Dikargo caressed the wound on his throat—now completely healed.
Hmm? How did that brat endure such pressure? And he even managed to stab me…
His gaze shifted toward the blood cocoon suspended in the air, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.
I couldn't even sense his presence. For how long was he there? Judging by his condition, he must have been here since the very beginning of our battle… but no one else could have endured this, not even those far stronger than him. He must possess some ability that conceals his presence. But what…?
He let out a heavy sigh, his expression dark. What terrible luck—to be summoned today, of all times… For a high-ranking demon like him, it was humiliating to have conceded before a mere child.
"My True Lightning Physique… shared with a human?" He exhaled again, his pride stinging like acid.
"That bastard… if I ever get the chance, I'll make him regret this." His curse hung in the air when suddenly—
Crack.
A jagged fissure split across the cocoon's surface.
"…It's finished?" Dikargo muttered, watching as the cracks spread, growing larger with each passing breath.
"This bastard… even the reconstruction is so fast—damn thief!" Dikargo roared. His face twisted, eyes glistening with the humiliation of it all.
Since childhood, I flaunted my authority before my siblings… the sole possessor of the True Lightning Physique. Even though the authority of higher demons differs in nature, I still held pride in the fact that no one else possessed what I did. But now—now a thief has come and stolen it from me.
Though the physique wasn't completely lost, the fact that he was forced to share it was unbearable—worse than defeat itself.
"To a weakling like him, at that…" His voice cracked with rage, but beneath it, sorrow seeped through. "Those bastards didn't even ensure my safety after summoning me…"
His claws clenched. His pride, once towering, felt crushed under invisible chains.
"Now come out! Your body has already been reconstructed, you damn thief!" he bellowed at the cocoon, frustration spilling over.
Creak—
As if in answer, the cocoon split apart. From the widening cracks, the lower body of the human emerged. Pale, colorless flesh stretched into the moonlight—bare, unblemished, as though it had never once felt the warmth of the sun.
Following the emergence of the lower body, the upper half revealed itself as well. At first glance, he didn't appear much different from before the transformation—long black hair cascading down his shoulders, obsidian eyes, and a sharp nose curved like a crescent moon. Yet something had undeniably changed. From above his ears, two onyx-black horns jutted out like a crown—mirroring Dikargo's own.
"Oho… quite the looker, aren't you?" Dikargo sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If that wench saw you, she'd probably be drooling already."
Vern said nothing. He merely opened and closed his hand slowly, feeling the strength coursing through his reconstructed body.
"Hey, thief! At least put some clothes on," Dikargo snapped, frowning as Vern inspected himself with calm indifference.
Vern stretched, joints cracking faintly, then stepped down from the platform. His bare, pale figure gleamed under the moonlight as he answered flatly, "I don't have any clothes with me… and I don't intend to wear any until I reach my home. You'll have to bear with it."
"You shameless bastard! No respect for the elderly at all!" Dikargo snapped, his pride wounded so deeply that, in frustration, he even referred to himself as elderly—a word he despised.
Vern tilted his head, lips curling faintly. "You want a human to respect you as an elderly?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Dikargo's jaw clenched, teeth bared. "Are you really thirteen? You're so damn annoying with that smart-ass brain of yours!"
"…" Vern gave no reply. He had no intention of entertaining such idiotic remarks. Still, a part of him admitted the demon wasn't entirely wrong—he wasn't truly just a thirteen-year-old child anymore.
After a long pause, Dikargo finally spoke, his tone calm but firm. "So… you said earlier—you'll answer my questions, right?"
"If it's answerable, that is." Vern gave a small nod.
"Then… who are you?" Dikargo asked.
"I am Vern Kael."
"No, no—I know that. I mean, what's your relationship with Rikel Kael?" he corrected himself, frowning.
"He's my uncle. The youngest brother of my father, Vitra Kael."
"…What? Are you telling me he's your biological father's biological sibling? What the fuck am I even saying… hold on, let me breathe." Dikargo rubbed his temples, then steadied himself before blurting out, "So you're saying… you guys really are from a single family?"
"Yes." Vern's voice was calm, almost too calm.
