Chapter 878 - 877: Say It Again

For several breaths, nobody answered Simon.

The demons who had been glaring at him looked away from one another. A hand tightened around a sword’s hilt. Someone opened his mouth, then closed it without finding anything useful to say.

They had laughed at humans who fled before them. Now they wanted the wounded demon sent back so that something stronger would leave them alone.

The comparison was ugly because it was true.

"He isn’t wrong," someone muttered.

"Then you go and fight the god."

"That isn’t what I said."

Marek heard enough. His expression had darkened, but he did not turn toward the murmuring ranks.

Simon had exposed their fear. Admitting that now, after declaring that the Archfiend should have died on Earth, would undermine everything Marek had said.

"Knowing when not to fight is not cowardice," he replied.

His voice carried beyond Simon.

"We came for territory, resources, and campaign merits. To establish a foothold that would benefit Velmora and the Demon Realm. We did not come to measure our pride against a god."

Several demons raised their heads.

"Every unit here has an assignment. Every resource has a purpose. Those who survive and succeed will receive their rewards. Tell me what reward remains if this entire camp is destroyed."

The murmurs faded.

Simon watched the change pass through the ranks. Their shame had not disappeared. Marek had simply given them something more comfortable to hold beside it.

"I will not gamble this army because one soldier calls caution fear," Marek continued. "Whatever you say about us, you brought a pursuer we cannot defeat to the entrance of our camp."

’There it is.’

Simon shifted his injured wrist slightly. A strand of repaired muscle held beneath the wraps. Marek was no longer defending his courage. He was defending everybody’s future earnings.

"Well said, Commander," Simon replied. "Using the rewards and their greed was not a bad move."

Marek’s eyes narrowed.

"I could entertain you in this word game, but I don’t have the time."

Simon lifted his gaze toward the path between the waiting units.

"I’m leaving. None of you will stop me."

"You will not leave this camp," Marek said coldly.

Simon looked back at him.

"What are you planning to do? Kill me?"

Dorel’s mouth curved, but Simon continued before he spoke.

"The god pursued me while I was already dying. He may want me alive. Are you going to explain why you killed what he came to collect?"

Marek’s expression hardened.

"Then I do not need to kill you."

Simon’s lips curled into a sneer.

"So, what do you want to do? Offer me to the God of War so that he can spare your pathetic little lives?"

"You will return to Earth."

Simon stared at him.

"The god is there," Marek continued. "Let him pursue you there. If you survive, good. If you do not, you will have sacrificed yourself to protect Velmora’s army. That would be a worthy service to the Demon Realm."

Simon laughed once. The movement hurt his chest, and he let the pain pass before replying.

"Remarkable. You want to feed me to a god and have me die grateful."

"Your feelings do not change what must be done."

"Neither does calling it a sacrifice make my life yours to spend."

Silence followed.

Simon looked at the commanders blocking his path. Korran had still not spoken. Selan’s eyes moved toward the Chaos Blade, while Dorel watched the blood dripping from Simon’s hand.

They saw how much damage he had suffered, and they believed that he no longer had any use cause of the God of War.

"I am leaving," Simon said. "If I have to kill my way out, so be it."

Selan gave a short, contemptuous laugh.

"With those arms?"

"Take another step," Dorel added coldly, "and I will break your legs. Then we can discuss how you intend to leave."

Simon looked at him.

Until that moment, he had kept most of his killing intent contained. Anger had allowed a little to escape, and it was enough to make his displeasure clear.

But it seemed it was not enough and these bastards intended to keep on annoying him.

Now he released all of it.

WHOOSH!

BOOM!

Dorel’s next breath stopped.

No blast struck the commanders. The rift did not shake, and Simon’s Infernal Heart did not advance.

Clang

Clang

A spear clattered to the ground behind them.

Its owner had fallen to his knees. Beside him, another demon folded, both hands braced against the dirt. He opened his mouth and dragged at the air, unable to convince his body that there was enough of it.

The reaction spread backward through the waiting ranks.

An Archfiend staggered into the demon beside him. A Fiend pressed his forehead to the ground without knowing why, while farther back, someone tried to shout and produced only a strangled sound.

Marek stepped backward.

He only realised what he had done when his heel struck a stone.

Korran had moved too. Selan’s shoulders drew inward, and Dorel retreated far enough that the threat he had just made seemed to belong to somebody else.

’What is this?’

Marek stared at Simon.

He had felt killing intent from demons stronger than himself. He knew the pressure of someone who could kill him.

This felt different.

For an instant, the world around Simon seemed to stretch into a field of bodies. Broken horns and bones lay where boots should have been. The crimson light from the rift looked wet against the ground.

Marek blinked.

The camp remained where it had always been. Yet the smell of blood seemed to fill every breath, and the injured demon before him no longer looked like someone waiting to be disposed of.

He looked like the reason the bodies were there.

Simon had not gained that intent in the Shadowgrave Academy or after leaving the clan.

He had killed hundreds of thousands of demons during his previous life. He had hunted them through ruined cities, fought them at rifts, and killed until familiar faces no longer stood beside him.

There had been years when his hatred of their kind left room for little else.

Now, the killing intent of the man who reached the Demi-God realm fell upon demons again.

Korran’s fingers stiffened at his side.

’How many has he killed?’

The thought came before he could stop it. He looked at Simon’s young face and found no answer that made sense.

Those sky-blue eyes had not changed colour. The single horn remained the same. Blood still stained the white hair near his temple.

But Korran could no longer look at him and see a recruit.

Beside him, Selan forced himself to steady his breathing.

’His Heart hasn’t changed. He’s still an Archfiend. So how is he able to emit this sort of terrifying killing intent.’

Repeating it did nothing for the cold tightening around his spine. Dorel’s jaw trembled before he clenched it, and his eyes followed Simon’s sword.

Simon took a step.

Nobody attacked.

He set his foot down carefully, without haste or the stagger they expected. The Chaos Wraps supported his ruined arms. Beneath them, Unholy Regeneration continued its work.

The pain had not disappeared. He simply gave them nothing more of it to watch.

Another step brought him into the space the commanders had abandoned. Demons farther back lowered their eyes as his gaze passed over them. One tried to stand and found that his knees would not straighten.

Marek gathered demonic energy beneath his skin. He could still fight. He knew that.

But he no longer knew what would happen if he did.

Simon stopped directly before him.

The commander could see a drop of blood slide from the Archfiend’s fingers. An injured hand. A damaged wrist. A body he should have been capable of restraining.

Yet his instincts would not let him reach for it.

Simon raised his eyes to Marek’s.

"Say it again."

His voice was calm.

"Tell me you’re going to stop me from leaving."