Inside the room stood a pillar of meat. It was an awful thing to look at, mostly because it looked like something that had been grown on purpose. Around it lingered the imps of wrath, seven of them scattered across the chamber in loose positions, hunched and twitching, their claws scraping against the stone as if they had been waiting for something to arrive.

  The pillar shuddered, a wet, grinding sound rolling through the chamber, and from its surface another imp clawed its way free, slick with dark residue. None of the others paid it any attention.

  As soon as the newborn demon hit the floor, the door slammed open.

  Their attention snapped instantly toward the sound, eight heads jerking in near-unison, their vacant aggression finding a direction all at once. What came through the doorway wasn’t what they expected, though expectation wasn’t exactly their strength. A black-armored knight stepped into the chamber, his presence cutting through the room in a way that confused them for just a fraction of a second.

  That was all the time he needed.

  The imps surged forward anyway, instincts overriding whatever hesitation flickered through them, bodies low and fast as they launched themselves toward him, including the one that had barely finished forming. Cervain did not retreat, nor did he rush. His cape shifted aside as he grasped the hilt of a simple black sword and drew it from his waist.

  [Goring Crescent]

  The blade swept outward, and a black arc tore through the air in front of him, striking the imps mid-leap and hurling them back across the chamber. Stone cracked where bodies struck it, and several of the creatures screeched as they hit the ground, their momentum shattered and their forms visibly damaged.

  Instantly, the knight closed the distance to the nearest imp in a blur, cutting it down with two precise slashes before it could even right itself, its body unraveling into nothingness as he passed. Without slowing, he dashed again, then again, carving through three imps while the rest were still struggling to recover, their reactions lagging behind the speed of his advance.

  Less than seven seconds had passed, and three demons were already slain.

  The remaining imps shrieked and rushed him again, fury replacing confusion as they leapt and scrambled toward his position. His earlier skill had not yet recovered, but it didn’t slow him. One imp was caught on the end of his blade with a clean thrust, lifted off the ground as it screeched, and before it could free itself, Cervain swung, using the imp’s own body as weight to strike the next two that charged him, sending them tumbling aside in broken heaps.

  He kicked the imp free from his sword, launching it toward the fourth, then stepped forward and drove his blade through both of them in quick succession, ending their struggles almost immediately.

  Another imp slipped behind him, close enough that its breath brushed the back of his armor, but before he could even be touched, a new voice cut through the room.

  [Iron Grip]

  A chain snapped forward from the doorway, wrapping around the imp mid-lunge and yanking it off balance before white flames erupted along its length, consuming the creature in seconds and leaving nothing but drifting ash.

  Enochia stepped into the chamber, eyes already scanning the aftermath, her expression settling into something satisfied as she took it all in.

  “Not bad,” she said, then tilted her head slightly, as if reconsidering. “Although…”

  [Chains of Nebuchadnezzar]

  Holy chains crashed down from above, slamming into the last two injured imps and crushing them against the stone, the room falling silent almost immediately afterward.

  Cervain sheathed his sword, then dropped to one knee in front of her, head bowed and posture rigid enough to make the stone floor feel ceremonial rather than filthy.

  Enochia blinked, then broke into a pleased smile as she stepped closer and rapped her knuckles lightly against Cervain’s shoulder plate, like she was congratulating a teammate after a clean play rather than addressing a knight. “You did really good,” she said, warmth slipping into her voice before she could stop it. “Honestly, having a knight might even be better than a tank. If this keeps up, I might not even have to do mu—”

  [+11,100 XP]

  [+2 Souls]

  [LEVEL UP!]

  +2 Stat Points

  +10 Souls

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “That’s… nice,” she murmured, eyes flicking over the numbers as the knight rose up. “XP’s better than I expected, and souls on top of that.” She exhaled, satisfaction creeping in as she added, more to herself than anyone else, “Going near that black dot was definitely the right call.”

  Her gaze lingered on the window, and she nodded again, already sorting the result into a comfortable mental box. “Creations share experience with their creator,” she said absently, before she stopped mid-thought.

  Her brow furrowed as she looked at the numbers again, then slowly turned her head toward Cervain, then back to the interface. “Wait.” She went still, lips parting slightly as she stared, fingers lifting as she began counting under her breath without realizing she was doing it. “No, that doesn’t… hold on.”

  The realization crept in unevenly, like a wrong rhythm she couldn’t unhear, until it snapped into place. “You leveled,” she said, disbelief edging into her tone. “You leveled with me.” Her eyes widened as she spun back toward him, grabbing his helmeted head between her hands and squeezing the metal cheeks without restraint. “You monster… You’re doubling the damn XP!”

  Cervain froze, posture stiffening in clear confusion, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides as if unsure whether this was praise or a prelude to execution.

