Gallien and the Salamander King had reached the climax of their brutal struggle. The creature’s once-fearsome regeneration faltered under the relentless storm of silver sword light. Each impact tore through the weakened plates of its hide, splattering molten blood across the swamp. Its labored growls echoed like rocks grinding together.

  When the Demonkin finally lunged, more desperation than strength, Gallien simply stepped back, the tip of his blade tracing arcs of shimmering light as he continued his merciless barrage. The salamander’s flames sputtered. Its roars cracked. The power it once wielded with arrogance now flickered like a dying torch.

  Aaron and the others should be out by now, Gallien thought, lips trembling with exhaustion. I shouldn’t delay any further.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. His chest rose and fell in sharp, painful jerks. The laze was eating at him from the inside, poisoning his lungs, scorching his throat. His skin pulsed with fever beneath his clothes.

  If he stayed any longer, this swamp would bury him.

  Sensing Gallien’s attacks cease, the salamander let out a rattling exhale. Relief rippled through its massive frame. The stream of lava dripping from its maw slowed, then stopped entirely. Steam curled lazily around its recovering body as it focused every ounce of energy on mending the torn flesh on its neck and limbs.

  To the Demonkin, Gallien was just another human who had overestimated himself, and finally paid the price.

  Then a sudden gale tore through the swamp.

  The wind didn’t howl, it roared like a divine decree, slicing the steam apart in an instant.

  The magma salamander’s eyes widened.

  Gallien stood a few meters away, calm, steady, his silhouette outlined by faint silver radiance. His sword, dull and unimpressive mere moments ago, now pulsed with a sharpness that seemed to carve the very air.

  He lunged.

  The salamander reacted far too late.

  It tried to muster lava in its throat, one final blast, one last attempt to take the human with it, but Gallien’s slash moved faster than its thoughts.

  A silver line traced across its thick neck.

  Then, the neck split open.

  Blood, molten lava, and steam erupted in a violent spray. The salamander thrashed, its titanic body shaking the swamp as tremors rippled outward. Its limbs convulsed, slamming into trees, snapping branches like brittle twigs.

  Gallien didn’t give it the dignity of a slow death.

  He hacked downward. Then again. And again.

  Each strike carved deeper, widening the wound until its head barely clung to its body by threads of charred flesh. Lava spilled across the swamp in bubbling rivers, igniting patches of rotting vegetation.

  Even as he retreated from the laze, Gallien’s assault did not falter. His blows were fueled by exhaustion, rage, and grim necessity. The salamander’s roars cracked, then faded.

  Seconds later, the Demonkin collapsed with a wet, final thud.

  Silence returned, wet and heavy, broken only by Gallien’s ragged breaths.

  “What a… tough bastard,” he muttered, wiping blood—his and the creature’s—from his face. His legs felt like they were made of rusted iron. “I can’t waste any more time. I have to get out of here.”

  Fatigued, poisoned, and scorched, he forced himself forward through the swamp. One step. Then another. His sword dragged beside him, scraping against mud and submerged roots.

  On the thirteenth step, he froze.

  His grip tightened instinctively around the sword’s hilt.

  Before him, space itself wavered, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone. Distortion rippled outward, warping the very air. The hairs on his arms stood on end. The swamp fell eerily silent, as though holding its breath.

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  Gallien narrowed his eyes.

  Something was coming through.

  Adam dispelled Illusion Inducement, his figure solidifying out of thin air.

  “You?!” Gallien’s hoarse voice cracked as his eyes widened. “How are you still alive?”

  “And here I thought we had something beautiful,” Adam said with a smile that held nothing remotely kind.

  He clapped slowly, gaze drifting to the charred corpse of the Salamander King. “Impressive,” he murmured before refocusing on Gallien. “Your strength is unmatched. You clearly won the first round. How about a round two?”

  Gallien’s expression hardened; surprise and confusion evaporated as though they’d never existed.

  “You should’ve fled while you could,” he said coldly. “Did you really think exhaustion put you on my level?” He let out a sharp, humorless snicker.

  Adam only smiled.

  Gallien’s eyes reddened. “I’ll give you one last chance,” he growled. “Fuck off—or die.”

  Adam giggled softly and lifted a hand. Three items materialized in a swirl of dark energy. Gallien instinctively stepped back.

  Adam tossed the items at Gallien’s feet without a word.

  Gallien’s eyes flicked down, then snapped back to Adam. The mummified faces twisted in eternal terror told him everything.

  “Recognize them?” Adam teased, grin widening.

