Chapter 130

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Demon Hunting (4)

Can humans soar through the skies unassisted?

Without resorting to magical means, could humanity truly escape the chains of gravity and become free?

To this question, a dark mage had an answer: it’s possible if you borrow the power of a Sword Master.

Bang!

After a short flight, Zarkan landed with a deafening crash.

Utilizing the stable method of “Whump!” landing, achieved with the back of his head and crown, he buried half of his skull into the ground, convulsing.

‘What did I just witness?’ Amid the collapsing buildings groaning with rumbling thuds, Najin stood blinking, forgetting even to swing his sword.

“Guuuu… huh?” Najin wasn’t the only one dumbfounded. Even the dark mage Najin had by the collar, screaming moments prior, paused mid-shriek and wore the same expression as he stared at Zarkan, embedded in the dirt.

“Sir Zarkan?!” Realizing the person half-buried in the ground was his boss, the mage’s eyes widened in horror.

Even while being throttled, he showed touching loyalty by worrying about his superior first.

‘Still, there’s a job to finish,’ Najin thought.

Crack.

He snapped the mage’s neck. Setting the limp body aside, he turned his gaze toward the twitching Zarkan, half-buried in the ground.

‘Is he alive? ‘

“His neck is bent at a right angle—he’s still alive?”

“Hmm… doubtful, but he’s moving, so probably?”

“If someone survives with their neck like that, they can’t possibly be human, right?”

Najin’s words, half-jest and half-serious, turned out to be completely accurate.

Glop!

Black liquid oozed out of Zarkan’s convulsing body. The liquid seeped into his sharply bent neck, causing a series of sickening pops as his neck snapped back into place.

“Guess he’s not human.” Najin clicked his tongue.

The black ooze pouring from Zarkan’s body was none other than the substance known as ‘demonic energy’, a signature of demons.

Najin realized the man before him was the dark mage who had summoned a demon.

Why was the leader of the dark mages in front of him?

Najin instinctively looked up. Following the trajectory of Zarkan’s flight, his gaze landed on the highest tower of Baldornos Citadel.

It was too far to make out the details clearly, but atop the tower, a woman with silver-white hair waved in his direction—Yuel Razian.

-What a certifiable lunatic.

Merlin muttered, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

Najin couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. ‘So she threw a person this far, huh? What an insane amount of physical strength.’

“Ugh… gah. Ptooey.” Coughing out dirt, Zarkan rose to his feet. He spat out a glob of blood from his throat and wiped his mouth.

Despite having fallen from such a height at such speed, his body bore no visible injuries—or rather, any injuries he had sustained were already gone.

Watching his pitiful state, it was hard to believe that Zarkan was an exceptionally powerful dark mage.

Among mages, those reaching the 8th circle were classified as Archmages; Zarkan had reached the 6th circle, a level of power not to be underestimated.

In a proper fight within his territory, exterminating him would require at least an expert-level squad and two Sword Seekers.

If you added a demon to the mix? Without specialized help from demon hunters or inquisitors, taking Zarkan down would be near-impossible. Battling a demon contractor, a volatile wildcard, was no easy feat.

Yes, Zarkan was undoubtedly formidable.

‘He should be, anyway.’ Najin squinted. After witnessing such a ridiculous landing, even someone as perpetually serious as him found it hard to take the opponent seriously.

“You bastard,” Zarkan spat, his expression twisted with fury.

He gestured, dispelling the dust cloud around him. Scanning the area, he found the bodies of his subordinates scattered across the ground, and at the center of the carnage stood a boy.

“Was this your doing? Who the hell are you?” he growled, glaring at Najin.

The demonic energy swirling around him radiated a ferocious pressure in an attempt to intimidate Najin, but it had no effect.

Shing!

Najin raised his sword in response, wordlessly admitting to Zarkan’s accusation.

To answer the second question, he replied, “Najin.” Stars shimmered over his raised blade. “The Star of Dawn.”

He was the Star of Dawn, herald of the end of night.

In the night sky, two stars glimmered brightly.

A demon contractor was someone who borrowed power or authority from a demon through a contract.

Najin had faced one such individual before: the Demon Knight, Verheigen—a foe he had vanquished with Excalibur.

Verheigen had been a Sword Expert, but after contracting with a demon, he had ascended to the level of a Sword Seeker. When he deployed his domain and began using the demon’s authority, his strength rivaled even the upper echelon of Sword Seekers.

