Seven Sins System Chapter 892. Cults

Seven Sins System Chapter 892. Cults

I leaned back in my chair and glanced at him. He still stood in full Wrath armor like he was reporting from a battlefield instead of an academy infirmary filled with thermometers, bandages, and posters telling teenagers to drink more water.

The contrast was almost offensive.

“Any more reports?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

There was always more.

Peace agreement, my ass. I had been busier since everyone decided demons and angels should stop openly killing each other.

Algan pulled a folded map from inside his armor. An actual map with several locations circled in red ink.

Old-school Wrath.

“There has also been suspicious activity approximately twenty-five kilometers from here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of activity?”

“Cult.”

I closed my eyes. My head tilted backward against the chair. “Ugh. Not again.”

Algan remained perfectly serious.

I opened one eye. “What kind of cult this time?”

Because apparently I had to ask that question now.

Mortal cults had categories.

Some worshipped demons.

Some worshipped fake demons.

Some worshipped angels and somehow still managed to commit murder.

Some worshipped money, which honestly just meant they accidentally reinvented Mamon without the competence.

And some worshipped something they found in a basement because mortals had no survival instinct.

Algan looked at the map. “One that claims to summon a Sin Lord.”

My other eye opened. “Which one?”

He shook his head. “They don’t specify.”

“That’s already insulting.”

“They claim they summoned the Sin Lord.”

I stared. “The? As in singular?”

“Yes.”

I felt offended on behalf of all seven of us.

Mortals really needed better religious education.

I folded my arms. “And?”

Algan’s expression shifted slightly.

“They mention a sin lord inside a coffin.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Why was it always coffins?

Coffins, basements, abandoned churches, underground tunnels, old mansions. Mortals had thousands of architectural options and somehow always selected the one that screamed something terrible happened here.

“Seriously,” I muttered. “Sometimes I don’t understand mortals at all.”

Algan gave me a look. “You are a doctor among them.”

“That has not improved my understanding.”

If anything, becoming Dr. Allen had made mortals more confusing.

I lowered my hand. “Is it one of us?”

“No. It doesn’t smell like Wrath.”

At least I didn’t have some forgotten bastard cousin sleeping inside a coffin.

Algan continued, “The cult members kill people. Mostly homeless individuals. They feed the blood to whatever is inside.”

“How many?”

“Confirmed? Eleven.”

My fingers stopped tapping the desk.

Algan added, “Likely more. The missing-person pattern goes back several months.”

I huffed through my nose. “Right.”

So not just idiots playing with candles.

Actual murder.

Blood feeding.

Something in a coffin.

Lovely.

I stood from the chair and walked toward the window. The academy courtyard stretched outside, morning sunlight warming the grass while students moved between buildings. Some were already late to class, running with bags bouncing behind them.

“I assume it’s middle-level demon,” I said. “Maybe low-level.”

Algan nodded. “Seems that way.”

“There’s no way something high-level entered the mortal realm without us noticing.”

“Unless it was here before the agreement.”

Possible.

Annoying, but possible.

I turned back. “Did you sense possession?”

“No.”

“Summoning residue?”

“Old traces. Very weak.”

“Contract?”

“None detected.”

I frowned.

Then it probably wasn’t properly summoned.

Could be bound.

Could be dormant.

Could be something stupid enough to accept blood offerings because free food was free food.

Low-level demons were pathetic like that.

Give them blood, praise, and one badly translated ancient chant, and suddenly they thought they were kings.

I looked toward the wall clock.

The class had already started.

I turned into Dr. Allen again, grabbed my white coat and draped it over one arm.

“I guess I’ll leave for a bit.”

Algan looked at me. “Leave?”

“Yes.”

“What about the infirmary?”

I pointed at him. “You take care of it.”

Silence.

Algan stared at me.

Then at the infirmary.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

He looked genuinely offended. “My lord.”

“Hmm?”

“I am a lieutenant of Wrath. I command soldiers. I have personally decapitated three rebel generals.”

“Proud of you.”

His eye twitched. “And you want me to treat academy students.”

I smiled. “Character development.”

Algan looked like he wanted to resign from the military. “You cannot be serious.”

“Very.”

“What if someone comes in injured?”

“Bandage them.”

“What if they have fever?”

“Give them medicine.”

“What medicine?”

I paused.

Good point.

I walked to the cabinet, opened it, and pointed.

“Red label for fever. Blue for pain. Green for stomach issues. Do not touch anything in the locked black box.”

Algan looked at the black box. “What is inside?”

“Things mortals should never consume recklessly.”

He nodded immediately.

Finally.

Something he understood.

I adjusted my collar and let a small grin form. “Once in a while, I want to go outside with all my tentacles attached. No double.”

That was the real reason.

My double was useful.

Efficient.

Perfect for maintaining Dr. Allen’s normal mortal schedule while I was doing devil business.

But after being separated from part of myself for most of yesterday, fighting a hybrid abomination, getting poisoned, dragged into the Abyss pool, and chained by Dad.

I wanted all of me.

No split consciousness.

Just Wrath.

I raised one hand.

Shadow gathered beneath my feet. ‘Teleportation.’

Darkness curled around my boots.

Then I stopped.

Right… I looked at Algan.

“Where exactly is the location?”

He stared at me.

I stared back.

The shadows continued swirling awkwardly around my legs.

Algan slowly folded the map. “My lord. You were about to teleport without knowing where you were going.”

“I remembered before I left.”

He sighed. Then his expression changed. “How about I handle it?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I would prefer handling demons over mortals.” Algan’s personal nightmare. “I can investigate the cult,” he continued. “You remain here.”

“No.” I smiled. “Let me have my fun.”

Algan gave me a tired stare.

I stepped closer and held out my hand. “Location.”

He exhaled through his nose.

“The site is an abandoned funeral home outside the northern industrial district. Roughly twenty-five kilometers northeast. Old road, near a closed quarry. Basement entrance around the rear.”