Most Powerful Entity in Academy-Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Marcus POV.

Death—how magnificent, how utterly artistic.

Is death itself not a form of art?

Death is the one who adorns stories; a tale without death is dreadfully dull.

From childhood, I’ve had a bond with death.

I fell in love with death itself and turned it into a hobby: hunting.

Watching animals die or writhe in agony—it always made me happy.

People deem killing humans wrong, but my instincts demanded it.

I couldn’t stop those urges, so I learned...

Using the system’s loophole, I decided to kill those who murdered others.

If killing a killer makes me one too, then before I die, I’ll drag every killer with me and end myself.

The police found bodies but no evidence—it was thrilling.

Even that was artistic.

Death, my love, how sweet you are—a dream I never wanted to end.

Yet it felt like waking at the dream’s climax.

I joined the police force, became a detective.

That way, I could select more victims, gain more access to information.

Every murder was like a painting.

I did my best—from rapist scum to killers.

From succubi who couldn’t control themselves to slave traders...

I personally delivered everyone’s punishment. I was a 4th-tier mage.

Quite powerful.

I ensured no connections between those I killed, no room for the slightest mistake.

I was 47, after all.

For a demon, that’s remarkably young—even considered a child.

But surpassing the 4th tier is nearly impossible; it’s the hardest step.

They say there is a new world in the 5th tier.

Anyway, one day everything changed.

I was about to be caught...

I’d only just begun—by demon standards, I was still a child.

I was packing my suitcase at home when the lights went out and everything froze.

Time itself stopped.

The entity appeared.

It manifested as a black form, and I only remember its warm smile.

"Shhh, Marcus, ending it so soon? How could you be satisfied with just this?" It tempted me.

I knew what it was doing—it wanted my soul, but I wanted to listen.

"What can I do, entity? Aren’t you like me? I’m a detective; I somewhat understand what you’re up to... We’re the same type. Did you come to help me?" I spoke too much at once.

It giggled: "Yes, but even I have feelings, Marcus. You’re a psychopath, but that doesn’t matter! Do you want my help? Wish for anything from me, that is, if you’re willing to sell your soul. If not, I’ll leave."

It seemed bored.

I wasn’t angry that it called me a psychopath; it was right.

My instincts only flared in the moment of killing.

I can’t let this happen. There are so many criminals out there.

My soul? I couldn’t care less! Play big or go home, I thought to myself.

The entity awaited my answer. I sighed: "Fine. What I want is something like a GPS that shows me criminals."

It laughed: "Hhhhhh, poor Marcus. I’ve heard your wish, but in exchange, I’ll take your soul when it turns black."

"black soul? What’s that?" The entity spoke in strange riddles.

Then it raised a finger: "You’ll see people’s souls and understand how much sin they’ve committed from them, Marcus," it said, producing a parchment and pointing to a spot.

I snapped out of it.

The offer was too tempting.

I bit my finger and pressed it onto the marked spot.

The parchment vanished.

The entity slowly gave an aristocratic bow: "See you next time, Marcus. Don’t disappoint me. Show me you’ve eradicated all the madmen—how far you can go." Then everything returned to normal.

Outside, the moon was unchanged.

Excitement sparked within me—a crumb of emotion, but I was happy.

Looking at my arm, I saw a gray light emanating from it.

I experimented, tracking bad people and understanding the soul-darkening.

It was like karma from ancient myths.

A soul’s glow brightens when you help others.

Gray meant...

Neutral, I guessed.

One wrong move, the entity would take my soul.

Only God knows what it would do to my soul...

Three years have passed since that deal.

I’m 50 now.

My fun became even more entertaining.

I grew addicted to the feeling, but as long as I killed evildoers, those with black in their souls, there was no issue.

One day, I targeted a slave trader.

It wasn’t about the slaves.

I didn’t care.

What concerned me was that he kidnapped them.

There were rules even for selling and owning slaves.

But this man had copied every crime from the constitution into his record, like pasting it in.

The problem: he was tried but always fined a trivial amount.

Likely bribery.

On the street, walking with his guards, I saw his black soul.

A black aura surrounded him.

’He shouldn’t live! He shouldn’t live!’ That was my only thought.

Evening in Nocthral’s capital.

I entered his shop stealthily.

