Seven Sins System Chapter 709. Too Busy Trying to Kill Each Other

Seven Sins System Chapter 709. Too Busy Trying to Kill Each Other

“Same on my end,” I said. “And now I’m thinking—maybe they didn’t just die.”

She looked at me. “You think mortals took them?”

“I know some mortals came to me after battles. Offered information. Told me where angels were stationed. Told me your plans. For coin. For territory. For revenge.” I paused. “Sometimes it wasn’t even for anything big. Sometimes it was just because they were bitter.”

I could see her flinch slightly.

I sighed. “And I know damn well some of your kind assumed the evil was all on my side. That demons corrupted them, poisoned their minds, made them traitors.”

She didn’t answer.

I kept going. “But mortals... they have darkness on their own. I didn’t have to sell it to them. I didn’t have to tempt them. They offered it. They wanted me to use it.”

I looked down at my hand, curling my fingers into a fist. “And now we’re standing in the place where it all began. Where they first figured out that our blood—our mana—was a resource.”

She was still silent, but her jaw clenched.

I stepped forward, letting the wind hit my face. It smelled like old stone and ash. Faint ozone. And something else—like dried tears caught in heat.

I gestured to the hill. “This place is where they farmed our remains. That mage, the one who collected our blood like it was sacred wine—he wasn’t just a madman. He was the start of something. A movement. A legacy of mortals who decided they didn’t want to serve gods or demons anymore. They wanted to make them. Build them. Harvest them.”

Puriel’s voice was soft now. Bitter. “And we never saw it.”

“No,” I said. “Because we were too busy trying to kill each other.”

Her eyes shimmered. Blue like ice under moonlight.

“You stood for them,” I said, quieter now. “For mortals. For their light. For their hope. You really believed in it. I know you did.”

She didn’t deny it.

And I didn’t mock her for it. Not now.

“Must be hard,” I added. “Watching everything you protected turn into this.”

She closed her eyes. “It is.”

I looked around again. “We can’t seal this place. Not yet. If we bury it, we lose the chance to understand it. To track where it leads. They left echoes here. Clues. Maybe traps, too.”

She nodded faintly. But she wasn’t looking at the ruins anymore. She was staring into the distance. At something I couldn’t see.

Maybe it was memories. Maybe it was shame.

Either way, she looked… smaller.

Less divine.

More human.

And somehow, that hurt more.

I took a step closer. “We should hide this place better, though. If others find it…”

“I know,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll veil it. And I’ll mark it.”

There was a pause.

Then she said, “You think they used all our fallen?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because yeah. I did.

I nodded slowly. “The ones that vanished without a trace? Their bodies might’ve been taken. Their mana harvested. Fused. Reshaped. That lunatic talked about fusing light and dark. Who knows what rituals they built from that.”

She shivered. “We didn’t even notice…”

“We weren’t supposed to,” I said. “They made sure of it. We were too busy being enemies.”

“Too proud,” she added.

“Too blind,” I agreed.

We stood in silence again. The kind of silence that stretched between two people who’d hated each other long enough to know the shape of each other’s scars.

Finally, she asked, “So what now?”

I looked up at the sky. “Now we connect the dots. We figure out how deep this goes. Who carried on that mage’s madness. Who else learned to mix blood and faith and call it divinity.”

She took another breath. It sounded like it hurt.

And when she finally looked at me again, I didn’t see just a goddess.

I saw someone betrayed by the thing she protected most.

Mortals.

And maybe for the first time… she saw me too. Not as the Lord of Wrath. Not as a monster.

But as someone who’d seen the rot long before she did.

And had learned to live with it.

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, under the shadow of a ruined temple, with the wind carrying the ghosts of our past selves, we both knew—

The war from hundreds of years ago wasn’t over.

It had never been over.

It had just gone quiet. Gone underground. Buried beneath layers of dust and silence and forgotten bones.

So we went deeper.

The path twisted behind a collapsed archway—half-swallowed by vines, half-sunken into the hill like the earth itself was trying to erase it. Roots coiled along the ceiling like veins, pulsing faintly with residual mana. Not celestial. Not infernal.

Something else.

I dispatched all six of my tentacles, shadow-formed and feral, spreading them like scouts into the deeper corridors. They slithered across walls and ceilings, limbs stretching thinner than smoke, eyes glowing red as they sniffed through cracks and forgotten sigils. They weren’t meant for stealth—they were meant for speed.

Because this place… it was a damn maze.

Not one of logic. One of madness.

Winding staircases led to inverted halls. Walls looped back to themselves. Doors vanished when you turned your head. Magic soaked through every stone like mold, warping perception, tugging at memory.

One corridor smelled like old parchment and copper. The next like damp incense and drying blood. The deeper we went, the more the air thickened—heavy, ancient, full of whispers that weren’t language, just impressions.

Regret. Curiosity. Hunger.

I expected something like a lab. Not modern. Not sterile. Not chrome and glass and fluorescent lights.

No. I was thinking something older. Something more unholy.

Alchemists. Warlocks. Heretic priests. Mortal hands stained with divine ambition.

Ritual knives dulled with use. Stone basins stained brown-red. Crystal vials sealed with bone caps.

The kind of lab where prayers were dissected and faith was brewed into poison.

And I was right.