‘Normally, they don’t get that absurdly strong. The demon he contracted with was unusually high-ranking.’

Ancient Demon Arkand…

According to Merlin, the demon Verheigen had contracted with was exceptionally powerful, which explained his dramatic rise in strength.

Hearing it, Najin had once thought: ‘The victory against Verheigen wasn’t mine, it was Excalibur’s.’

Had it not been for that nearly unfair weapon, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

How strong would he need to become to defeat such an opponent without Excalibur? Even after reaching the level of a Sword Seeker, Najin often pondered the question. Verheigen had been overwhelming in that domain.

He had a chance to find the answer.

‘Merlin…’

– Yeah?

‘This dark mage, Zarkan, how strong is he? Compared to Verheigen?’

– About the same… maybe a bit stronger. The demon he contracted with hasn’t shown up yet, so I can’t say for sure. Judging by his demonic energy, it’s probably mid-tier at most.

Stronger than Verheigen, who had deployed a domain.

Najin’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. It was a chance to prove how much he had grown.

Roughly six months had passed since the battle with the Demon Knight. During that time, Najin had dedicated himself to growing stronger.

He wanted to test the fruits of that effort.

The smile faded from Najin’s face.

While Zarkan continued snarling at Najin, oblivious to the shift in the latter’s demeanor, Najin adjusted his stance. He lowered his sword, sinking into a crouch, pulling his arm behind his back as he took a measured breath.

One breath…

The moment he exhaled, Zarkan’s eyes lost track of Najin’s movement.

No, Najin didn’t disappear from his vision. Rather, Najin completely filled Zarkan’s sight, closing the distance in an instant.

Before Zarkan could react, Najin swung his sword.

BOOOM!

The collision between Zarkan’s demonic energy and Najin’s Sword Aura created an explosive roar.

The impact sent Zarkan’s feet into the air, his demonic energy holding firm against the attack, but his physical body couldn’t withstand the force.

It was like smashing a helmet with a hammer—the helmet might hold its shape, but the head inside wouldn’t fare as well.

“Gah!” Zarkan gasped as the blow knocked the air out of him, but that was as far as Najin got. He had no intention of allowing Najin to follow up. Swinging his arm, he summoned an invisible force.

He was an adept of the Field Magic School, specializing in manipulating invisible fields of force, and while his foray into dark magic had changed his style somewhat, the technique remained a cornerstone of his arsenal.

Wielding the forcefield like a bludgeon, he struck Najin’s sword. With a sharp crack, the impact sent Zarkan skidding backward.

Zarkan glanced down at his arm. Despite layering it with forcefields and demonic energy, the bone was broken.

Black ooze quickly seeped in, repairing the fracture, but he couldn’t hide his alarm.

A significant chunk of both his demonic energy and mana had been torn away in that clash.

The power granted by demons wasn’t infinite. Even if the demons themselves had boundless strength, the energy a contractor could draw was limited.

If he expended all his demonic energy, he’d be reduced to an ordinary human.

‘That can’t happen.’ Zarkan turned his gaze to Najin, who stood calmly with his sword raised. The boy’s relaxed demeanor only served to irritate him further.

‘What’s the point of this fight?’ Even if he managed to kill Najin, he wouldn’t escape alive.

If Najin were weaker, he might have been able to dispatch him quickly and flee, but the opponent wasn’t so easily dismissed.

‘Damn it all.’ Zarkan scowled. He was contemplating his options when a voice suddenly echoed in his ears.

“Ah, I nearly forgot to mention something important,” Yuel Razian’s voice said.

Zarkan’s pupils contracted. How was she speaking to him from such a distance? It was a technique achievable only through a Sword Master’s supreme mastery of mana—transmission via mana threads.

Her voice, carried on mana, continued, “If you defeat that boy, I’ll let you live. There are noble humans who fight with all their might in the face of certain death, but you’re not one of them, are you? You need a suitable reward to give your all.”

Yuel’s voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from exhilaration. “I give you my word, in my name. So please, do your best.”

‘What an utterly insane woman.’ Zarkan couldn’t ignore her proposition. If death was inevitable, he’d rather gamble on the chance she was telling the truth.

‘The Executioner of the Starblood Sect may be mad and capricious, but she doesn’t lie. I have to trust that.’ Zarkan locked eyes with Najin.

His decision was quick.

“Great Marphos, lend me your strength.” The moment he whispered the words, his back split open, and three arms, each with seven fingers, burst forth.

Marphos was a mid-tier demon with seven arms, each bearing seven fingers. Its domain was refraction.

