Seven Sins System Chapter 815. Mamon's Domain

Seven Sins System Chapter 815. Mamon's Domain

“F*ck no!” Mamon stated. No room for negotiating.

The word didn’t echo.

It landed.

Like a contract stamped with rejection in gold ink.

I stood there anyway.

Because I expected that.

This was Mamon’s office.

And everything about this place screamed exactly why he said no.

Floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooked an endless infernal skyline, towers stacked on towers, glowing ledgers projected into the air like constellations made of debt and obligation. Numbers flowed across the windows in real time. Markets rising. Markets collapsing. Contracts sealed. Value extracted from existence itself.

And inside?

Rows.

Of desks.

Of screens.

Of people.

Accountants.

Hundreds of them.

Maybe thousands if you counted the deeper tiers.

All wearing the same expression.

Dead inside.

Not physically.

No.

Functionally.

Eyes hollow. Movements mechanical. Fingers typing with perfect efficiency while their souls, ironically, looked like they’d already been audited out of joy.

These were people who spent their entire lives collecting wealth by taking from others.

I stepped forward slowly, boots clicking softly against the polished obsidian floor.

“You already assisted us once,” I said calmly. “You just need to assist us more.”

He didn’t look at me.

Not immediately.

His eyes were locked on his tablet, fingers moving in quick, precise motions as he adjusted something in a projection only he could see. His glasses slid slightly down his nose, and he pushed them back up with a small, practiced motion.

“I helped,” he said flatly, “because they mimicked me.”

Tap.

Swipe.

Adjust.

“That is all.”

I didn’t respond right away.

I walked closer.

Placed the documents on his desk.

Not neatly.

Because neatness wasn’t the point.

“These,” I said quietly, “suggest otherwise.”

He glanced at them.

Briefly.

Then went back to his tablet.

“…I am busy.”

I exhaled.

Slow.

Controlled.

“Besides,” I added, tone just a fraction sharper, “there might be others being mimicked.”

That made him pause.

Just slightly.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But I did.

He set the tablet down.

Picked up the documents.

Finally.

Read.

Silently.

Line by line.

His expression didn’t change at first.

Still composed.

Still disinterested.

Then, a small frown appeared.

Subtle.

But real.

“They want to…” he muttered.

A pause.

“…take over Heaven and Hell?”

He looked up at me.

Deadpan.

“Are they dumb?”

I didn’t answer.

Because yes.

Obviously.

He gestured vaguely around the office with one hand.

At the accountants.

At the endless screens.

At the suffocating precision of this place.

“Do you see this?” he asked.

I followed his gesture.

Rows of people working without stopping.

Without speaking.

Without living.

“This,” he continued, “is what managing one domain looks like.”

His voice didn’t rise.

Didn’t sharpen.

But there was something there now.

Annoyance.

“They want to manage both?” he added.

A beat.

“Ambitious.”

I leaned slightly against his desk.

“Delusional.”

He didn’t disagree.

He looked back down at the papers.

Read a little more.

His frown deepened.

“They want expansion,” he murmured. “Land. Resources. Mana distribution control.”

Another pause.

“And… judgment authority.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the page.

“That part is inefficient.”

I smirked faintly.

“You don’t say.”

He flipped to another section.

Charts.

Projections.

Estimated returns.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“They calculated potential yield.”

“They always do.”

He looked up at me again.

“So?”

I raised a brow.

“So?”

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

Direct.

Good.

Progress.

“I want you to help us to track them,” I said.

“No.”

Immediate.

Clean.

Unapologetic.

I sighed.

“Mamon.”

“No.”

“They’re building a parallel system.”

“No.”

“They’re mimicking—”

“I said no.”

I straightened.

Okay.

We’re doing this properly.

“You don’t see the risk?” I pressed.

“I see no profit. That’s not my job. That’s yours and Luci’s job.”

There it was.

The core.

The axis he spins on.

Profit.

Value.

Return.

Everything else?

Noise.

“There’s no money in this for you?” I asked.

“None.”

I tapped the document.

“If they succeed, they control Hell’s market.”

He looked at me.

Really looked this time.

There we go.

“They won’t just replace gods and devils,” I said. “They’ll restructure the system.”

I tapped the charts again.

“Which means your current models?”

I tilted my head slightly.

“They will replace it.”

Silence.

The accountants behind us kept working.

Typing.

Clicking.

Breathing like it was optional.

Mamon’s eyes flicked down to the projections again.

“…Unverified variables,” he muttered. He adjusted his glasses again. Slowly. “…Unregulated.”

“Exactly.”

I could practically hear the gears turning.

Because Mamon doesn’t fear chaos.

He fears unpredictability.

Markets you can’t model.

Systems you can’t quantify.

Variables you can’t monetize.

That?

That’s offensive to him.

He set the documents down.

Carefully.

Too carefully.

“…Still,” he said after a moment, “there is no direct profit.”

I exhaled.

Of course we’re still here.

I leaned forward slightly.

Lowered my voice.

“What if there is?”

He didn’t respond.

But he didn’t dismiss it either.

“Information,” I said. “Control. Early access.”

A beat.

“Monopoly potential. Mortal richies controlled them. Or vice versa. And mortal market could bring endless possibilities for us.”

His eyes flicked back to me.

Sharp.

Focused.

Now we’re speaking his language.

“If you track them first,” I continued, “you own the owner.”

He didn’t interrupt.

I leaned in just a little, voice lowering into something smoother.

“And the rest?” I added. “We take over.”

That got him.

Not visibly.

But I saw it.

That tiny shift in his posture. The way his fingers paused mid-scroll.

“Those fake Sin Lords?” I went on casually. “We absorb their power. Strip their assets. Take their wealth, their properties, their networks… everything they built.”

A beat.

“And you?” I smiled faintly. “You own it all.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Deliberate.

Then… His glasses slid up his nose again.

Slow.

Interested.

“…Continue,” he said.

I exhaled quietly.

“The messy part?” I shrugged. “We handle it.”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“I will assist,” he said carefully. “But I will not do crude work.”

Of course not.

“I am Greed,” he added. “I was not born to kill or behead mortals.”

I chuckled softly.

“That’s my job.”

A pause.

“I’ll handle the blood.”

He nodded once.

Deal sealed.