He gulped down a potion, his trembling hands spilling half the liquid. The burn in his throat was unbearable, but the wound stopped bleeding, the flesh slowly knitting together.
He drank another vial, a concoction to boost his strength, speed, and endurance. His muscles tensed, his heart pounding in his chest. Each beat echoed in his temples. He wiped the blood from his face and moved toward the cave at the edge of the village.
The entrance gaped open, carved into black rock, emitting a stench of mold and rotting meat. Daemon slipped inside, dagger at the ready. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the drip of water on stone.
"That was... easier than I thought. I figured—"
*Boom*
A violent shock slammed him against the wall.
"Aaarrhh fuck—"
His ribs cracked, and he spat a mouthful of blood, splattering the ground. His vision blurred, black spots dancing before his eyes. A three-meter-tall ogre emerged from the darkness, its spiked, rusted club raised to strike. Its fur was caked with dried blood, its tiny eyes gleaming with rage.
Daemon bit his lip until it bled to stay conscious. The pain in his chest was excruciating, every breath like a knife stabbing his lungs. His ribs had likely pierced his insides.
"I fucked up..."
He grabbed a healing potion, the best he had, and swallowed it. The thick liquid burned his throat, but his ribs stopped grinding, and the blood in his mouth lessened. His legs trembled, not just from pain. Fear clawed at him, visceral, knotting his gut.
He could die here, crushed, torn to shreds. He downed three more potions in quick succession: strength, speed, endurance. His muscles bulged, veins popping beneath his skin. But the terror persisted, an icy weight in his belly. Then he used a poison to numb his sense of touch.
He felt his hands and feet grow cold. Sensation faded, along with the pain.
The ogre charged, its club slamming down with brute force. The ground shook, and the wall behind Daemon exploded into shards of stone, debris raining into his hair.
He dove to the side, his reflexes enhanced by the potions. The club struck again, pulverizing a boulder into dust. Daemon sprinted, zigzagging through the cave. He pulled out a paralytic poison vial and hurled it at the ogre. The glass shattered on its chest, the greenish liquid seeping into its open wounds.
The ogre grunted, its movements barely slowing, but its grip on the club loosened slightly. The poison was working, numbing its senses.
Daemon drew his bow, firing arrows at point-blank range. The tips buried into the ogre's arms and legs, tearing chunks of flesh. Blood flowed in thick streams, pooling on the ground. But the arrows only fueled its fury.
The ogre roared, swinging its club in wild arcs. One blow grazed Daemon's flank, tearing his tunic and slicing his hip. Blood gushed, soaking his pants. He didn't feel the pain, numbed by the poison he'd applied to himself to block his nerves. But he knew his body was failing. His muscles screamed, his lungs burned. He had to act fast. More ogres could appear.
He sprinted, using the speed from the potions. The ogre, slowed by the poison, struggled to keep up. Daemon climbed a rocky ledge, leaping onto the creature's back. He plunged his dagger into its neck, driving the blade through the thick flesh.
Blood spurted, splashing his face, burning his eyes.
"Shiii—"
The ogre bellowed, staggering, and swung its club blindly. The blow pulverized a stalactite, which crashed down in a deafening roar. Daemon clung on, stabbing again and again. The blade ripped through muscle, scraped bone. Blood flowed in torrents, soaking his arms to the elbows.
The ogre collapsed to its knees, its arms falling limp. Daemon jumped to the ground, gasping.
But it was a ruse. The ogre spun abruptly, club raised.
---
Jaedan River, with his short, snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes, strode through the dense forest, his light armor clinking softly. At twenty, his sharp features and warm smile inspired trust.
A hero of his generation, he was the wielder of the Misi-Genebig lance, a legendary relic once owned by Nilotis River, the heroic ancestor of his lineage. At fifteen, during his awakening ceremony, Jaedan had contracted an Epic-rank Naiad, a rare feat that had catapulted him to prodigy status.
Less powerful than Nilotis, he was nonetheless destined to become a formidable force. His tender, protective nature contrasted with his disdain for Daemon Leen, a noble of House Indivar. Jaedan saw him as an arrogant bastard, preying on the weak instead of protecting them—a betrayal of noble values.
Something about Daemon troubled him. Five years ago, House Indivar had announced that Daemon, then fourteen, preferred to dedicate himself to the Art of the Bloody Lotus and aura meditation before awakening to mana. A strange choice.
Even the most precocious nobles awakened their children to mana by ten, despite the risks for those lacking raw talent like Kara Geb Bentham.
Daemon, however, had delayed his awakening, a decision Jaedan found suspicious. But Daemon's awakening was nearing. "They say you're a genius, Daemon Leen of Indivar," Jaedan murmured.
"I can't wait to fight you once you awaken to mana."
Accompanied by twenty knights in gleaming armor, Jaedan galloped through the canopy, the dense forest opening into a clearing. The Misi-Genebig lance, strapped to his back, vibrated with ancient energy. His men, loyal and battle-hardened, scanned the surroundings, swords at the ready.
Approaching a cave carved into black rock, Jaedan spotted three knights camped at the entrance. Their cloaks bore the Indivar emblem: bats...
Jaedan frowned, his horse slowing.
"Indivar knights," he growled, dismounting.
"What are you doing here? This territory doesn't belong to the Archduke, as far as I know."
One of the knights, a broad-shouldered man named Hughes, stepped forward, his helmet under his arm. "Lord River," he replied curtly. "We're escorting young Master Daemon. He's exploring the dungeon."
"And as you well know... the dungeon isn't River property," added the female knight.
Even if several days had passed inside the dungeon, only a few hours had elapsed outside.
Jaedan snorted, crossing his arms. "Daemon? That bastard is either mad enough to venture into an S-rank dungeon alone or too arrogant to ask for help?"
Erwan clenched his teeth, his fingers tightening on his sword. "Watch your tongue, River. The young master is talented. He doesn't need an army to prove his worth."
"Talented?" Jaedan stepped closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "He's delayed his awakening for five years, obsessing over Indivar arts I've never seen in action... and now he's playing the lone hero? Your master's a coward hiding behind excuses."