Seven Sins System Chapter 620. Poetic or High
Seven Sins System Chapter 620. Poetic or High
I knew that sight.
Because I blasted through it once, the Pearl Gates.
Back during the war, when I’d lost it and flung half a mountain’s worth of Wrath-infused hellfire across their borders. Just to make a point. Just to show them that devils didn’t beg.
And the view I’d seen in that moment?
Was burned into my memory.
Exactly like this.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Asmo was next to me now, squinting. “You seeing something in the background? Is this like one of those puzzle things where you unfocus your eyes and a holy sigil appears?”
I didn’t answer at first. Just pointed.
“That horizon,” I said. “That isn’t here. That’s there.”
“There?”
“The Light Realm.”
His face fell.
“…Are you serious?”
“I’ve only ever seen that view once,” I said, voice low. “When I blew open their Pearl Gates.”
He whistled low. “Oh yeah… I remember that. You knocked out their barrier grid for like six minutes, right? Sent the Seraph Guard into a panic?”
I gave a small nod. “Yeah. And just before they swarmed me, I caught a glimpse of their inner sanctum. And that’s what I saw.” I jabbed a finger at the canvas. “Right there. Same haze. Same horizon. Even the light looks the same.”
Asmo frowned. “But… no way. Are you telling me my dad—”
I turned to face him fully. “Asmo. Did your father ever go up there?”
“To the Light Realm?”
“Yeah.”
He blinked. Then scoffed. “I mean… not that he ever told me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Think, Asmo. Really think. Any stories? Off-hand comments? Anything weird?”
He furrowed his brows. “Well, he did love talking about goddesses and angels. But, you know…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “In that way.”
“He used to say stuff like ‘the curve of a real angel’s thigh makes even a succubus look modest,’” Asmo muttered. “I always thought he was just being poetic. Or high. Or both.”
“...He wasn’t.”
“What, you think he was describing something he actually saw?”
“Sounds like it,” I said. “And that would mean…”
“That my dad got into the Light Realm?”
“Before me. Before any of us,” I muttered, jaw clenched. “And somehow survived it without triggering an inter-realm war.”
“That we know of,” Asmo said. “For all we know, he did start something. Maybe that’s why their old High Priestess used to twitch whenever someone mentioned ‘roses’.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s hilarious,” he said. “My dad, the secret holy infiltrator. The undercover lover. Mr. Virgin Slayer himself.”
I shot him a glare. “I swear, if you turn this into bullshit story—”
“Too late,” he smirked. “I already wrote Act One in my head. Scene opens with a goddess in a silk robe, sighing as a mysterious horned man enters her sanctum…”
I groaned. “Okay, enough.”
“He says as he stares into the painting of my hot dad gazing longingly at the realm of light…”
“Asmo.”
“Fine, fine.” He threw his hands up. “But seriously—if my father did go up there, why keep it a secret?”
“Because he wasn’t supposed to,” I said. “No demon is.”
“Except you. And your dad.”
“Exactly.” I paused. “But we went there for… not a good reason. Blasting something, mostly.”
Asmo rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… that would explain a few things. Like his obsession with balance. Harmony. Angels. Ugh. He used to drone on about ‘transcending primal desire’ like he wasn’t literally the Lust Lord.”
Something clicked, but I couldn’t say a thing. “Maybe he saw something up there. Something that changed him.”
Asmo muttered, “Yeah, that or he got laid so good he found religion.”
I rolled my eyes. “That horizon’s not a mistake. It’s a memory. A real one. Which means this ripple, this scent—it might’ve started there. Not here.”
He grew quiet for a second. The jokes faded.
“And now it’s coming back,” he said slowly.
“Yeah,” I replied.
Asmo tilted his head. “So you think this ripple—it’s not just random power acting up?”
“I think someone wants it to happen,” I said carefully. “And if your father brought back that scent… or if he created it based on something he saw up there, then this is more than just leftover magic.”
Asmo blinked. “Wait. Created it? You mean like… alchemy? A spell?”
“Something like that,” I said, sidestepping the full truth. “But it’s only part of the puzzle.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “And you think the rest might be buried in the archives?”
“Exactly.”
He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well then… time to go grave robbing.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
Asmo hesitated one second longer, then finally pulled the curtain back over the painting.
“Alright, but if we find another painting of him making out with an angel, I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Fine. I’ll burn it then.”
We left the vault and made our way through the hidden passages leading to the Lust Archives. The hallway was tighter here—less grand. More… personal. I didn’t need Analyze to tell me this wing hadn’t seen much traffic in the last few centuries.
I could practically feel the dust trying to cling to my suit. My tentacles flicked it away lazily.
“You know,” Asmo said as we walked, “I’ve always thought archives were boring.”
“That’s because you spent most of your reign writing love poems on people’s bodies instead of paper.”
“Hey, calligraphy is calligraphy.”
“Uh-huh.”
We reached a heavy iron door with three locks shaped like hearts.
Asmo rolled his eyes. “Seriously, old man? Heart locks? Subtlety is dead.”
He placed his palm against the center lock.
The door clicked open.
Beyond it?
Rows upon rows of scrolls, books, enchanted mirrors, and dusty tomes stacked high. The scent of ink and mana was strong here. Like the air had been holding its breath for centuries, waiting for someone to give a damn.
Asmo stepped in and immediately summoned a pair of floating lights. They followed us like fireflies, illuminating dusty spines and ancient bindings.
“Alright,” he said. “Time to dig.”
“And no distractions,” I added. “Focus.”