Having forged a contract with Marphos, Zarkan had been granted three of its arms.

A wicked grin twisted across his face as power surged through him. The connection to such a higher being brought with it a rush of euphoria, convincing him he could wield even 7th-circle magic.

With two human arms and three demonic ones, Zarkan commanded ten human fingers and twenty-one demonic ones.

For a mage of the Field Magic School, whose spells relied heavily on hand gestures, additional fingers and arms were an enormous boon; when those extra limbs came from a demon, the advantage grew exponentially.

There was a reason Field Magic mages often became demon contractors alongside the Blood Arts practitioners. Their compatibility with demonic enhancements was unmatched.

“—Ahaha!” Laughing wildly, Zarkan swung his arms. The three demonic appendages moved as if they had always been his own.

Each of his ten original fingers could summon a forcefield, and with twenty-one new fingers, he conjured an additional twenty-one fields.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The ground shattered beneath the onslaught as the overlapping forcefields shot toward Najin like invisible maelstroms.

Najin, who had been calmly observing until then, narrowed his eyes. He turned slightly, as if addressing someone unseen.

‘Is this his full power?’

– Yep. He brought out the demon’s power now. A mid-tier demon, Marphos has the domain of refraction. It seems he was originally from the Field Magic School.

‘That’s enough.’

– What?

Najin twirled his sword in a casual circle. ‘I don’t need to know more. Tell me if it gets dangerous. Until then, let me test myself.’

– Test yourself? Against what?’

Najin’s face grew serious, his gaze fixed on the approaching maelstrom of forcefields.

‘I want to test how far this body of mine can go.’ Having obtained a star’s power, slain a dragon, and bathed in dragon blood, he had yet to truly push himself to the limit.

Before venturing to the Outland, he needed to know his own boundaries and what he was truly capable of.

Merlin blinked and chuckled.

– Fine. Do as you like.

The maelstrom of invisible forcefields bore down on Najin. The waves of refracted energy were imperceptible to the naked eye, but the subtle ripples in the air and the shifting currents of wind revealed their paths.

Najin didn’t retreat. Instead, with a measured step, he charged straight into the heart of the onslaught.

Slash!

His Sword Aura tore through the first forcefield, causing an explosion of light and air pressure. Using the burst to propel himself forward, he continued advancing.

Seated atop the highest point of the citadel, Yuel Razian watched the battle unfold below.

Her crimson eyes focused intently on the clash between Zarkan and Najin. The ringing of metal, the detonation of energy; the spray of blood—it all formed a symphony of combat that resonated in her very soul.

Her lips curled into a faint smile as she savored the sight of the struggle.

She loved blood and death, but as much as she loved those things, she also adored battle: the clashing of wills, the heat of life and death struggles.

More than anything, she cherished the razor-thin moment when victory tipped her way; the instant an opponent, after a grueling exchange, was finally vanquished; when her life, teetering on the edge of death, was reclaimed in the most vivid of ways.

In those moments, Yuel felt truly alive.

The fiercer the fight, the closer to death, the more potent the victory… the more intoxicating the life reclaimed.

That intensity was the essence of Yuel’s existence.

She was utterly enthralled by the boy below.

Life was evident in his every movement.

That spark—some called it the soul, others the will to live—was unmistakable. To Yuel, it was “vitality,” the light that signified one’s devotion to life itself.

She had seen it countless times in humans, beasts, and monsters, but only rarely did she encounter vitality so vivid, so raw.

Najin’s vitality was like nothing she had ever seen.

She didn’t know what it was. That unfamiliarity intrigued her.

Should she kill him and extinguish that light or let it grow, only to snuff it out later?

Her bloodthirst flared and subsided in an endless cycle as conflicting desires warred within her. Yuel’s smile deepened.

‘Climb higher.’

‘Reach the level of a Sword Master.’

‘Challenge me.’

‘Fight me as an equal. Push me to the brink of death, and let us determine who survives.’

Her fingers trembled as she fantasized about that future, where either she or Najin would stand triumphant, bathed in the other’s blood.

She relished the contradiction—both yearning to kill Najin and to be killed by him. Even that inner turmoil was a delight.

Her attention sharpened as Najin slashed through one of Zarkan’s demonic arms.

“That’s one.” Najin’s murmured words were accompanied by a faint smile, his blade gleaming.

Yuel chuckled aloud.

What else could she do?

It was a move even a Sword Master like her hadn’t foreseen.