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What could be more shameful for an experienced swordsman than losing his weapon in a fight?
He channeled his aura, closing the distance in an instant, and brought his sword down in a diagonal slash.
The young demon retreated, parrying the heavy blows with quick, precise movements of his spear.
With another swing, a crescent of green energy flew from the sword's blade.
The dark-haired boy unleashed more of his crimson aura, condensing it around his spear, and met the attack with a straight thrust.
The green crescent shattered like glass. But the distraction had left him open. The captain's fist slammed into his stomach.
The boy gasped for air, then created a ball of energy in front of him and detonated it in the captain's face, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Vyshot, who had long since stopped underestimating his young master, unleashed a wave of his own green aura, dispersing the dust.
The boy's figure appeared behind him, his spear raised to strike. Vyshot spun, swinging his sword on pure instinct, only realizing at the last second that he couldn't feel the boy's presence.
The sword passed harmlessly through the dissipating illusion. From the lingering dust cloud, a crimson-wreathed spear shot towards him.
Reluctantly, Vyshot activated the artifact bracelet on his left wrist. With a metallic clang, a matte-black shield, an emerald set in its center, unfolded. The spear shattered against it with a loud crack.
"You used an artifact," the boy's voice said, "which means you lose."
"Young master," the captain sighed, already feeling a headache coming on, "the rules of this spar forbade the use of magic."
The dark-haired demon, his shirt torn and his body covered in bleeding scratches, shook his head.
"The rules forbade demonic magic. There was no mention of the human system of magic. A careless oversight for a high-ranking demon such as yourself."
Vyshot looked wearily at the smug face of his master's second son. He deactivated the shield and sheathed his sword.
"That's the twenty-third one," he said, gesturing to the splintered remains of the spear. "Do you have some sort of grudge against this weapon, young master?"
"Training spears are meant to be broken."
"I know you take those from the legion's armory."
"No one will notice."
The captain's eye twitched. "Everyone knows."
"In our hierarchical society, who would dare to speak of it, besides my father and sister? And if it is not spoken of, it is not noticed. But do not worry. A spear worthy of me is almost complete."
Not wanting to deal with the boy's venomous tongue any longer, Vyshot glanced toward the barracks, where his new deputy was drowning in paperwork.
He decided to use one evil to escape another.
"Young master, I would love to have another match, but my duties call. My new deputy, Zerkel, still has much to learn."
Feeling the little monster's mocking gaze on his back, the captain beat a hasty retreat.
"Good luck, Captain," the boy called after him. "And enjoy the peace while it lasts. I have a feeling we won't have much of it for long."
Vyshot glanced back at the boy's wide, unnerving smile. A sense of dread, which had been growing stronger with each passing year, washed over him.
War was coming. He could feel it in his bones. The only question was, would it be against the angels… or against their own kind?
I let out a thoughtful hum. A demon afraid of war, what an absurd concept. In my old world, chaos and bloodshed were the fastest ways for a demon to gain power.
I turned and walked toward the small building that had been constructed for my "magical experiments."
A yellow light emanated from a magic circle in my hand, washing over my body and slowly healing the bruises and scrapes from the spar.
My mind replayed the fight, calculating.
For a boy my age with only a first-level cultivation, my performance would mark me as a prodigy. But in reality, I was only as strong as a mid-rank demon.
My mother, at this age, had already possessed the power of a high-rank demon. It was time to move on to the next phase of my plan.
I arrived at the windowless, one-story building. The servants already whispered that it was the "young Lucifuge's torture chamber." I placed my hand on the door, feeding my demonic aura into the seal that appeared.
With a soft click, the heavily reinforced door swung open, and magical lights flickered on, revealing my alchemist's workshop.
I closed the door, reactivating the wards, and glanced at a test tube on a nearby table. It contained a "charming" little potion that reacted to the light of the Underworld's sky.
A useless concoction, created during my early experiments, but it served one purpose: it told me if anyone had been here. I touched the tube, and the clear liquid turned yellow. A playful smile touched my lips.
So, Father's spies are still watching.
I scanned the room for any other signs of intrusion, then picked up a small bottle of white pills and walked to the corner of the room.
Over the past two years, I had focused on three things: mastering this new demonic power, merging my old knowledge of alchemy with the local practices, and building a network of… informants.
All three were interconnected, especially after I had recreated the "Yang Restoration Pill." I'd had to present it to my father to secure the resources I needed.
Without a high cultivation, I had to "struggle" to recreate my old recipes using my "theft" ability to purify ingredients and infuse them with qi.
The resulting pills were far from perfect, but what was considered dross in the Heavenly Dao was gold in the Underworld.
I placed the bottle of pills into my aura's internal storage space and knelt on the floor.
My crimson aura covered a square of four stone tiles, and that section of the floor vanished into my storage, revealing a stone staircase leading down.
I checked a nearly invisible thread I'd set as a trap, then descended, replacing the floor tiles above me.
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Hey guys if u like the fanfic and want to read ahead by 5+ Chapters or just want to support take a visit on my patreon.
(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)
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