The Price of Prying: Yelica’s Demise and Enslavement

Earlier, intent on forcibly extracting memories, Yelica had channeled the bulk of her soul into the crystal ball, leaving only a sliver behind in her body to maintain the charade for Yodel.

Consequently, she tried to use that remaining sliver of her soul as an anchor, hoping to reel herself back into her physical form.

Yet, this proved utterly futile; indeed, it only exacerbated the situation.

Far from returning to her body, the fragment of her soul that had remained behind was forcibly wrenched into this infernal realm as well.

With every stratagem failing, Yelica’s complexion grew increasingly distraught, draining to an ashen pallor.

From the gaping void, dozens of pitch-black chains snaked forth, shimmering with an ominous, dark luminescence as they surged towards Yelica.

“Yodel! What horrors have you stashed away in your memories?!”

She attempted to summon her staff in defense, only to find her hands bare; even her magically imbued nun’s habit had vanished, leaving her form starkly exposed to the empty air.

‘Damn it, I’m a soul body now; all my equipment is still out there.’

No sooner had this realization dawned upon her than the black chains surged forward, leaving her with no avenue of escape.

Inside the lie detection chamber, Yodel looked up, a puzzled frown creasing his brow, for the stream of questions had suddenly fallen silent.

Yelica sat motionless, her eyes vacant and her expression utterly wooden, as though her very soul had been wrenched away.

He waved a hand directly before her eyes.

There was no reaction whatsoever.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?”

Swiftly, Yodel’s confusion was dispelled.

For, before his eyes, a white butterfly delicately alighted upon Yelica’s shoulder.

****

Within the God of Death’s (TL Note: 死神 means God of Death or Grim Reaper) Temple, Yelica was suspended in mid-air, bound by dozens of iron chains that cinched her hands, feet, waist, head, and chest, securing her utterly.

It was not for lack of resistance; indeed, she had thrown every ounce of her strength into fighting back.

Yet, against that terrifying figure, her efforts were as pathetically feeble as a baby’s clenched fist.

“Heh, heh. A seal I only laid yesterday, and already today some audacious thief comes knocking.

It seems keeping a vigilant watch is always the correct approach.”

“Then…” The God of Death drew Yelica closer, her blood-red eyes intensifying with an increasingly blinding crimson glow, and her voice dropped to an utterly frigid tone:

“Shameless thief, who dared to invade the memories of my beloved devotee, how precisely shall I utterly annihilate you?”

A palpable killing intent saturated every corner of the magnificent hall, making it feel as though Yelica’s head might be severed from her body in the very next instant.

However, the oppressive atmosphere gradually eased, and the sanguine glow in the God of Death’s eyes slowly receded:

“Never mind.

Killing you now would likely only cause trouble for little Yodel.”

With a casual snap of her fingers, she summoned Yodel into the grand hall.

The moment he looked up, he was utterly dumbfounded.

There, before him, was Yelica, utterly naked, suspended in mid-air.

Whether by sheer coincidence or the God of Death’s dark sense of humor, the chains meticulously avoided all sensitive areas, effectively exposing everything that ought to have remained concealed.

Upon seeing Yodel materialize abruptly, Yelica’s face instantly burned crimson, like a ripe apple.

Being seen exposed by an indescribable entity was one thing, but being seen naked by a man was an entirely different, mortifying sensation.

“She attempted to pry into your memories, and I caught her in the act.

Speak, then, how do you wish to dispose of her?” The God of Death asked, her gaze idly tracing the lines of her slender, pale fingers.

‘Prying into memories… was it that crystal ball?’

A faint surge of indignation welled within Yodel.

He had naively believed that the Church, as a prominent official organization, would at least uphold some semblance of propriety in its dealings.

Instead, they had resorted to such underhanded tactics.

If not for his boss’s foresight, wouldn’t all his memories as a transmigrator have been laid bare?

“You may dispose of her as you see fit; I am not acquainted with her.”

Yelica instantly grew frantic.

The unspeakable figure had uttered a deluge of words, yet to Yelica, they were nothing more than a jumble of indistinct gibberish—a fact that already filled her with dread.

And now, Yodel could converse with It as if it were perfectly normal?!

Though the incomprehensible babble remained a mystery, Yodel’s blunt declaration of “not acquainted” had pierced through with chilling clarity.

