Death Heir’s Devouring System

Just to be sure, Azrael placed a hand over their chests. No heartbeat. Strange, judging by their condition, it didn't seem like they'd fallen to any attack. It was as if they had simply… aged to death.

'So sleeping in these houses caused you to age faster,' he mused, stroking his chin.

The houses themselves weren't monsters; at least he didn't feel them giving off any kind of Corruption. If he had to guess, this was the power of the King. After all, if one were to remember that before, the knights had been searching for more recruits, they would have been forced to search in the houses for any hiding people. So they just made it so that if one were to sleep in their own house, they would die of old age.

'Pointless, in a way,' Azrael thought. 'They were desperate for more hands. Yet killed them… Maybe the King decided if his people refused to obey, it was better for them to die.'

He wasn't a king or a leader, so he struggled to understand why the King of the Ruined Knight would think like that.

"Well, Corruption does cause unexplainable things," he muttered, getting up to the roof once more.

Once reuniting with the Chosen, he found Isolde and spared her a glance. The girl looked even in a worse state, her whole body trembling. Lower lip bleeding where she'd bitten down hard just to stay awake and resist the crushing pressure.

There was no need to check on the advancing monsters. Isolde's state told him all he needed to know.

"Let's go!" Seraphina roared, urging the Chosen to break into silent sprints.

Luckily, she had been correct. Now with the army gone, there was no sign of any hostility in the area. The Chosen were able to move in the streets undisturbed.

Of course, that didn't mean Azrael would allow himself to relax. He always kept one eye on his surroundings while the other was on Victor's face. Since the man's Inborn Trait worked like a radar for danger, the moment his lips curved into a smile, Azrael would know that trouble was beaming over the horizon.

'Useful ability,' Azrael thought, eyeing up his system. He was certain his own odds of survival were the highest. As the Heir of Death, he carried both Purity and Corruption within him. That alone made him more dangerous than any other Marked—able to unleash greater power for longer than most could dream.

Corruption Progression: [0/100]

He felt conflicted looking at his Corruption. It was at zero thanks to Seraphina's ability to somehow cleanse him. Each time he required her help, she could have questioned him and his powers, yet she hadn't.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that if it wasn't for her, he would have lost himself to madness long ago. Without a doubt, she was the most useful one among the group. If anyone were to survive the Rift after him, he'd choose her first. Isolde and Victor came next, tied.

This judgment wasn't based on feelings or emotions—it was instinct, carved into him long ago. He measured the worth of everyone around him. Who was dead weight, fit only to be bait? Who might prove useful later? Those, he would try to keep alive if possible.

Just when he was finishing the evaluation of the squad, every hair on his body stood on end.

Victor's eyes gleamed. An unnatural smile spread over his face.

"Danger!" Azrael shouted immediately, knowing something dire was coming.

Since he had been the one to shout the warning, everybody listened. Halting their steps, starting to survey the surroundings, ready to fight to the death.

'Where is it?' He thought bitterly. Each time he cast a glance at Victor's smile, it seemed to get wider.

Without Victor's trait, Azrael wouldn't have sensed a thing. His instincts were quiet. His body was calm. They were being stalked by something that had the ability to evade his sharpened senses.

Very few beings could accomplish that feat.

'Is it another Lost Soul?' He wondered, putting a hand over his face. Experiencing being skinned once was enough for a lifetime; he didn't want to experience something like that again.

The winds stilled, seconds passed slowly, blurring into minutes.

Just as some began to doubt Azrael's words, an emotionless voice echoed from the south, catching them by surprise.

"How did you know we were here?"

Instinctively, Azrael called forth his scythe, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white. Hearing that voice once had been enough. He would never forget it.

Thandor. The only one in these cursed lands stronger than Raven.

Seeing that there was no point in keeping his existence secret anymore, he stepped forward, emerging out of the mist.

The weight of his Radiant Proven aura crashed over the Chosen. Causing their knees to buckle, hands to tremble, and eyes to widen in panic.

The group, never having faced such overwhelming power before, was forced to stagger back.

Even Azrael felt his life was in danger.

'I really killed someone on his level? The more I think about it, the more absurd it sounds.'

Thandor's blue eyes surveyed the Marked, judging them in tense silence.

After a moment, his lips parted.

"Be not afraid."

Despite his words, the edge in his eyes didn't soften.

"I could kill you all, but there is not much point in doing so."

Momentarily, his eyes drifted to the cathedral in the far distance. He had spent so much time in the damned Rift trying to reach it and find the King. Now the path forward was open to him.

"I'm only here to take revenge for Raven."

Hearing the words, the Marked couldn't help but whisper among themselves. Raven was Radiant Proven—an existence that was untouchable to any Marked, no matter how strong. Now Thandor was claiming that she had been killed by one of their group?

Ridiculous! Impossible!

Yet something began to take root in their minds… Doubt.

Hadn't one of their own rescued Isolde from Raven's grip? One that managed to reach Cleansed Purity Rank unnaturally fast, rivaling their angel?

One by one, their eyes settled on Azrael.

His stoic expression didn't falter under the stares, which seemed to multiply with each passing second. Internally, he was in debate.

'Troublesome,' he cursed. 'A Rook monster finding us would have been much better.'

His eyes surveyed the group of Chosen.

'I could try to put the blame on Isolde… But she is too valuable, even in her state, to sacrifice—not to mention Seraphina would become hostile. Victor's ability to sense danger is too precious to lose so easily.'

His gaze shifted to the group's leader, Seraphina. She remained calm in the face of danger and held a firm command over the Marked. There was no doubt she could defeat the Death Knight, even if it meant sacrificing most of those who followed her lead.

'Everyone has their role to fill. There are monsters about to descend into the lands, killing us all. There's no time left for hesitation.'

Taking a step forward, he met Seraphina's eyes briefly.

"Kill the boss." He ordered.

Before anyone could hurl any accusations, he stepped forward out of his own will, bearing Thandor's full aura with an unfazed expression.

"I killed her," he said, his voice cold. "So what?"