Hunter’s Blade

C27 – Danger

The Winged Devil had left singed imprints as it moved, scorch marks trailing its path. The flames had charred away several trees, leaving behind nothing but ashy remnants. These faint traces, however, began to diminish. Slowly, they realized the marks were growing scarcer, until eventually, they vanished altogether.

The flames subsided, revealing the true form of the demon.

With the more conspicuous clues lost, the pursuers were forced to disperse within the woods, seeking out footprints and traces of the demons. Torches in hand, they managed to cast only feeble illumination around themselves. But beyond that, vast stretches remained veiled in the unyielding darkness, leaving them uneasy and unsettled.

Shire approached a campsite that had been assailed. Set beneath an ancient fir tree, it was well-sheltered and strategically secluded from the animal trails. Whoever had established this camp had proven quite adept. However, the dark green tent now lay in ruin, the fire extinguished. As he touched the remnants, Shire could still feel residual warmth. Beside the fallen cast iron pot, spilled soup marked the ground, accompanied by two untouched deer skin blankets.

Using the torch to scan his surroundings, Shire quickly located a corpse due to the substantial pool of blood on the ground.

Several paces away, a man had fallen into a thicket, his body sprawled on the ground. A gory cavity was gouged open in his back, a vivid testament to the devil’s grim feasting. Clad in light leather armor, the deceased’s head had been shorn, his vacant eyes fixed on the side. His mouth hung agape, blood trickling from it to stain the earth crimson.

Paired with the blankets, another individual should’ve been present. After an extended search, Shire eventually discovered a child-sized straw shoe on the ground.

The desire for everyone to lead a normal life, free from the specter of demon-inflicted death, surged through Shire, punctuating his thoughts with pain. But could his abilities truly safeguard them all?

“What’s amiss?” Rocher rode up from behind, hastening over on horseback. She cast a glance toward the assaulted camp and remarked, “A Winged Devil passed through here.”

“If it were merely a ‘passing through,’ then the demons were after them,” Shire clenched his fists. “In the demons’ eyes, our souls are sustenance. The more they consume, the more formidable they become.”

Rocher led her horse ahead for a moment, then turned to look at Shire.

“Though I’m not entirely certain, I dare say you’re currently grappling with some form of distress.”

“I can’t save them”

“[Rescuing the afflicted is the duty of deities and saints],” Rocher declared. “From my perspective, investing too much energy might impede my reasoning. It’s wiser to focus on my existing responsibilities. Once we’ve eradicated these demons, we can return to Gray Tree Hall and rest soundly through the night.”

“You’re right.” Shire nodded.

They navigated through the forest and came upon several soldiers mounted on horses. The steeds were agitated, whinnying uneasily at the expanse of trees before them, their reluctance palpable. This prompted the soldiers trailing behind to converge, rapidly forming a united group.

Observing the horses’ behavior, Shire deduced their proximity to the demons, causing the horses to balk at venturing further. It marked the precipice of a confrontation, where humanity and devils would clash in a battle of life and death. Inhaling deeply, Shire tightened his grip on the saber he held.

“Gradiu, are you awake?” Shire’s thoughts resonated internally, “I need your assistance.”

The demon’s response to Shire remained passive and muted, a stark contrast to Shire’s call. The devil residing within him was both adversary and ally, a composite of the hunter and the devil. As their roles intertwined, he grew accustomed to the duality and his mindset evolved with each passing day.

Don’t overthink, don’t overthink. Shire’s silent mantra reverberated. Gradiu wasn’t present; Shire could only rely on himself, wielding the keen blade at his disposal. Forged with malevolent energy, the demonic blade harbored sinister entities like the Winged Devil. If he managed to sever a piece, it would be a feat. Additionally, his mastery extended to multiple spells: the Yafen flames, Phantom Divine Power, Noon Blade, and extrication to the cosmos. Their degrees of command varied, but he could manipulate them: the Yafen flames, Phantom Divine Power, Noon Blade, and extradimensional expulsion. These potent Hunter Curses bolstered his arsenal.

He also possessed a crossbow… Yet the wooden weapon appeared incapable of puncturing the Winged Devil’s formidable outer shell, presenting a vexing challenge.

Overall, Shire wrestled with unease, harboring less than unwavering confidence in besting the devil.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the collective gaze had shifted onto Shire.

“Shall we proceed?” A soldier queried, “Hunter Sir, do you reckon it’s prudent to venture deeper into the forest?”

“What do we do now?”

“Should we stop and wait for dawn?” the soldier asked.

“Should we send someone to investigate…”

Conversations overlapped, though many eyes turned toward Shire, rife with anticipation that he would lead and decide, propelling them toward the culmination of their crusade against the devils.

They looked at Shire nervously and waited for his reply.

“Listen up.” After careful reflection, Shire opted to impart some insights. “Maintain your self-assurance. Should you catch sight of a devil’s true visage, avoid direct eye contact. Seek to assail them from their blind spots or flanks.”

“Ah?”

“How do we fight like this?”

“Can we kill it even if we can’t see it?”

Shire gestured toward the anxious equines. “Why are these horses apprehensive? They detect the mental and psychological pressure exuded by the devils from a distance. Direct confrontation with them will only exacerbate your situation. Severe psychological distress awaits, and I’m not attempting to be alarmist. Everyone has witnessed the devil’s might during daylight.”