Doing this for years, you gain experience—or you get caught.

But everything was odd.

Too quiet.

Excessive silence is never good.

I raced through the basement-like building, using magic to silence my steps.

All the rooms...

The slaves...

Damn, no one was there.

One room left. I slowly opened the door, but my foot felt strange.

Wet?

Damn, this place is a pool of blood.

A pool of blood from the guards, and there was my target, the slave trader, lying in it.

The room was a complete mess.

In the center, atop the corpses, sat a figure.

"Finally, you’re here," he said.

The door behind me closed, and I swear I heard it lock.

He was a man; I couldn’t see him in the dark.

Then he turned: "Do you remember me?"

This person’s soul was corrupting right now—turning black.

I stayed silent and gathered mana in my hand.

"Marcus, it’s me. Remember? You killed my father! Twenty years ago, I was only six." He approached.

I couldn’t speak; I didn’t know what to do: "Whatever happened, I’m sure your father was a son of a bitch."

But the man laughed: "Hahahahaha, I’m Dante. You wouldn’t know me. Twenty years ago, when you killed my father, I was hiding in the closet. His name was Dmitri."

I remembered...

That man trafficked children: "So what? Your father was a bastard who kidnapped and sold kids. Look—you’ve killed all his guards here!"

"Hhhhh, don’t be scared. The entity gave me this power. It offered me a chance, and I accepted." I was trembling.

No, this was bad news—my soul was slowly blackening: "Marcus, you made me a killer. This is all because of you. Couldn’t you have turned him over to justice?!"

The man roared.

I kicked the door, but it wouldn’t open.

I turned and cast lightning magic on the kid, enough to blast the room—but time stopped again.

The lightning didn’t strike.

"Oh, Marcus, look what you did to the poor boy. You killed his father..." said the entity, but this time without the smile.

I grabbed its shoulders.

"I beg you, listen. Who is this ’justice’ he speaks of? Society? How do they define justice, entity? You know the answers already." I shook it without realizing.

But the entity didn’t budge an inch: "Marcus... actions have consequences."

I stumbled to the ground.

The one called Dante in front of me was frozen: "What about you? You’re the same as me!"

I shouted.

Because I knew I was right.

"Oh, Dante, I only selected evil people by my own judgment. Yes, I take their souls, but I give their families good fortune without them noticing—an unexpected job offer, or winning the lottery. I cared for the families of those I killed or took souls from. But Marcus, you’re an orphan..."

I got angry and started spitting without realizing: "That doesn’t make you better or worse than me. You’re just being tormented by your own conscience."

"Maybe you’re right, Marcus, but that’s my problem," it said, looking at my body—it had blackened.

I sighed, knowing these would be my last words: "Did you make this kid do all this? Why did he mention you?"

"The boy had dedicated his life to revenge, and I gave him that revenge. He met his father’s killer, but my condition was that your soul is mine—that I’d be the one to kill you. The boy was clever; he infiltrated as a servant among the guards, poisoned their food, and freed the slaves. But since there were good people among the guards, his soul darkened too..."

I closed my eyes: "Will this Dante die?"

"He’ll commit suicide. After all, I let him achieve his life’s purpose, but the emptiness after revenge isn’t easy," it said, approaching.

I was a bit happy, actually, because I was feeling emotion now.

Then it grabbed my arm.

Pain like a hot iron piercing my body.

It hurts.

Ah, death, how artistic you are...

Even my own death brings an end.

Come, embrace me, death.

At that moment, the entity looked at Marcus’s corpse and sighed: "If only, Marcus, if only you hadn’t been so foolish... Why didn’t you stop? How many times was your soul on the verge of blackening? Anyway, you were headed to hell regardless. Instead of eternal torment, you’ll suffer in my sub-space for thousands of years. Be happy." The entity said this while staring at Marcus’s skull.

It whistled and began reciting its own poem:

His laugh rings like dawn on a meadow in May,

He lures you with honeyed words, bright as the day.

Each dream that you breathe, he swears he’ll make true,

Crowns you with rubies and rivers of blue.

But debts have their season, and seasons must turn,

He’ll stride through the dark when the last embers burn.

No mercy, no laughter—just iron and flame,

To flay every promise and brand you with shame.