Although he was being praised as a god, Rhys did not feel happy in the slightest.
He felt that the two people in front of him were outright insulting him.
Who was a god? Get lost! He was a proper wizard!
In the eyes of modern wizards, their abilities did indeed resemble the divine powers described by Muggles, so being misunderstood was understandable. They did not believe in gods, but if someone mistook them for one, they would not go out of their way to explain.
But to an old-fashioned wizard like Rhys, who has lived his life killing the false gods, being regarded as a god was unquestionably an insult.
He had already lost all interest in speaking with these two people.
Completely unaware that they had stepped on the Demon Lord's sore spot, the two continued tirelessly explaining their requests. In their mouths, the mighty Demon Lord sounded like some roadside wishing machine.
However, the two suddenly fell silent.
It was not only because Rhys had raised his hand, but also because they felt the blood inside their bodies beginning to boil.
The humanoid monster below the altar instantly stiffened.
When the Demon Lord had first been summoned, he had not sensed anything extraordinary about him.
But the moment He became serious, the monster felt the same overwhelming pressure that the Emperor and the God of Light had faced six hundred years ago.
Even from more than ten metres away, he had the illusion that the blood in his body was being boiled dry alive.
If his own ability had not overlapped somewhat with this aspect, he would probably have ended up no differently from the two people on the altar.
Perhaps weaker beings would not even be able to speak in front of the Demon Lord once He became serious!
"The amount a person talks is inversely proportional to their strength."
Rhys looked at the two people kneeling before him, their faces swollen red like tomatoes, and mocked them with contempt.
He stepped down from the altar.
At the same time, clouds of blood mist burst from the bodies of the two behind him.
In an instant, both had turned into mummified corpses.
Feeling the thick smell of blood rushing toward him, the strange man did not hesitate for even a moment.
He immediately dropped to one knee, eyes fixed firmly on the ground, not daring to make the slightest movement.
"You possess the qualifications to speak with me. Stand up."
Rhys looked down at the strange man crouched at his feet and indicated that he could rise and talk.
"I dare not."
Rhys might have said so, but the strange man did not dare obey.
He remained exactly where he was, kneeling motionlessly on the ground.
"Fine."
Rhys could not be bothered with him.
He sensed something familiar from the strange man before him, and that left him somewhat puzzled.
"What are you? Why do you feel familiar to me?"
When the Demon Lord asked him a question, the strange man immediately replied, "My name is Boiling Blood. I am one of the insignificant Blessed Ones who gained intelligence and power through the blessing you bestowed."
Rhys frowned.
He did not remember leaving any inheritance in this world.
All he had left behind were disasters and plagues.
Hm?
A small possibility occurred to Rhys.
"Could you have evolved from the potions I left behind? Are you an incarnation of disease?"
"Precisely! We are all incarnations of your blessings, while you are our merciful father," Boiling Blood said. "Though 'disease' is merely what those mortals call it. What you left behind was clearly a blessing that allowed life to evolve. Those who refuse the blessing are simply wanting to die!"
Boiling Blood's answer surprised Rhys considerably.
At first, Rhys had thought that the potion he had left behind had somehow become sentient, gradually developing its own consciousness through continuous evolution.
But he quickly realised how absurd that idea was.
No matter how capable those potions were of evolving, there was no possibility that they could develop consciousness of their own.
The person before him was clearly a native of the alchemical world who had survived infection by one of his potions and, through a strange combination of circumstances, gained tremendous power.
And somehow, they had taken to calling the infection process a "blessing"...
Even Rhys found himself speechless.
He had never expected life to independently explore such a path.
A plague that had originally been a calamity had, in the hands of those infected, become a source of power with which to fight powerful enemies.
It was only natural that the monster before him felt familiar.
After all, he carried the plague within him.
"What did you summon me for?" Rhys changed the subject.
"We hope you can bestow even greater power upon us, so that we can fight against those who reject your blessing..."
Seeing that his merciful father had finally begun discussing serious matters, Boiling Blood was overjoyed and immediately started explaining his request.
Those who had survived the infection did indeed possess an overwhelming advantage over the ordinary creatures of the alchemical world. On top of that, Rhys had already eliminated many of the world's strongest beings, so at first the infected swept through everything in their path and seemed poised to conquer the entire world.
Unfortunately, the infected were far from united and preferred to fight independently. That gave humanity a chance to catch its breath.
Later, several top-tier powerhouses emerged among the humans and abruptly turned the tide of the war.
Now, it was the infected who had fallen into a disadvantage.
That was why the infected being known as Boiling Blood had come up with the idea of seeking help from their ancestor.
However, Rhys had long since left the alchemical world, so Boiling Blood's prayers had never produced any results.
Even so, he had never given up.
Until today, when he had finally succeeded in "summoning" Rhys.
After hearing Boiling Blood's explanation, Rhys frowned.
"I feel like I'm some kind of wishing machine for you people."
Rhys could not help making a sarcastic remark before telling Boiling Blood that he had no way to increase the strength of the infected.
Rhys was a wizard, not one of those false gods. He could not simply grant blessings that allowed someone to rapidly increase their strength.
Besides, doing so would only create more trouble for himself.
His goal was to eliminate all of the alchemical world's top-level combatants, and these infected were naturally no exception.
Even if he really did possess some treasure capable of rapidly increasing their strength, he would only have to hunt down and kill each of the newly empowered infected later.
That would be far too troublesome.
"You only need to bestow the original blessing upon us once more."
Boiling Blood pressed his forehead against the ground and spoke sincerely.
"Oh?"
Rhys narrowed his eyes.
They wanted the original version of the potion?
He did still have some of it left.
But could the first-generation potion truly help them?
Considering that the monster before him seemed sincere enough, and that Rhys himself wanted to conduct another experiment, he decided to give him a chance.
"How about this? As long as you can land a single hit on me, I'll grant your wish. What do you think?"
"Huh?!"
Boiling Blood's eyes were filled with shock.
Attack his merciful father?
Was he serious?
But if he only had to land one hit...
Even if there was a gap in strength between him and his father, surely it could not be so great that he would not even manage to touch him once?
"Regardless of whether you win or lose, I'll eliminate the powerful individuals among the ordinary humans. All you need to do is bring me to them."
Rhys added another sentence, giving Boiling Blood some reassurance.
After receiving his merciful father's promise, Boiling Blood immediately relaxed.
At the same time, he decided to exchange a few moves with the legendary Demon Lord.
"All right, then I..."
Boiling Blood suddenly sprang up from the ground and charged at Rhys.
"...won't hold back!"
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12 Chaps ahead at Patreon.com/HornyFBI