Chapter 374. Demons Don’t Eat Bones

Seven Sins System Chapter 374. Demons Don't Eat Bones

My chuckle escaped before I could contain it, watching Puriel's reaction with amusement. "Jokes on you. It's just a skeleton," I quipped in a casual tone, my lips curling into a mischievous grin. It was true—the skeletal remains lying nearby had likely been there for years, reduced to nothing but bare bones adorned in ragged clothing.

Her response was swift and sharp, hissing with displeasure at my comment. "That's the same thing!" she retorted.

I waved off her protest with a scoff, shaking my head in amusement. "No, it's not. That is only bones; it's barely called a corpse," I countered confidently, as if I were some expert on the subject. From a devil's perspective, it was a valid distinction. A true corpse was adorned with flesh, whether rotten or not—a feast fit for certain demonic appetites. But bones alone held little appeal, even to the lowest of demons.

I continued to explain my reasoning. "See, a corpse still has something to offer—flesh, blood, organs. But bones? They're just... well, bones," I reasoned, the smirk on my face widening at my own audacity.

Puriel regarded me with a mixture of exasperation and amusement, clearly unimpressed by my attempt to dissect the finer points of corpse classification. But despite her disapproval, I couldn't help but revel in our conversation's absurdity.

"But it's human remains," she insisted, her disapproval evident in her expression.

I shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by her criticism. "Demons don't eat bones. We aren't dogs," I asserted matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her reaction was immediate—a mixture of disbelief and disgust as she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I shouldn't argue with a devil about this," she muttered regretfully, her gaze drifting towards the skeletal remains nearby. "I wonder if they killed her," she mused, her voice tinged with sadness.

I followed her gaze, my eyes scanning the scene before us with a detached curiosity. "No, those bones reek of sin," I remarked casually, my tone betraying a hint of intrigue. "Jealousy, envy, and greed," I continued, my words flowing effortlessly as I dissected the remnants of the past. "It's enough to trigger someone to commit suicide due to a broken heart."

I noticed the dull rusty knife clutched in the skeleton's hand.

For me, discerning the sins embedded within the remains was second nature—a skill passed down through generations of devils, ingrained in our very essence. While humans may learn to breathe, we learn to decipher the sins that stain the souls of the departed.

Puriel's shock was palpable as she processed my revelation. "She committed suicide because of a broken heart?" she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she tried to make sense of the situation. "But why did she do it here?" she questioned, her confusion evident in her tone.

I shook my head, correcting her with a matter-of-fact tone. "He. It's a man," I clarified, my words laced with certainty. "And as for why he chose this place, I have no idea. He should be in Envy's torture chamber by now, not mine," I added casually, as if discussing the weather.

The silence that followed. We lay there, staring at the desolate scene before us. I focused my attention inward, channeling my demonic energy towards the tiny tentacle concealed in the hair of one of the kidnappers.

But despite my efforts, there was nothing significant to glean from their minds. They were engaged in some ritual, gathered around a painting depicting a creature with a shadow-like resemblance to me. The air was thick with the scent of a potent black mixture, its aroma reminiscent of high-grade alcohol. They spoke my title—Lord of Wrath—in hushed tones, their voices carrying a hint of reverence that bordered on worship.

Yet, I knew better than to believe their words. It was merely a manifestation of their suggestible mental state, fueled by the intoxicating effects of the drink they consumed. Their minds were clouded, their thoughts muddled by the influence of the ritual and the alcohol.

"Ugh... Useless..." I muttered to myself. I couldn't shake the urge to confront the great leader who had been masquerading as me. Patience was never my strong suit—I mean, I'm the Lord of Wrath, not the goddess of Patience, for crying out loud.

I stewed in my frustration. A huff came out of my mouth. I was about to close my eyes, but the sound of movement beside me drew my attention. Puriel approached and seated herself beside me, her expression curious as she peered at me. "What do you see?" she inquired, her voice laced with genuine interest.

I glanced at Puriel, raising an eyebrow in response to her direct question. "See what?" I asked, feigning ignorance, though I knew exactly what she was getting at.

Her gaze held a hint of impatience as she cut straight to the chase. "You put your spies on them, right?" she pressed, her tone no-nonsense. "What do you see?" she reiterated, her curiosity evident in her voice.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair in exasperation. "Not much," I admitted, my frustration evident in my tone. "Just a bunch of idiots drinking themselves into a stupor and chanting stupid shit like it's some kind of mantra," I explained, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of it all. “Simply.” I let out a tired sigh. "They're praying," I replied wearily.

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