Artes, or more commonly pronounced as ‘Arts’, are the crystallisation of one's magical energy transformed into performing superpowered feats.

  The word’s origins are Elven, meaning ‘the shaping of the unseen’. Most people don’t know or care for that, because all the Elves are dead, or so close to extinct that it matters little.

  Artes draw upon the user’s magical Core to produce effects beyond mortal ability: fireballs, overpowering slashes, inhuman enhancements, and so on.

  The older races — the Elderkin — once referred to such feats as a beautiful blending of will, soul, and mind into a single act, therefore named ‘Artes’. To them, the action of weaving magic was sacred and not a thing to be abused.

  However, their smaller-minded and newer cousins (e.g humans) are blissfully uncaring of such romanticism and saw the Artes more for their practical function: a fancier weapon to bludgeon demons to death with.

  Perhaps that was why the Goddess chose to bless so many of her youngest creations with her Cores over the Elderkin species. Rather than the ethereal and longevous races of Elves, Dwarves, or Giants, it was the short-lived and temperamental Humans who received the most of her attention.

  And thus it was that the youngest sapient species of Thalmyra — the Newborn Race of Man — came to inherit the demon-torn continent and the eternal war between the Living and the Damned.

  Fitting, perhaps. Mankind always did possess a monstrous capacity for violence.