The soldiers had no choice but to remain silent.

“If that’s indeed the true name of the Overmind, it might hold the potential to halt the demon invasion,” Rocher mused. “However, battling on foot would put us at a considerable disadvantage. I need to devise a means to bring my horse into the fray.”

Scanning the vicinity, Shire failed to spot the mercenaries from the Fan Mountain Crossbow Squad.

“Where did the mercenaries go? And Teibout and the others?”

“They manually transported the ballistae in,” a mounted soldier reported. “They’re determined to secure the devil’s reward.”

“I need to locate them. Where did they head off to?”

“What? You’re going alone? They went in that direction,” the soldier responded, somewhat taken aback.

Shire recognized the inherent danger in this battle. If reinforcements arrived too late, the situation could spiral unpredictably. Hastily, he plunged into the woods.

Trees rushed by him as his own heartbeat, footsteps on grass, and the faint whisper of the wind enveloped him. Before long, perspiration coated his skin. His legs felt a tad leaden, and his breathing grew labored. He directed the torchlight ahead, ensuring no stumbles over gravel or tree branches.

On a tree’s bark, he spotted a green mark. Cautiously, he approached it. Upon nearing, the mark abruptly crumbled, giving way to a sound transmission akin to communication magic.

The voice was guttural, hoarse—the language of Winged Devils.

“Only you can perceive this, Devil Hunter. I crafted it specifically for you. Eager to slay me, are you? Yearning to put an end to my existence? Then come, indulge in torture, torment, and degradation… Best to employ your full might, exterminate me. No hesitation, no futile strategies… Or else, I shall gradually return what I’ve suffered! I’ll restore it to you piece by piece.”

Like dissipating smoke, the seal vanished.

No need to say it—I’ll eliminate you at the earliest opportunity. Shire knit his brows, forging ahead.

Uproar and clamor echoed from the distance. Shire identified the members of the Fan Shan Crossbow Squad. They were propelling their very own ballista, the “Blood Bride.” Devoid of horses, they employed the combined effort of four individuals to advance through the forest. Their pace was sluggish, and their movements somewhat awkward.

“Phew. Phew…” The occupants of the cart panted heavily. Teibout barked orders loudly, yet as he turned and spotted Shire approaching, his surprise was palpable.

“Well, well, the Devil Hunter has arrived.” Teibout remarked, “Perfect timing, indeed. We’re on the brink of capturing the Winged Devil.”

“You folks have been moving rather sluggishly. How do you intend to catch up?” Shire was mildly taken aback.

“It’s wounded. Its pace is slower than ours.” Teibout boasted, “Our crew spotted its silhouette earlier. It dashed away like a fatigued stray dog.”

How could an exhausted devil find the time to leave me a message? Shire mused.

“Don’t be careless, or all of you will die.” Shire threatened them.

A mercenary cast an apprehensive glance at Shire, then nervously surveyed their surroundings before swallowing hard.

“We’ve been cautious enough.” Teibout grumbled, “The problem is the darkness and the lateness of the hour. My team needs a break.”

“We can’t establish camp under the Evil Demons’ watchful gaze. Let’s keep moving.” Shire prompted, “Rest is still our goal.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got scouts up ahead. Aijax went for reconnaissance.” Teibout boasted, “We’re seasoned mercenaries.”

After progressing less than 50 meters, they stumbled upon a lifeless body. The mercenary’s head had been savagely severed, leaving only a limp corpse with blood staining the earth. The members of the Van Mountain Crossbowmen beheld their fallen comrade’s demise, their faces blanching.

Teibout gazed ruefully at the lifeless body of his comrade, his neck’s broken spine gruesomely exposed. The sight was chilling.

“That is Aijax?” Shire asked.

Teibout nodded.

“He’s from our village, we have to ~ ” Just as he was about to continue, aijax’s lifeless body abruptly jerked back.

The decapitated mercenary’s corpse moved eerily, as if under the influence of malevolent sorcery, quickly retreating into the distance like a specter. This unexpected sight left many mercenaries bewildered, unsure of how to react.

“After him! Pursue!” Teibout’s shout jolted his men back to reality. They hastened to mobilize the ballista, its wheels grinding as it rumbled forward.

How is this even possible? Shire’s mind raced with anxiety. Why did the corpse move on its own?

Suddenly, before their eyes, aijax’s corpse rapidly ascended and vanished into the open space in the distance. And there, a colossal, dark entity seemed to await.

“Demon! Shoot!” Teibout roared.

Bang!

The crossbowman steering the ballista swiftly adjusted its aim and unleashed another shot at the massive creature. The arrow punctured its back with a resounding impact, akin to striking stone.

“It hit! One more shot!” Teibout’s fist clenched in triumphant excitement.

Swoosh! Teibout was abruptly lifted from the ground by an unseen force.

Everyone was taken aback. They looked upward to find a Winged Devil perched atop a tall tree, its gaze fixed upon them.

A trace of despair rose in Shire’s heart.

He witnessed the devil gripping his devil rope with its left hand, using it to strangle Teibout’s throat and suspend him in midair. Teibout kicked futilely, his hands desperately clutching the cord around his neck. His anguish and torment were palpable.

“Welcome.” A Winged Devil seized the lower part of its mask and revealed its face.

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