“Wait, wait! This was my mistake, I apologize to you—”

Before she could utter another word, the God of Death clenched her fingers into a fist, and the chains instantly tightened, constricting Yelica until she gasped for breath.

“You don’t realize your error; you merely realize you are about to die.”

“The only reason you still draw breath is that your death would bring no advantage to little Yodel.

Thus, before your demise, I must extract some value from you.”

‘Little Yodel… Why does she call me that?

Since when did our relationship grow so intimate?

I haven’t even tried to curry favor with the God of Death, have I?’ Yodel grumbled silently to himself.

No sooner had he finished his internal grumbling than he witnessed the God of Death ascend into mid-air, and then…

…she embraced Yelica?

Yelica watched as the black-robed figure slowly ascended.

Beneath its hood, a swirling mass of black mist, perpetually dispersing and re-coalescing, seemed to ravenously eye her soul like a hungry black hole.

“No, stay back! Yodel, Yodel, save me!”

It was already too late.

From beneath the voluminous black robe, skeletal hands, stripped to bone, extended and slowly enveloped Yelica in an embrace.

She felt the creature injecting something into her very soul, and Yelica swiftly realized what it was: ‘Fear.’

A ceaseless torrent of fear surged wildly into her soul.

She longed to scream, yet no sound escaped her lips; she yearned to weep, yet no tears would fall.

It was as though every avenue for expressing fear had been forcibly sealed, leaving her to witness, powerless, as terror consumed her, utterly polluting her entire soul.

In a matter of mere seconds, Yelica began exhibiting the precursors of a complete mental collapse; she felt herself slowly, irrevocably breaking apart.

Yodel, meanwhile, was utterly bewildered.

He watched the God of Death embrace Yelica, and the sight of two beautiful maidens clinging together was, to his eyes, quite aesthetically pleasing.

So why, then, did Yelica wear such a ghost-stricken expression?

While the God of Death did appear somewhat haggard from immense pressure, she was hardly terrifying enough to elicit such a reaction.

The God of Death then turned her gaze towards Yodel:

“I have placed a Death Curse upon her.

You may freely dictate its terms; should she violate any rule you set, she will instantly perish.”

Truly, she was worthy of being called a deity; the Hymn Inquisitor, feared by all, was handled by her with such effortless, casual ease.

‘Such was the advantage of immense power,’ Yodel mused with a sigh, even as he began to define the parameters of the curse.

Given that Yelica had merely attempted to pry into his memories, without any other truly heinous actions, Yodel had no intention of imposing excessively severe rules.

He would be content so long as the curse served its purpose as a deterrent.

“First, you shall not divulge any secrets, and whether a secret has been disclosed will be determined solely by me.”

“Second, you must accept my terms of trade and assist me in gathering intelligence on the Everlife Society.”

After stating these two conditions, he glanced at Yelica, whose eyes pleaded desperately, and even without words, Yodel easily understood her fervent desire: ‘Hurry up! Hurry up!’

Sighing, Yodel added, “Lastly, you must guarantee the personal safety of both me and Yali Miller.”

“There, those are the terms.” Yodel nodded to the God of Death.

“Hmm… I’ll add one more condition for you,” the God of Death said, pinching Yelica’s face as she spoke each word distinctly:

“You must unconditionally obey any command given by Yodel.”

As her words faded, the curse solidified.

Yelica was immediately flung from the grand hall, and Yodel was returned to the interrogation room.

The small room fell into a deathly silence.

Yelica was drenched in cold sweat, her vacant eyes betraying the torment of the fear still suffusing her soul.

It was only due to the Inquisitor’s formidable willpower and resilient soul; an ordinary person would likely have already been sent to St. Elizabeth’s Mental Hospital.

Even Yodel fell silent.

While the first three conditions constituted a normal Death Curse, the fourth one added by the God of Death had fundamentally altered its nature.

If Yelica wished to remain alive, she would have to become a puppet utterly subservient to Yodel’s every whim.

From Yodel’s understanding, even the most malicious s*ave contracts in this world were no worse than this.

Just ten minutes ago, she was a promising Inquisitor with a bright future; now, she had become a s*ave stripped of her freedom.

Such was the capricious fate of mortals when confronted by overwhelming power.