  “Okay,” Enochia said, forcing herself to release him and breathe, “Numbers. Think.” She turned back to the aftermath of the fight, eyes narrowing slightly as she recalculated. “Each imp was roughly a thousand XP, give or take. Most of them were low level and nowhere near evolving.” She frowned. “One of them had just spawned. That alone should’ve capped its payout.” Her grin returned slowly. “There’s no way I got that much from my half alone, so that must mean that instead of the usual split, he is giving all the XP to me, yet still somehow leveling up. But how is that possible???”

  Enochia’s eyes snapped to her minimap as a fresh red dot bloomed into existence near the same grotesque pillar that had birthed the others. She smiled, sharp and eager. “Oh. You’re back already?”

  She raised her hand without hesitation.

  [Iron Grip]

  The chain snapped forward in a clean arc, wrapping around the half-formed demon as it dragged itself free of the pulsing mass, flames racing along the links as the spell took hold. The creature barely had time to exist before the heat burned through it, the pull tearing it loose and dragging it forward.

  [-136 HP]

  “…Huh,” Enochia muttered.

  Before she could act on it, Cervain surged past her, crossing the distance in a blink and cleaving the imp cleanly in two with a single efficient strike. The remains evaporated into ash before they even hit the ground.

  [+1,000 XP]

  Enochia stared at it for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah. That confirms it.” She looked up at Cervain. “That thing was fresh, so I guess these things sorta act like spawners for them.”

  A new window slid into view, detailing her skill in full, and her smile faded as she skimmed it. “Wait. No.” She waved a hand through the air in irritation.

  ─────────────────────────────

  Lv. 10 — Iron Grip

  Cost: 35 Mana??Cooldown: 8 s

  Effect:

  Whip a flaming chain at an enemy up to 25 feet away.

  ? Deals (70 + 60 % FAI) Holy/Fire damage.

  ? Pulls small enemies toward the caster and roots heavier ones for 1.5 s.

  ? If the target is already Burning, detonate the flames for an extra (60 + 60 % FAI).

  ─────────────────────────────

  “Why was that damage so low? I’m a demon. Holy attacks are supposed to hurt more, not do normal damage.”

  [Correction: The damage calculation is functioning as intended.]

  Enochia groaned. “Don’t start with me. That was Holy damage. It should’ve taken bonus—”

  [Iron Grip inflicts damage split evenly between Fire and Holy elements.]

  She blinked.

  [Demons of Wrath possess inherent resistance to Fire-based damage. The Fire resistance offsets the Holy vulnerability, resulting in neutral damage.]

  Enochia paused, then slowly nodded as the irritation drained from her expression. “Oh.” She scratched her cheek. “Okay. Yeah, that tracks.” After a beat, she glanced up again. “So that means I take reduced damage from fire attacks in general as well, right?”

  [Correct.]

  Enochia let the interface fade, then finally turned her full attention back to the room, her gaze drifting to the grotesque pillar at its center. Up close, it was even worse than it had looked from the doorway, a swollen mass of layered flesh fused into the stone as if the dungeon itself had decided to grow an organ.

  She tilted her head. “Alright,” she said slowly, circling a few steps to get a better angle. “This thing is grossing me the fuck out.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Roo. What is that.”

  [Lesser Demon Birthing Node.]

  Enochia stopped walking. “A what.”

  [A Lesser Demon Birthing Node is a stationary infernal that converts ambient corruption and residual mana into low-tier demonic entities over time.]

  She stared at the pillar again, lips pressing together as she processed that. “So,” she said carefully, “It’s basically a factory making those little freaks.”

  [Correct.]

  Her brow creased. “And it just… keeps making them.”

  [Correct. Production rate increases in areas with sustained violence or death.]

  She let out a low whistle and resumed pacing. “That explains the fresh spawn,” she muttered. “And why they’re all low-level. Cheap materials, cheap output.” Her eyes flicked to the minimap, then back to the pillar. “What happens if it’s left alone.”

  [Unchecked nodes will continue spawning lesser demons until disrupted, sealed, destroyed, or the surrounding corruption is depleted.]

  Enochia tilted her head slightly. “Disrupted how?” she asked.

  [Common disruption methods include sustained holy purification, targeted structural damage, severing the node’s mana intake, or the application of a sufficiently strong sealing skill.]

  She hummed under her breath, hands folding behind her back as she circled the pillar again, this time closer. Heat rolled off it in slow pulses, unpleasant but not overwhelming, and beneath that she could feel the rhythm of it, the steady internal churn of mana cycling and compressing as it prepared for the next birth.

  Her steps slowed, then stopped.

  “And if nobody messes with it,” she said lightly, “It just keeps going?”

  [Within limits.]

  That made her glance sideways. “Limits?”

  [Node stability is determined by quality and mana throughput. Prolonged unchecked production may result in internal overheating, destabilization, or forced shutdown. Lower-grade nodes are especially prone to production collapse.]

  Enochia let out a quiet laugh, eyes flicking back to the chamber. “Yeah, that explains it.” She gestured loosely at the room. “If this thing had been running clean the whole time, there’d be hundreds of them crawling around, not a handful of half-baked imps.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “So someone either slapped a seal on you at some point, or you burned yourself out.”