Golden light erupted from his palm.
It wasn't normal light. It was thick, swirling like golden smoke. It slithered across the table, knocking over the wine glass, and wrapped around my throat.
[ALERT: High-Level Mental Intrusion Detected.]
[SPELL: Truth Siphon.]
[EFFECT: Forces target to speak only Fact. Lying triggers immediate structural damage.]
I froze. This was bad. This was very bad.
The Truth Siphon was a nasty piece of magic. It hooked directly into the victim's nervous system. If I tried to lie, the magic would treat the falsehood like a virus and try to burn it out of me. For a human, that meant a seizure. For me? It meant boiling alive in my own skin.
"Question one," Malakor said, his voice echoing with supernatural authority. "Are you a human being?"
The golden smoke tightened around my neck. I couldn't breathe.
My mind raced. I calculated the odds. If I said "Yes," the magic would detect the lie and fry me. If I said "No," the Paladins would chop me into sushi.
I needed a loophole. I needed to lawyer this magic.
I focused on my biology. Being a slime had perks. I wasn't a single organism; I was a colony of magical cells held together by will. I quickly gave a mental command to my throat and vocal cords.
Disconnect.
I physically severed the neural link between my "brain" (my core) and my "voice box." My throat was now just a piece of meat on autopilot, technically separate from my consciousness.
I wasn't speaking. I was just operating a puppet.
"I am," I said.
The golden smoke swirled. It hesitated.
Technically, Arthur Vane—the body I was wearing—was human. The meat was human. The DNA was human. I was just the pilot. It was like asking a car if it was made of steel. The car is steel. The driver is meat.
The magic accepted the logic. The smoke didn't burn.
Malakor frowned. The blindfold twitched. He expected me to scream.
"You answered... quickly," he noted.
"I have nothing to hide," I said, reconnecting my throat so I didn't sound like a robot. "Next question? I have a meeting at two."
Malakor didn't sit down. He walked around the table, trailing his hand along the wood. The golden smoke followed him, still wrapped around my neck like a leash.
"You are distinct, Arthur," he mused. "Your aura is... quiet. Most nobles are loud. Their souls are cluttered with greed and lust. Yours is empty. Like a clean ledger."
He stopped right behind my chair. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
His hand was burning hot. My suit jacket began to smoke slightly. Underneath, my shoulder started to liquefy from the heat of his holy magic.
[DAMAGE WARNING: Left Shoulder destabilizing. Mana cost to repair: 50 per second.]
I gritted my teeth, keeping my face neutral. "I practice meditation."
"Do you?" Malakor leaned down, whispering in my ear. "Question two. Do you worship the System?"
This was the trap. If I said yes, I was lying. I hated the System. It was a tyrannical gamified god that wanted to delete me.
I disconnected my throat again. I focused on the literal definition of "worship." To serve. To offer goods. I paid my taxes. I killed monsters for XP. I participated in the economy. In a capitalist theocracy, transaction is prayer.
"I contribute to the System every day," I said. "My life is dedicated to its mechanics."
The smoke pulsed. It accepted the statement. It was technically true. I was dedicated to its mechanics—specifically, hacking them.
Malakor pulled his hand away. The pressure lifted. The golden smoke dissipated into thin air.
He looked disappointed. He really wanted to burn someone today.
"Remarkable," Malakor muttered. He walked back to his side of the table. "You pass the audit, Duke. Your soul is legally compliant."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulder was throbbing, half-melted under my shirt, but I kept my posture straight. "I told you. I'm just an efficient manager."
"However," Malakor said, raising a finger. "Compliance is not the same as virtue."
He reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll. It was black, sealed with red wax. He tossed it onto the table. It slid across the polished wood and stopped right in front of me.
"The Church has a concern," he said. "We have observed your 'modern methods.' You turned the western swamps into a rice paddy in a month. You doubled the steel output of the southern mines by unionizing the goblins. Unorthodox. Dangerous."
"Profitable," I corrected.
"The System thrives on struggle, Arthur," Malakor said, his voice dropping an octave. "When you make things too easy, people stop praying. When people stop praying, the Mana yield drops. You are fixing problems that God intended to be punishments."
I stared at him. This was the absurdity of this world. They wanted suffering because suffering increased customer engagement with the church.
"So you want me to be less competent?" I asked dryly.
"No," Malakor said. A cruel smile touched his lips. "I want to see if your competence has a limit. I want to see if you can solve a problem that God has deemed unsolvable."
He pointed at the black scroll.
"Open it."
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.