The three demons stared at Frondier with faces gone deathly pale.
However, soon enough, those faces twisted into smiles of bravado.
“Ha, even if you know that, do you think we’ll say another word?”
“Yeah, go ahead and kill us instead!”
“No matter what pain you inflict, you’ll never make us speak!”
Their mouths smiled, but their eyes carried grim resolve.
They must have already anticipated their deaths.
For demons, individual survival isn’t of much importance. Fulfilling their desires, absolute obedience, the preservation of their race—those take far higher priority.
Frondier knew that as well. He had learned it after facing demons multiple times over the past few months.
So he smiled too.
“I know. That you won’t speak.”
“Nonsense! Even if you twist your words like that—”
“And yet, you’ve already said plenty.”
“...What?”
Frondier slipped his hand into his coat as he spoke.
“Anyway, that means there really is someone above you. I’ll be satisfied with that admission.”
As he said this, he pulled out a crystal—a triangular ring glowing with blue light.
Of course, the demons had no idea what it was.
Even after Frondier swallowed it, they couldn’t possibly know its nature.
“...Gasp!”
Seeing Frondier’s mana surge to an incomparable level, they could only sense that it was something extraordinary.
“This thing eats up mana # Nоvеlight # like crazy, so I only use it when I expect combat or need a decisive moment.”
Frondier’s eyes gleamed. The overflowing mana seemed to shine right through his pupils.
“But now, it should be fine.”
Analysis.
Target: Demon.
Begin analysis.
Frondier activated the skill Analysis.
In truth, the skill itself doesn’t consume much mana—at least not when used for basic information gathering.
However, the more the target resists information disclosure, the greater the mana consumption. And if the target’s rank is high, the process itself takes longer.
When Frondier had tried to analyze the Weaving skill, it had taken a full day. When he’d used it on Elin in the past—after swallowing even a Dragon Heart he had woven—he’d barely managed to reveal a single line of information.
But this time, the crystal he swallowed wasn’t a fake; it was genuine, infused with his own mana, and the targets weren’t particularly high-level beings.
Thus—
[Analysis complete.]
[Target: Demon “Paride”]
[Information available.]
The analysis finished in an instant.
[Paride]
– A demon serving the demon “Astaroth.” However, of such low rank that he has never seen Astaroth’s face.
– Currently tasked with investigating the capabilities of “Frondier de Roach.”
– Has a self-destruct mechanism implanted in his body. It activates if he utters the word “Astaroth,” though he himself is unaware of it.
“...”
Frondier tilted his head slightly at the information, which was far different from what he had expected.
'Astaroth...'
Lately, Frondier had been absorbing so much information that he momentarily felt confused—was the name “Astaroth” something he’d learned recently, or something he remembered from his previous world?
But soon he recalled.
'Astaroth... Right, one of the 72 Demons. Fairly famous even in my original world.'
That, however, was the extent of what he knew.
In the game Etius, demons never appeared, so the 72 Demons had merely been a side curiosity he once happened to study.
He remembered Astaroth only because that one had been particularly well-known.
But there was one thing—
'...Wasn’t he the one who switched places with Belphegor for the seat of Sloth?'
In Frondier’s former world, demons were no more than folklore and records. They didn’t truly exist.
Thus, who held which sin, what powers they had, and what ranks they belonged to—all of it was vague and inconsistent.
The same applied to the Seven Deadly Sins. In some traditions, Lust was not Asmodeus but Lilith.
However, in this world, demons are real. Such uncertainty cannot exist here. The seat of Sloth currently belongs to Belphegor, meaning Astaroth could not hold it.
That was true, at least, until Frondier defeated Belphegor.
'Belphegor did say it himself—that he’d fall from the seat of Sloth. And then...'
—A demon whose authority falls must vacate the seat, and another takes it. Thus, the Seven Sins are maintained.
The Seven Sins remain constant.
Meaning, once Belphegor stepped down, another demon must have taken the vacant seat of Sloth.
Then who would that demon be?
'I don’t know how Astaroth is regarded in this world or what state he’s in—but if there’s anyone who fits the next Sloth, it’s him.'
While Frondier was deep in thought, the analyzed demon—unaware of what had just been done to him—shouted.
“Human! Stop wasting time and kill me! You’ll face an endless horde of demons anyway—”
“Quiet for a moment, Paride.”
“What...?”
At the sound of his own name, Paride froze, his mind going blank. He opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, then looked toward the other demons.
Of course, staring at each other offered no answers—only made the horrifying realization all the clearer.
“Y-you... how... could you possibly...!”
“For now, I’ll give you three a warning. Don’t say ‘Astaroth.’”
“What! No, what are you—”
The demons fumbled over their words, unable to decide where to even begin.
Frondier ignored them.
“There’s a self-destruct mechanism. If you say ‘Astaroth,’ it’ll trigger. I’d rather you not blow yourselves up in front of me—if you explode suddenly, even I might—”
Ah.
Frondier suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
Demons don’t value their lives. Wouldn’t they, after hearing this, try to self-destruct just to harm him even slightly? That was his concern.
Having already spoken, he glanced at them to gauge their reaction—
“...”
“...”
“...”
But the three demons showed no sign of detonating. They only rolled their eyes in bewilderment.
One finally managed to speak, trembling.
