Chapter 104: Don’t thank me

‘ I’m not as strong as my father, but I must protect the legacy he left me… I must be worthy of it!’ Daemon murmured to himself.

A first assailant from the House of Wind surged forward, his dagger of greenish chi aimed at his throat. Without hesitation, Daemon pivoted on himself with fluidity and followed up with a devastating kick straight to the chest. The man’s ribs cracked and he was thrown backward, spitting a spray of blood before collapsing.

A dozen Wind warriors leapt from the trees to encircle the small group of swordsmen.

The fight immediately became bloody, and Daemon plunged into the melee without sparing anyone. His blade traced silver arcs, slicing flesh, severing muscles and piercing chests.

Suddenly, a cry rang out on his right flank. The veteran Jack, grappling with two archers who had drawn their short swords, had just lost his balance after a gust swept him from behind. One of the Wind chi users seized the opening to deliver a downward killing blow aimed at the old knight’s nape.

Seeing the danger, Daemon reacted by pure muscle memory. He threw himself forward to interpose and raised his right hand to block the bare blade, exactly as he did when he possessed the demented strength and extraordinary resistance of his monstrous arm.

But the blade sank deeply into his human flesh.

Scarlet blood gushed abundantly from his palm and forearm as the steel sliced through his tissues. Daemon let out a groan.

He had completely forgotten in the fury of the moment that his right hand had returned to normal after the opening of Pandora’s Box and that the Mark of the Beast had faded to leave room for the thorn tattoo on his other arm. He no longer possessed that dark scale skin capable of stopping steel.

‘Shit…’ he said inwardly while clamping the wound to stop the hemorrhage. ‘I’ve lost the demented resistance of my right arm… I must compensate for it!’

Daemon immediately readjusted his posture. Now deprived of his natural shield, he had to rely on the speed and fluidity that Luna had taught him.

After having helped the veteran Jack.

He inhaled deeply, stabilizing the energy flow in his chest.

His aura densified, a film of Chi enveloping his body to multiply his vivacity. Daemon entered the melee again with a frightening grace.

Slashing left and right, he left no respite to his opponents. His blade opened the throat of a first man, severed the arm of a second, and sank into the abdomen of a third before withdrawing in a morbid slide.

A young Wind chi user, seeing his companions fall one after another in pools of blood, dropped his weapon. Seized by terror before Daemon’s macabre efficiency, he fell to his knees and raised his hands.

“Please! Spare me!” the young man screamed, his face disfigured by panic. “Be magnanimous!”

Daemon stopped in front of him.

“I don’t have the luxury of being so!”

With a horizontal movement of blinding speed, Lancelot’s katana severed the assailant’s head. The skull flew through the air while blood gushed in a hot fountain, fully spraying the face of another warrior who stood right behind him.

“He’s a monster! He’s a real monster!” the survivors of the House of Wind cried, completely broken by the scene.

Terror seized the enemy ranks. Unable to bear the vision of this young leader with a blood-smeared face advancing inexorably toward them, the remaining archers threw down their weapons and took flight through the tall grass, while the wounded renounced all resistance and collapsed to the ground.

Daemon wiped his forehead soaked with sweat and blood with his sleeve, casting a neutral glance over the carnage.

“Good…” he simply murmured.

Beside him, a swordsman picked up his sword, his hand trembling. The soldier observed his young master with a certain nervousness. He would never have imagined that an eighteen-year-old kid could take the lives of others with such disconcerting ease.

“Lord Daemon… Thanks to your… how to say… your courage that terrifies them, they have fled and the others have decided to surrender…” he said while wiping his cheek.

Even if Daemon did not always notice it himself, his mind was growing darker and darker through the trials. A few months earlier, he would vomit after taking the lives of his first enemies. Now, he saw the corpses surrounding him only as simple worthless bags of shit. Daemon possessed a natural predisposition for evil: from the moment he designated someone as an enemy, the latter immediately ceased to be considered a human being in his eyes.

The swordsman pointed with his blade at prisoners from the House of Wind who stood motionless, hands on their heads.

“What should we do with them?” he asked.

Daemon remained thoughtful for a few seconds, observing the captives. If his father had been present in his place, he would have contented himself with making them express regrets before sparing them and letting them leave free. But Daemon could not afford such nobility of soul.

He had to admit it, he would never be like Lancelot.

“If I spare them unconditionally, they could stab me in the back as soon as we turn our backs… Killing them would be more logical,” Daemon declared in a detached tone.

The man flinched slightly. “Lord Daemon, that’s a bit…”

Daemon turned his head toward his vassal and sketched a slight smile: “Don’t worry, I’m not a monster. I won’t kill someone if he surrenders.”

He let out an anxious laugh to ease the atmosphere. “That’s not what I meant, Lord Daemon… How could I insinuate that? After all, Lady Persephone would have made that execution decision without even blinking…”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Persephone is well known for her benevolent actions…” Daemon retorted.

The soldier remained silent, not knowing what to reply.

“Anyway, you can let them go,” Daemon finally ordered while turning toward the prisoners.

Upon hearing these words, the chi users of the House of Wind let out a long sigh of relief, convinced they had escaped the worst. The swordsman nodded and was about to give the order to untie them when Daemon stopped him with a hand gesture.

“But before… break their bones. They need to be in recovery for at least a month,” the young Daemon resumed in a neutral voice.

“Huh!?”

Daemon fixed his captive opponents with a gaze devoid of all emotion. “I don’t trust you. And if I let you leave intact, you’ll no doubt be punished, or even executed by your chief for having failed your mission… So in comparison, a few broken bones is nothing.”

There was a heavy silence in the atmosphere for a few seconds.

“Don’t thank me,” Daemon added.

In a few minutes, the calm of the place was broken by cries of pain and the cracking of bones.

Daemon approached the captain of the guards as the howls resonated around them. “Make sure not to cripple them permanently. These bastards still have families to feed.”

“Yes, Lord Daemon!”

Daemon turned and took a horse.

“Let’s go! Let’s go lend a hand to the heir of the Sword Clan!”

Jack leapt onto his horse, pulling on the reins to draw level with Daemon who now rode at the head. The old soldier observed the profile of his commander with a mix of fear and admiration.

‘I have trouble understanding if Daemon is benevolent… or if he is even more terrifying than his mother…’ Jack thought as their mounts launched into a gallop toward the battle.