Chapter 104: The Demon's Descent (Part 1)

Rain had fallen through the whole night. Ye ran woke early, sat at the edge of the bed, and listened to the soft hiss of rain tapping the broad leaves outside the window while he idly turned over the silver coin he had picked up the night before.

At first he had only glanced at it. Only after returning to the inn did he realize that the coin did not bear the faces of the gods or the earliest saints of humankind—it carried instead the image of a ferocious demon.

A demon coin. The thought alone made Ye ran’s chest tighten.

“Thud, thud,” came the knock.

He hurriedly dressed, straightened his bedding, and called, “Come in.”

Shali entered with a yawn, still in her sleep robe, her eyes heavy and blurred with drowsiness.
“Yeran, why are you up so early?”

“Look at this. I found it outside the Midnight Tavern last night.” He tossed the coin to her.

Shali yawned once, then, as she turned it over and over, stopped short. “A demon...”

“I already asked around,” Ye ran said. “A rabbitfolk dropped it at the Midnight Tavern. It means nothing on its own, but the fact that this coin now circulates in Ibozha says something.”

He poured her a cup of hot water.

Shali nodded faintly.

Ibozha is not under the gods’ authority, nor is it known as a demon-ruled frontier. Yet trade there has always used human currency; the easy acceptance of demon money means the demon race has gained a far greater foothold than anyone has noticed.

“I went out last night and found no demons,” Ye ran said, “but that only worries me more. If demon money is passing freely here, someone must have been managing things quietly for years. Among the great powers we know, at least one must be helping them in secret.”

“You’re right,” Shali replied, worried. “There must be a demon force here. But who? The Elven clans, ogre clans, and minotaurs are all at odds with the demons. None of them could handle human rules this well.”

Yeran gave a grim smile. “That’s exactly my fear. If one of the human factions is involved, things get far worse.”

He had suspects in mind, but he could not voice them. Any one of the three would make the room go cold with fear.

Then came hurried, light footsteps outside. Furuaya burst in, panting, then threw herself into his arms. When she lifted her face, her eyes were bloodshot and wet with tears.

“Furuaya, what happened...?”

He had no time to finish before her voice cut him off.
“Demonic aura.”

The aura was so dense it seemed almost tangible in the air. He had faced demons and members of the Hunter-God race before; he was hypersensitive to such currents, especially to the terrifying blend of many demon auras mixed together. He would never forget it once he had felt it. Furuaya sensed it even more keenly than he did.

“Shali, stay with Furuaya. I’m going to wake Sinclay and Xiaomeng.”

Yeran set Furuaya down and stepped out. As soon as he reached the door and shut it behind him, he grew cautious.

It was still before dawn. Lamps burned along the corridor, bright but hushed. Everyone was still asleep; even the front desk clerk had slumped at the counter. Yet at the doorway the demonic aura had condensed almost like a substance, thickening by the moment.

“Pang!”
Without warning, the inn’s front door flew open. The lock snapped in two under the pressure of that aura, crashing to the floor. A bleak, cold wind smelling of blood rushed in, and the dozing clerk at the desk jerked awake.

“Pa—!”
A forked flash of lightning cut through the rain-dark night, and in the torrent at the entrance stood a towering figure, broad-shouldered, hat-brim low, black coat hanging loose over knotted cords of muscle.

He stood a head and more above ordinary men, and from him rolled a blood-soaked aura that made the skin crawl, as if he had been born into slaughter itself.

Behind him stood nearly a hundred others, all hoods and gray coats, each one reeking of fresh violence. The sight made the clerk’s hair stand on end.

The broad-shouldered man did not wait for her to speak. He strode in, lifted off his wide hat and tore at his coat, revealing a broad, angular face made dreadfully memorable by a deep scar running from left cheek across nose to mouth. His smile was crooked and dark.

He flicked his hand; roughly a third of the gray-clad men peeled away, and in silence he spoke briefly with the clerk, who handed him a ring of keys. Heavy footsteps sounded along the corridor. The gray figures in unison opened their own doors and disappeared into assigned rooms. The square-faced man’s steps did not slow at all.

“Ivan,” Shali breathed.

At the mere touch of that aura her face hardened. Had she retained all her mind-force, she would not have feared him; he is a demon’s hound with a name that makes blood freeze. But her remaining energy was almost gone—hardly enough for a half-orc, much less Ivan.

Yeran’s fear deepened. Ivan was infamous across the Hunter-God race, spoken of alongside Shifan the God-slaying Demon as one who delights in atrocity.

Until then Ye had only heard of him; now, feeling that nearly solidified stench of blood around the man, it felt as if his scalp would split. He glanced back. Even Sinclay, usually fearless, trembled. Furuaya trembled too.

Mengqi had already slipped out the back to seek help from Bannar, chieftain of the minotaurs. No one knew when he would return.

Yeran grit his teeth and quietly drew sword and blade.

“Step—”
“Zh—”
“Pang—”

He had no time to prepare. Ivan was far more ferocious than he had imagined. One step from the broad man glided over the polished floor in a predatory slide. He clamped his five fingers into a fist. Without even a visible wind-up, Ivan drove it, and the wall beside Ye ran with it and crashed down with a shuddering roar.

“Split up!” Ye ran said.

At the critical instant he moved first, flipping backward to slip past the incoming wind of the punch. He grabbed Furuaya from beneath the bedclothes and, with a burst of strength, rammed through the wall shared with the next room. Sinclay and Shali together shoved open the wall to the left.

“Wh-who are they—”
“Who in heaven’s name—?”

Two rooms answered with startled cries. A middle-aged man who had been sleeping nearby nearly jumped from his bed. When he saw a boy pounding down both walls in his panic, he nearly lost his mind from shock.

“Pang! Pang!”

The boy did not pause. He collapsed two more walls in succession, cutting straight through three rooms in a rush. One arm held a little girl, the other flung back a pale jade-hilted short sword. The middle-aged man opened his mouth to shout again, then froze at sight of the tall square-faced man ahead.

That square-faced man just looked at him and bared his teeth. With one sharp inhaling bite he caught the incoming short sword that Ye had thrown. It cracked like iron reduced to filings in his mouth. He spat it out, and ahead came two wet, blunt sounds.

A sheet of blood sprayed from Ye ran’s back, and with iron shards driving inside him, he instantly became a lump of blood-red ruin.

Time seemed to stop at that moment. The man who had been running for his life suddenly froze, set Furuaya down, turned, and watched as his eyes slowly turned violet.