"What?? You bastard—you just watched your admirable uncle die in front of you, and you didn't even call for reinforcements from your family? Instead, you took advantage of his death? Do you have a screw loose in your head?" Dikargo's voice rose, ranting like a madman.
"…" Vern only stared at him, unmoved.
"Fine! I get it—you're an asshole." Dikargo waved his hand in defeat, then scowled. "So tell me this—how the hell did you even know there was a battle of this scale happening here in the middle of the night?"
Vern paused, then continued slowly.
"One day, I overheard some fanatics speaking about summoning a demon… that's how I ended up here. Step by step, I clawed my way through, until I reached today's battle—until I could stab you."
He explained everything in vivid detail, carefully omitting anything that might hint at his regression.
"…"
Dikargo's eyes bulged so wide it looked like they might pop out.
"You… you fucking lunatic!" he spat. "How could you sacrifice your own blood uncle just for some benefits? You're worse than a demon."
Vern said nothing. He only stared back, his gaze sharp, as if silently questioning who the real demon was.
"Ahem—" Dikargo coughed, averting his eyes. "I mean, we are demons, yes… but we're not that cruel. Not the way humans think."
"Do I need anyone's approval for what I choose?" Vern asked flatly.
"But you tricked your uncle into dying with a lie," Dikargo pressed.
Vern's lips curved in the faintest smirk. "Not my problem, is it? If I hadn't lied, I wouldn't have been able to use that chance."
"You really are a lunatic," Dikargo growled. "No—worse. You're a coward."
"Coward or not, I don't care what you think of me," Vern said evenly. "As long as you don't go shouting about what I did. On the other hand…" his lips curled into an amused grin, "if you do shout it, people might start believing I'm some incarnation of an angel or a god."
"Ugh, gross." Dikargo snorted. "Don't mention those pigeons in front of me."
"Alright, enough of this. I've satisfied your curiosity," Vern said, his tone turning sharp. "Now it's time you answered my questions."
"No, no—I'm not finished yet." Dikargo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "The things I asked before were trivial. What I really want to know is… how can someone like you, who isn't even fifteen yet, know about soul oaths and our authority?" His voice carried genuine curiosity this time.
"That…" Vern shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. "I can't answer."
"You little—" Dikargo stopped himself, then exhaled a long, heavy sigh. "Fine. Ask what you want to know."
"So… what exactly are the advantages of this… whatever it's called?" Vern asked casually.
"True Lightning Physique, you bastard," Dikargo snapped. Then, with a snort, he continued in a proud tone: "As you can feel for yourself, it grants insane regeneration. As long as you have enough mana, you can heal almost anything—except your head. Lose that, and you're done. On top of that, it lets you wield lightning better than anyone else."
Vern's eyes narrowed slightly. So that's why… after waking up, I could feel lightning flowing through me. I could even use it, despite the fact that no one should be able to control any elemental power before reaching Third Severance. And yet, the strength I can draw out… it's already stronger than what a Third Severance should be capable of.
Although I can't use it to its full limit yet, once I reach Third Severance its power will double. The thought made Vern grin unconsciously.
Dikargo's eyes twitched. "That cheeky face… I swear, if I ever get the chance, I'll rip it off," he growled, voice dripping with threat.
"You can try whatever you want," Vern replied indifferently. Then his fingers brushed over the horns on his head. "But tell me—what about these?"
"You idiot, you can't just retract them back like that," Dikargo snorted. With a sharp motion, he demonstrated, his horns sinking back into his skull until his forehead looked bare. "See?"
"Hm." Vern nodded, focusing. A moment later, his own horns slid back as well, disappearing into his head.
And don't get any ideals," Dikargo warned coldly. "Those horns will show themselves whenever you use the abilities of that physique. The moment you unleash its power, you'll be exposed for what you are."
Vern ran a hand across his forehead where the horns had vanished, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Exposed or not, it doesn't matter. Power speaks louder than appearances."
"Tch… lunatic," Dikargo muttered, turning away.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustle of wind. In the distance, the first hues of dawn bled across the horizon, painting the sky in pale orange. Shadows thinned, and the battlefield slowly surrendered to the coming day.
Without another word, Dikargo rose first, his figure vanishing into the fading darkness. Vern lingered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon, then followed shortly after—each carrying their own thoughts into the dawn.