  As a certain ex-Demon King was about to learn.

  ~~~

  Ignoring the pain of his broken ribs, Eri sprinted away as fast as he could.

  As the giant brigand howled nonsense behind him, the boy did a quick recalculation of his chances of fulfilling all quest objectives.

  He soon surmised that any measure of success was not in his favour.

  To call his odds of victory slim was the understatement of his life. He was a Copper-Core twelve-year-old facing down a Gold Core Chosen who appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, immortal.

  Not even Elen could have survived a blow like what Eri had delivered to the brigand captain earlier. His dagger had been buried in the man’s brain, and the giant still didn’t die.

  Ambushing the group was a mistake. Eri had been too confident. It would have been safer to wait for an opportunity to grab the girl before sneaking away.

  Then again, if he did not act immediately, it might be too late. The brigands’ intentions for her were clear, and they were not ones he could willingly stomach or allow.

  Ahead of him, more than half a dozen raiders still stood, armed to the teeth and enraged by their comrade’s death. They charged at him, weapons ready and Cores blazing with magical energy.

  Eri grabbed his inventory satchel, pulled out a metal cylinder the length of his torso, and threw it at the group before diving into the snow.

  The runes on the cylinder triggered. Several pounds of volatile reagents explosively reacted with each other before detonating in hellish fire.

  The improvised explosive tore apart the brigand group before they had a chance to use their Arts. Some died instantly. Others were merely injured, missing limbs and body parts. It mattered little to Eri either way.

  He had already decided that none of them would live to see the coming dawn.

  Another set of daggers made their way to his hand, and the boy got to work — slashing, stabbing, and slicing his way through their ranks. Nearly all of them were Chosens, with most being Copper-ranked mixed in with a few Bronzes.

  Individually, the brigands might possess more magical or physical power than Eri, but their control was sloppy, and their martial skills were abysmal. Moreover, Eri was within their midst, meaning they couldn’t swing their weapons or use their Arts without friendly fire.

  Eri, however, had no such restrictions, and so he activated his killing techniques freely.

  [Dagger Arts, Hollowfang’s Second Form: Rampage of the Feral]

  Animalistic vigour flooded his veins. His strength became enhanced, his footwork immaculate, and his movements ever more lethal.

  In under ten seconds, all of the brigands were either dead or dying, their blood and entrails scattered across the pure snow, turning pristine white to black crimson.

  All that was left were the squires — six of them in total. All were Bronze-ranked and were over Level 55, a fair number greater than the brigands. Eri saw them hovering over the wounded girl by the broken carriage, trying to drag the struggling young noblewoman away. Their eyes were wide with fear and panic when they noticed Eri approaching.

  One of them held up a sword against the girl’s throat.

  Eri saw red.

  “D-don’t move!” the squire ordered shrilly. “Or we’ll—”

  He never finished his threat.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  [Dagger Arts, Hollowfang’s Third Form: Two-Step Kill]

  Within a blink, Er manifested before the squire. Overwhelmed by Eri’s bloodlust, the squire panicked, screaming as he lashed out blindly with his sword.

  Eri leapt again, triggering the second half of his Art. In a split second, he was behind the squire, blade upon his neck.

  There was a flash of steel, then the retinuer’s head rolled off his shoulder.

  Five left.

  The body fell, releasing its grip on the girl. Eri pulled her out of the way right as another squire slashed his longsword, fear overriding the retinuer’s sense to preserve his captive’s life.

  Eri surged forth, daggers parrying the squire’s follow-up swing before plunging them both into the retainer’s unarmoured belly and slicing upwards, opening up his stomach from groin to sternum.

  Four left.

  The boy kicked the wailing page away, feeling wet guts spilling on his leg and foot. Eri panted, his movements becoming slower as he struggled to block an overhead slash from yet another squire.

  He was pushing his body and Core too much. Neither could keep up with the strain of using such demanding Arts one after another in quick succession.

  No matter how talented or knowledgeable Eri was, he was still a twelve-year-old with a Copper Core. The System’s boons could only compensate by so much.

  Another squire joined the fight, and then another two. The four fought together, emboldened by their numbers and Eri’s apparent exhaustion. Not only were the four higher levelled than the brigands earlier, but they fought with a coordinated discipline that the raiders didn’t have.

  Each passing second saw the battle tilt in their favour. Eri cursed when a misplaced parry against a heavy strike broke his wrist. Another mistake followed as a stray punch he couldn’t dodge struck him hard against the stomach and left him gasping for air, rendering him momentarily unable to move.

  “Die, monster!” one of them yelled, sword poised to plunge into Eri’s torso.

  His chest burned, every gasp a knife in his lungs. Eri tried to raise his dagger, but even as he did so, he knew he wouldn’t make it in time. The blade before him glinted, descending—

  A cry of determination erupted from behind the attacker before a small figure slammed into him from the side. They tumbled in a snarl of limbs, steel clattering across the stones.

  Dulcina Elathion then pulled a knife from her boots and slit it brutally across the man’s throat.

  Three… left.

  Eri forced himself to focus, pushing his lungs to draw painful breaths as he gritted his teeth and charged.

  He activated [Rampage of the Feral] once again, bolstering his agility and strength beyond his body’s limits. Eri rolled low under a squire’s diagonal slash and sliced their tendons, forcing them to fall to their knees before he pivoted and jammed his dagger straight through their ear and out the other side.

  Two left!

  One of the squires was trying to kill the young noble, but the girl sidestepped the thrust before expertly slashing her knife across her opponent’s longsword handle, slicing off their fingers. The momentary distraction allowed Eri to throw a dagger right into the cursing squire’s windpipe, fatally wounding him.

  One left!

  The last one charged at Eri, wits lost as he forgoes all martial skill and just swung at the boy in blind desperation. Eri blocked the blade, but did not foresee the squire suddenly releasing his longsword and grappling him instead.

  The two fell to the ground, with the squire overpowering the weakened Eri and ending up on top of him, squeezing his throat. Breathless and dazed, the boy struggled to stab the squire, but couldn’t find an angle to properly pierce the chainmail from his position. The squire tightened their hold, Eri’s vision began to darken—

  A blunt piece of wood smashed against the man’s temple with a painful crack. He spun, yelling, just in time to take another heavy hit to the head from Dulcina, who was wielding a broken piece of axle from the wagon.

  “Go to hell, all of you traitors,” the girl hissed. She tossed aside the wooden beam. Picking up the squire’s discarded longsword, she then messily stabbed the heavy blade through the dazed squire’s head.

  The crown split in half. More blood splattered into the snow, mixing with that from half a dozen other men.

  The field was awash in crimson. The final wails of the dying tore through the night air.

  … None left. Well, except for one.

  Eri coughed, wheezing as he struggled to get his breath back. The girl grabbed him, gloved hands pulling him urgently to his feet.

  The boy glanced up tiredly, finally getting a good look at the girl.

  \-\

  Dulcina Elathion

  Lvl 37 Rookie Prodigy (Wounded; Minor)

  The new Heiress of House Elathion, appointed as such after her older sister’s unfortunate ‘demise’. Exceptionally talented and intelligent, Dulcina is quickly becoming a notable figure among the nobility in her home capital of Kaelreach. Though burdened by many matters beyond her ability to control, she nonetheless strives to do her House proud, exalting her family’s name with laudable achievements despite her young age.

  Fiercely protective of her family. Or what’s left of it.

  \-\

  Eri blinked.

  She’s already Lvl 37?! She’s not even an adult yet!

  That was beyond impressive; Most people her age didn’t even possess a Copper Core, much less one on the brink of breaking into Bronze.

  Eri was the exception, of course, but he was bolstered with numerous advantages normal people didn’t have: his reincarnated memories, the System, and so on.

  The girl didn’t have any of that and still managed to reach such heights.

  She must have taken her Trial years ago. He thought. She would have been, what, twelve? Thirteen?

  Alas, no amount of prodigious young talent was going to help them much in their circumstance.

  The ground was shaking.

  “Can you still fight?” Dulcina asked fearfully.

  “Not really,” the boy groaned. Eri pulled her behind him. “Stay back. When I have him distracted, you run. Head north. Don’t stop until you see Kaldreach’s walls, and—”

  “I can’t run.”

  “... What?”

  “My leg’s broken. From the crash.”

  Eri glanced down and saw that the young lady’s right leg was badly twisted out of shape. It was indeed broken.

  “How were you even still fighting earlier?” he weakly countered, mind desperately seeking a solution. A wound like that was beyond even a health potion's ability to mend instantly.

  “I am Dulcina from House Elathion. I do not yield until the final breath,” she chuckled wearily. The tremors in the snow were getting closer. “What is your name, formidable stranger?”

  “Eri. No real last name.”

  Dulcina nodded. “Well, Eri. In case we don’t make it… House Elathion thanks you sincerely for your assistance… and apologises for your death.”

  The ground stopped moving.

  Standing before the pair, a grinning giant stood, face drenched with blood and wielding two crimson-edged axes.

  “Yo.” Gunther waved happily. “Forget about me?”