  Another object appeared, an ordinary-looking bag. Gallien froze. His gaze flicked between the bag and the contorted corpses, breath quickening.

  “So you do.”

  Adam watched quiet rage replace shock. Gallien’s sword trembled violently, a dull silver glow pulsing along its twin edges.

  “Who are you?” Gallien finally managed.

  “How is that important?”

  Gallien inhaled sharply. “Even if you’re a Varidan student, you won’t survive making Raventhorn your enemy.”

  Adam snorted. “Isn’t it a little late for that?” he said softly. “Do I look like I give two fucks about Raventhorn?”

  Gallien lowered his voice. “What do you want? Name your price, and I swear on my name—Gallien Thornoak—you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

  “Interesting.” Adam’s eyes slid over him, evaluating. The silver glow faded from Gallien’s blade. “But are you really in any position to negotiate?”

  Gallien hissed. “I gave you my word. You think I’d swear on my name for—”

  “I don’t care about your name or your word,” Adam cut in, utterly calm.

  “The item in that bag belongs to the Armstrong family,” Gallien said.

  “W-What?” Adam faltered, eyes darting between Gallien and the bag.

  “Good—you’re not completely ignorant.” Gallien stepped forward, authority returning to his posture. “My offer stands. Give me the bag, and you will be greatly rewarded.”

  “You… you won’t mention my involvement in—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Gallien interrupted smoothly. “None of it matters. All that matters is you returning the bag. That alone is a great contribution.”

  Adam nodded slowly. “Since you gave your word, I’ll believe you.”

  He tossed Gallien the bag. The Raventhorn prodigy halted and examined it closely.

  “I assume everything is in order?” Adam asked.

  Gallien’s lips curled. “Perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “So… about my reward?”

  Gallien smiled. “Allow me to give you your first reward.”

  His form blurred.

  A flash of silver erupted.

  In the blink of an eye, Gallien appeared before Adam and drove the sword straight into his heart. With his free hand, he snapped Adam’s neck. The corpse dropped limply.

  “You kill and rob my men, and you dare dream of being rewarded?” Gallien spat on the body. “Go collect your reward from demons in hell.”

  He turned toward the mummified remains. “How did you three lose to that brat?” Guilt and sorrow tinged his voice.

  “You can ask them.”

  The voice whispered behind his ear. Gallien spun, but too late.

  A sword burst through his stomach from behind. He swung wildly, his blade cutting nothing but empty air.

  “Fuck…” he choked, dropping to a knee as he ripped the sword free from his abdomen.

  The corpse he had just killed still lay lifeless on the ground.

  Yet Adam’s voice came again.

  Cold. Close. Everywhere.

  “You broke your promise. So I’ll be taking the bag back.”

  Gallien lashed out blindly. Nothing.

  “Show yourself!” he roared.

  “You’re already a dead man. That won’t be necessary.”

  Another blade punched through his chest. Gallien coughed blood, yet somehow still held onto his longsword. The bag fell from his weakening grasp, landing just inches from his knees.

  Glass shattered.

  Adam appeared before him, the illusion-born corpse dissolving into drifting smoke. Six towering Familiars manifested behind him, surrounding Gallien like executioners.

  Adam stepped forward.

  “H-how… did you do that?” Gallien rasped, trembling.

  “You sure you want that to be your final words?” Adam smirked. He tapped Gallien’s cheek lightly. “Don’t worry. That weasel Dominic will join you eventually. Just like Klein.”

  Gallien’s eyes bulged.

  “It was you!” he croaked.

  One Familiar seized his head and twisted violently.

  Crack.

  Gallien collapsed face-first.

  Adam spared the body a single glance before turning to the Salamander King’s remains.

  “Bring it.”

  Four Familiars obeyed instantly, dragging the gigantic corpse before him.

  It would’ve been much harder to subdue either of them at full strength, Adam thought, eyes glinting. I’m curious what kind of summon I can craft using the corpses of C-rank Awakened and Plague Demonkin.

  He grinned.

  System, send the corpses and Familiars to inventory.

  The bodies vanished in a surge of shadow.

  A notification chimed.

  [Item Notice: Corpses will disintegrate after 48 hours.]

  Forty-eight hours is plenty.

  Adam scanned the ravaged swamp. The fires still burned, and the air shimmered with residual heat. Even though the battles had ceased, the marsh felt alive.

  Time to leave. I don’t want to find out what else is drawn here if I stick around.

  He cast one last glance over the flaming mire, then sprinted toward the exit.

  As the Hated One, he needed to leave the dungeon before other Demonkin migrated to the Valar Pits.