“L-lies. That can’t be. Our master would never—”
“If you really think so, why not say his name out loud?”
“Grrk...!”
“If you wanted to attack me, self-destructing would be the right move, wouldn’t it?”
Frondier’s provocation went unanswered. None of them opened their mouths.
After all, one of them had already nearly confessed by saying our master. Their thoughts were transparent.
'They’re seething with betrayal.'
Just as Frondier thought, the three were too busy swallowing their rage toward Astaroth.
They weren’t refraining from self-detonation out of fear of death.
They simply refused to die that way.
'My skill ‘Analysis’ came from a quest. It’s not something anyone can normally obtain, so from an enemy’s perspective, there’d be no reason to guard against it.'
Which meant that Astaroth had never even imagined his implant would be discovered this way.
Even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared about a disposable pawn’s fate.
'This might be useful.'
Frondier smiled faintly to himself.
Perhaps even darker than Astaroth ever could.
“For now, you three know my name, don’t you?”
“...”
Their mouths were still sealed shut. Frondier shrugged.
“Demons are good liars, aren’t they? How about saying something? If you just answer, I’ll spare your lives.”
“I already told you! We don’t beg for our lives! To us, life is nothing but—”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a means to fulfill desire and sustain your kind. I know.”
Frondier nodded as if in understanding.
“I’m not asking you to cling to life.”
He lifted a finger to his lips, as if sharing a secret.
“But you have to be alive to do anything.”
“...What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. If you want to accomplish something, you have to stay alive first.”
'Do what you want.'
It wasn’t hard to grasp what he meant.
One of the three demons glared sharply at him.
“What I want... is to tear off your head.”
“Then do it.”
“...You think I can’t—”
“Whatever I think.”
Frondier’s tone was flat and calm.
If someone were reading a textbook aloud, it would sound like that.
“You’ll have to stay alive if you want to tear my head off, won’t you?”
“...”
“Then let me ask again. You know my name, don’t you?”
The three demons looked at one another.
The one Frondier had identified—Paride—spoke first.
“I know it.”
“Then say my full name.”
“...Why?”
“Because it’s a question you can’t lie about.”
Paride fell silent, thinking. Maybe he was trying to discern how Frondier’s expression changed between truth and lies.
But that wasn’t what Frondier was aiming for.
“...‘Frondier de Roach.’ That’s your full name, isn’t it?”
“Correct. Exactly right.”
Frondier nodded with a small smile.
And thought to himself—
'As expected, these guys aren’t from Agoris.'
If Frondier’s information had leaked after his activities in Agoris, they would have known his full name as “Frondier di Roach.”
That was the version he’d used while in Agoris.
On this continent, only Bael knew his original name. Unless these demons were Bael’s subordinates, it meant they had information from when Frondier was still in Falind.
'It’s possible Bael blabbed about me to other demons, but given our dealings, it’s hard to imagine he’d do something that foolish.'
Bael knew that Frondier had changed his name—he himself had arranged Frondier’s transfer to Atlas.
He wouldn’t hand out even that piece of information lightly.
'So that confirms it. Astaroth must be one of the Seven Deadly Sins—or, even if not, he’s tied to that side’s world.'
A sudden appearance of a Sin-level demon when the 72 Demons were already suspected of running wild in Palma’s capital... The situation was enough to make Frondier’s head ache.
He asked again.
“Is Astaroth currently one of the 72 Demons—or one of the Seven Deadly Sins?”
“...That’s...”
“If your boss isn’t Astaroth, there’s no reason to hide it, is there?”
The demons bit their lips.
Remaining silent here was practically admitting that Astaroth was their master. The fact was already clear, but saying it aloud was another matter.
Finally, one demon, after much thought, answered.
“...He’s one of the 72 Demons.”
A lie so transparent it was almost comical.
“I see.”
Frondier, of course, didn’t kill him for lying. He’d said from the start that it didn’t matter.
Even lies could be useful to him.
'So they have to hide the fact that he’s one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I’ve seen something like this before.'
Marco—one of the 72 Demons who had joined Satan’s forces—had been desperate to conceal that fact from Bael.
And Marco had had a clear reason for doing so.
“Ah... ha...”
At that moment, something clicked in Frondier’s mind.
Even his realization sounded relaxed.
“Come to think of it—if you’re Astaroth’s subordinates, that means you’re originally from the Demon Realm.”
“...! N-no! We’re—”
They caught themselves mid-denial, realizing that saying “not Astaroth’s subordinates” was a forbidden phrase. Their mouths snapped shut.
They’d almost died just now.
“So demons from the Demon Realm came all the way to this continent... and you’re furious that Astaroth implanted self-destructs in you. Which means you expected to return safely, didn’t you? While the demons in Agoris are still agonizing over how to get back.”
“N-no! We’re 72 Demons! We have nothing to do with the Demon Realm!”
Frondier ignored their frantic cries and continued his own train of thought.
It was as though even their shouting served to fuel his reasoning.
“Did you come through a Gate from the Demon Realm?”
“...!!”
The three demons blinked, unable to utter a single word.
Three might think better than one, but that also created a problem—
They couldn’t lie instantly, because their stories wouldn’t match.
“In that case,”
Frondier smiled faintly, his teeth flashing white.
“That Gate must still be open, then?”
