A Shadowkhan ninja knelt silently on one knee, presenting three items with both hands—
A magical potion shimmering with an eerie blue glow.
An elegant piece of jewelry carved with ancient runes.
And that mask with a crimson face and fangs, exuding an ominous aura.
A hint of chill seemed to instantly congeal in the air.
"Is this mask the medium for controlling the Shadowkhan?"
Victor raised an eyebrow, pinching a corner of the mask disdainfully with two fingers and dangling it before his eyes.
"The aesthetics are way too retro. The guy who designed this thing definitely didn't have many friends."
Holy Lord's low voice came from within the wall, carrying a trace of imperceptible temptation and provocation.
"Correct. Put it on, and you will truly command the Ghost Shadow Legion. However..."
"The soul of General Nighlock is sealed within the mask. It will constantly amplify the wearer's inner greed and darkness. Do you have the ability to subdue it?"
"Victor, this mask doesn't feel right."
Enid took a worried step forward, her eyes filled with unease, her warm hand gripping Victor's wrist tightly.
"Be careful."
Wednesday was concise, her gaze locked on the mask, faint dark energy already swirling at her fingertips.
Victor, however, raised an eyebrow nonchalantly, the mark belonging to the sheep talisman flashing briefly in his eyes.
The next moment, he reached out with his right hand and, with a forceful grab, tore out a twisted, howling translucent energy mass from the mask—
That was precisely the soul of General Nighlock!
"Wow..."
Victor weighed the soul mass in his hand as if it were a noisy cricket, his tone teasing.
"Ugly, and quite the temper."
This scene made the red light in Holy Lord's dragon eyes flicker violently. He hadn't expected Victor's mastery of the sheep talisman to have reached such a miraculous level, capable of directly stripping a soul attached to an object!
"That should do it, right?"
Victor examined the mask in his hand, which had instantly become "harmless," with satisfaction and casually stuffed it into his pocket.
The extracted soul mass was clearly furious, struggling and cursing loudly:
"Bakayarou! You die die!"
"Japanese?" Victor raised an eyebrow. Instead of getting angry, he revealed an even brighter and more mischievous smile.
"Well, well, quite the loudmouth. Hope you can stay this energetic later."
After saying that, his gaze swept over the desk, and he casually picked up an ordinary pen.
The life-glow of the rat talisman and the transformative power of the monkey talisman shone simultaneously in his eyes!
The pen twisted and expanded rapidly within the light, transforming in the blink of an eye into a lively, panting little puppy!
"Indeed, the rat talisman's power to animate the inanimate can bestow life to a form but cannot create a soul. It's a bit like an intelligent AI in control."
"However, using the sheep talisman's ability..."
Victor muttered to himself, casually "kneading" the still-cursing soul of Nija in his hand and stuffing it into the puppy's body like cotton wool.
"Woof woof woof! (Translation: Bastard! Let me out!)"
The puppy (Nija) barked furiously, but its fluffy appearance rendered it utterly non-threatening.
Victor clapped his hands with satisfaction and instructed Valmont, who was watching dumbfounded nearby:
"Valmont, find a sturdy cage and lock it up. Oh, right, remember to find a few... um, 'passionately fiery' dogs to keep our General Nighlock company. Make sure he feels the 'warmth of home.'"
Nija's soul inside the puppy instantly froze. If a dog's face could express emotion, it would undoubtedly be sheer terror: "Are you fucking Satan?!"
Even Holy Lord on the wall fell silent, a complex emotion inexplicably welling up inside:
This guy is the real demon, isn't he? How can he act more demonic than us demons? How is he allowed to swagger around in the human world?
Valmont, however, instantly got into character, his face plastered with a fawning smile as he stepped forward and deftly grabbed the puppy by the scruff of its neck.
"Got it! Mr. Victor, rest assured, the task will be completed! That... I have a few Indian friends among my men. They have some special... uh, 'mood-enhancing' formulas. Should we arrange those for the General too?"
Hearing this, Victor patted Valmont's shoulder appreciatively, casually pulling a few ancient gold coins from his pocket and tossing them to him.
"Not bad, you're good at extrapolating! A reward for you. Listen, when this damn thing is willing to apologize sincerely, then we can consider letting it off."
"Understood! Understood!"
Valmont took the gold coins, his grin stretching almost to his ears, internally exclaiming: So generous! I've backed the right person!
Nija was now completely panicked, desperately trying to open its mouth to apologize:
"Woof woof woof! Woof woof! (Translation: I was wrong! I was wrong! Let me go!)"
However, only a series of barks came out.
It froze, its dog eyes filled with despairing emptiness—How the hell am I supposed to apologize like this?!
Watching the puppy desperately trying to express remorse but only able to bark, Victor added with a wicked grin:
"Hey, still baring your teeth? Valmont, it seems our General isn't having enough fun yet. Find a few fierce ones and 'attend' to him properly!"
Ignoring Nija's continuous whimpers.
Victor toyed with the now "purified" crimson-faced, fanged mask in his hand, his fingertips feeling its cool and smooth texture.
The corner of his mouth curled into a playful smile, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.
"Come on, let's see if this new toy works well." He muttered, casually placing the mask over his face.
The moment the mask touched his face, there was no imagined chill or discomfort. Instead, it was as if some invisible command had been activated.
In the shadowy corner of the office, a slight ripple occurred. Two Shadowkhan Ninjas, their bodies pitch-black with only their eyes gleaming with a crimson light, emerged silently as if surfacing from water, kneeling on one knee, awaiting orders.
"Yo, pretty efficient."
Victor's voice came through the mask, slightly muffled and obviously smug.
He sprawled back onto the sofa with abandon, crossing his legs, issuing orders like a profligate young master from a bygone era:
"You, come here and massage my left shoulder. Yes, right there, it's sore."
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