step by step to become a low-ranking officer, and seized this land and its livestock from the hands of the northern nobles.
Good fortune, however, did not last. Due to a relapse of old battlefield wounds, his father passed away soon after, leaving behind only seven-year-old Mark and his mother to depend on each other.
A ranch of this size could not be managed by just a woman and a half-grown child. Before long, their household welcomed an uninvited guest—the so-called Uncle Gordon Gray, who became Mark's stepfather.
What displeased Mark even more was that Gordon and his mother soon had a younger son, named Theodore Gray, who became the center of their adoration.
Theodore—a child bestowed by the gods. The name alone made it painfully clear how deeply his parents cherished him.
Listening to the infant's incessant wails through the night and seeing the joyful smiles on his mother's and stepfather's faces, Mark clenched his fists. A profound melancholy settled over him, making him feel like an utter stranger in his own home.
Not long after, his mother, already frail from years of mistreatment under her former slave masters, fell gravely ill. It looked as though her days were numbered.
Once his mother was gone, the last person bound to Mark by blood in this world would vanish, leaving behind only that distant, estranged stepfather.
"Is this ranch my father left behind... really going to take the surname Gray?" Mark sighed quietly as he looked out across the familiar pasture and the crowded cattle and sheep.
He had been sitting by the haystack for half the day. Darkness had settled completely over the land. Mark wanted to return to the house his father had left behind, but he dreaded facing his unfamiliar stepfather.
"Mark, haven't you figured it out yet? If you remain indecisive and softhearted, you'll end up a slave to the Gray family..."
A grating, hissing voice echoed beside his ear. It was that same voice again.
After his father passed away, Mark had grown exceptionally reclusive. He had few friends in the village and often wept alone in the dead of night.
Yet his stepfather and mother poured almost all their attention into the newborn—Mark's "little brother"—never once noticing his distress.
Over the past few months, however, Mark had made his only confidant: a creature with tattered wings and crimson skin, who called himself Frank.
Apart from Mark, no one seemed able to see Frank, not even his mother and stepfather.
At first, Mark had felt rather repulsed by this creature, who claimed to be a wish-granting pixie, and had remained on his guard.
Over time, neglected by his family, Mark began confiding all his miseries to Frank. Their conversations grew increasingly frequent, until they reached the point where he hid nothing from him.
"Frank, no matter what, they're still my family. I can't treat them like that..." Mark's voice trembled, his eyes unfocused.
Frank crouched near Mark's ear, murmuring in that harsh, grating voice, "Family? Have they ever truly treated you like family? Think carefully, Mark. The pastures, the house, the flocks, even your mother's love—all of that should have been yours!
"And what are you now? Nothing more than a slave tending the ranch for them!"
Frank's sharp, biting taunts struck Mark's heart like a poison-tipped dagger.
"No, that's impossible!"
Mark shook his head repeatedly. He jerked away from the claw stroking his face and slumped beside the haystack, burying his head in his hands.
Choking back tears, he stammered, "Right, that's right... I still have my mother. She wouldn't abandon me. She has always loved me..."
Frank flapped his tattered wings, hovering beside Mark, and patted his shoulder with a red claw as though offering comfort.
"Mark, I understand how you feel, but... haven't you ever wondered why your mother fell ill so suddenly? Think about it, Mark. If your mother dies, who stands to gain the most?
"The precious wealth your father fought with his own life to leave you—your sheep, your pastures, your house—whose hands will they fall into?"
Guided along Frank's subtle, venomous trail of thought, Mark blinked through tears and softly uttered the name he hated to speak.
"Gordon Gray."
"More precisely, that little brother of yours, too—Theodore Gray. Tsk, tsk. 'God's Gift.' What an ambitious name."
Frank let out a raspy chuckle and continued, "In the face of easily seized riches, even a wife's life is worthless.
"Just imagine, Mark. Once he poisons your mother to death, Gordon Gray can openly claim your house, possess your sheep, and pass every scrap of property down to Theodore.
"And you? You'll just be a slave serving the Gray family."
As Frank painted that gruesome picture, Mark trembled with fury, bloodshot streaks creeping into his wet eyes. "No! This is everything my father left behind! He traded his life for it!"
"Indeed, young Master Brown," Frank said excitedly, using an unfamiliar title.
"You should take up a weapon and kill that damned intruder before they strike at you—along with that bastard he left behind."
Yet hearing Frank's counsel filled Mark with dread. For an ordinary young herder, taking a human life was simply too terrifying.
"B-but that's a crime! The Imperial constables won't spare me!"
"A crime?"
Frank thrust his face close, wearing a look of bitter disappointment. "You are defending your own property!
"You are upholding your father's honor and protecting your home! Even the divine arbiters of the gods would never find you guilty!"
"But..."
Mark curled against the hay, his face twisted in a turmoil of rage, dread, and horror.
Frank poured more fuel onto the flames, crying out with righteous indignation: "Do you want to bring shame upon your father?
"He was a hero who struck down the northern nobles! And you, Mark? I misjudged you. It turns out you're just a spineless coward, fit only to watch your home get stolen step by step, watch your own mother grovel at another man's feet..."
"Enough!"
Mark sprang to his feet with a furious roar, a vicious edge creeping over his youthful face that had never been there before.
Frank beamed with delight. Perched on Mark's shoulder, he praised him over and over: "Go and face it! That is what a brave man does! Slaughter every last one of those who hurt you!"
"I will never shame my father. I will be a hero like him and protect my home..."
Mark ground his teeth and muttered to himself. Pulling a pitchfork from the haystack, he turned toward the darkened house.
Evidently, the intruder and his bastard had already gone to sleep, resting peacefully inside the house his father had left him.
The moon hung bright amid sparse stars, accompanied by a brisk, cool breeze.
Now was the perfect chance.
Mark strode forward toward the house. The young herder had made up his mind to purge everything with the pitchfork in his hands—no matter how terrible the consequences might be.
Standing before the battered wooden door, Mark drew a deep breath and summoned his courage, telling himself he was not in the wrong. He was merely defending his home.
"Go on, Mark. Do what you must. There is nothing wrong with this."
Frank's voice rang in his ears, giving Mark an extra ounce of resolve. He gingerly pushed the door open.
*Creak—*
Stepping soundlessly into the room, Mark looked at his treacherous mother, his greedy stepfather, and the sleeping infant. Trembling, he slowly raised the pitchfork in his hands...
"Think of all the wrongs you've endured. Kill them! Kill them..."
Frank's voice grew ever more impassioned, like the cheering of a spectator urging Mark to strike.
Mark recalled the countless nights spent weeping in silence, the hostile looks, the deliberate and offhand neglect from his mother...
With those memories burning in his mind, he hesitated no longer.
"This is what you deserve."
Whispering those words, Mark held his breath and slowly closed his eyes—
"Stop!"
A brilliant light flared through the room, bright as day, jolting the stepfather, mother, and infant awake all at once.
"Mark, what are you doing?!" his mother shrieked in horror.
In an instant, Mark felt like a punctured balloon. All the murderous resolve he had painstakingly gathered drained away in a flash.
"Quick, kill them! This is your last chance!"
Frank urged him frantically, but Mark stood dazed, his legs quivering, and slowly turned around.
"H-how..."
Standing behind him were several heavily armed tiefling soldiers carrying brand-new rifles, the crests on their chests gleaming prominently.
It was the emblem Mark revered so deeply—the symbol of the Cinder Empire.
The tiefling at the front aimed his rifle at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. A loud gunshot rang out.
*Bang!*
"Official business of the Imperial Guard! By His Majesty's decree, we are here to apprehend an unauthorized devil within the Empire! Unrelated persons, clear out at once!"
"He's... a devil?"
Mark turned his head toward the red-skinned "wish-granting pixie." Frank's face was now contorted into a monstrous sneer.
Only then did Mark realize with a jolt of terror that his close confidant was such a hideous fiend—and that he had nearly fallen for a devil's deception and committed an unforgivable atrocity!
"Ignorant mortals!"
The creature, which had previously resembled a somewhat endearing four- or five-year-old child, twisted its features into something utterly hideous and grotesque amid a barrage of grating screeches.
A blood-red halo flared around Frank—an aura of pure malice and terror.
"Ah!"
"Cassius above, what is that?!"
Mark collapsed to the floor in fright, while his mother and stepfather scrambled in panic. The newborn brother wailed hysterically, nearly fainting from terror.
"Tremble, mortals! I am Lord Frank, your nightmare!"
Seeing the panic-stricken mortals, the devil boasted smugly, as if hoping to frighten the tieflings away.
Yet the tiefling squad leader standing at the fore remained entirely unfazed, staring cold-eyed at the fiend before him.
He said chillingly, "A mere imp dares attempt to deceive the Imperial Guard? You must have a death wish!"
Without wasting words, the tiefling raised his rifle and fired without hesitation. An engraved runic bullet whistled from the barrel, grazing past the imp.
"Aaargh!"
Frank clutched his scorched arm and let out a wretched scream, terror written across his face.
He realized that these fiend-bloods saw right through him!
All of Frank's earlier bluster vanished. He hastily threw up his hands and forced an awkward smile. "You're descendants of devils too! We're kin! These mortals are just our cattle! How about this: I can put you in touch with the lords of the Nine Hells..."
The tiefling cut him off coldly: "Silence! We are retainers of the supreme Emperor Cassius, and scalding dragon blood courses through our veins! We have nothing to do with filthy devils from Hell like you!
"You have only two choices: surrender, or die!"
Just then, with a sharp *pop*, a burst of blood-red smoke erupted where the imp had been standing. The creature vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a shrill, furious curse.
*"You damned mongrels!"* (Infernal)
The tieflings did not panic in the slightest. Sneering, they turned around, and a wretched shriek echoed from outside almost immediately.
"Aaargh!"
At the cottage doorway, the invisible imp slammed headfirst into a pre-laid barrier against evil. Frank reemerged into view, charred and smoking all over.
The tiefling nodded toward the outside and called out, "Thank you for your assistance, Count Charlotte."
"Don't mention it. Just serving the Empire."
A man clad in robes waved dismissively and pulled back his hood, revealing an exceptionally cheerful grin.
Opening a burlap sack, he manipulated a *Mage Hand* to hoist up the half-charred imp, remarking with great relish, "You're under arrest, Devil Frank."
"Let me out! You insolent mortals!"
Imprisoned within a birdcage-like contraption, the imp pounded relentlessly against the bars, but to no avail.
Similar scenes were unfolding across the Empire. The devils from Hell proved utterly fragile before the empowered retainers of the Cinder Empire.
Mezrolash, an Imperial Duke who commanded the Tiefling Guard, had established an exorcism task force and rallied players throughout the land to hunt down devils and place them under arrest.
Chapter 591