Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

Observing Armand for the rest of the day proved to be an easy task. Despite his status as a longtime resident of Caelryn City, the man didn't seem to possess any concept of self-preservation, never checking his surroundings for danger. Muggers could've snatched the clothes off his back, and he probably wouldn't have noticed or cared.

His silent vigil was only interrupted by the passage of time. After hours had gone by, when dusk was just starting to fall, Calloway abruptly stood up. Nary a flicker of emotion on his face, he trudged down the crowded streets with sullen, plodding steps, like a rock drifting aimlessly through shifting waters.

Armand led Simon and Katarina to a tiny hovel several streets over. While it wasn't a terrible place to live by Caelryn standards, the domicile obviously hadn't been cared for in the slightest. Dirt and grime covered its exterior, and its one window was scarcely more than shattered glass. The front door didn't even close shut all the way.

This wasn't a home – it was a pit stop. A place of respite that facilitated the transformation from the Armand of day to the Armand of night.

No, Simon thought, correcting himself. Not a transformation into something greater. Just a cruel, pathetic man inflicting his miserable vices on the unsuspecting. He is less than nothing. A living ghost. None will mourn his passing, nor will they celebrate it.

He paused. Except for the EXP he'll give me. I'll certainly celebrate that.

The plan was simple: assassinate Armand Calloway. While it was entirely possible to win a direct fight, that was their backup option if stealth failed them. The element of surprise would once again be their strongest asset.

They would wait until nightfall, then ambush him when he least expected it, striking before he even knew he was dead. His life would be extinguished silently and without fanfare.

A fitting end.

According to Katarina, magic couldn't reverse brain death – so if they targeted his vital areas right away, that was that. Even if Armand turned out to be a spellcaster, he couldn't exactly heal himself from a gaping hole in his head.

Ideally, they'd catch the man while he slumbered inside his hovel. Wasn't like he could go prowling the streets every night. Serial killers needed their beauty sleep too.

Otherwise, they'd tail him as he went searching for fresh prey. Hunt the hunter. That would be somewhat trickier, as Simon wanted to avoid using his Demonic abilities in open view. The last thing they needed was rumors of a new Demon in town spreading throughout Caelryn.

Alternatively–

"Are you sure this is wise?" Katarina whispered.

Simon glanced over at her, keeping Armand's house in his peripheral vision. "You're referring to...?"

"This plan of ours. It is fraught with peril."

"Getting cold feet?"

"I'm thinking logically," she muttered. "Masterstroke ambushes are all well and good, but no strategy is foolproof. You need to consider what happens if things go awry – and I don't like our chances if we have to fight the madman in a straight confrontation. Victory isn't at all guaranteed."

"We beat the Fell Beast."

"We shouldn't have, and you're well-aware of that." Katarina rubbed her hands together, warding off the cold and expelling nervous energy. "Just think it would be safer to come back later. We've already learned where he resides. What's the harm in increasing our Levels first?"

Simon turned his full gaze onto her. "People are going to die if we wait."

She grimaced. "Then I suppose it's my turn to be the callous one, because...let them. What good would it do for his victims if we were slain as well? We aren't responsible for everyone in the world, Simon."

He almost laughed at the absurd irony of her statement. Transmigrators were, in fact, responsible for the world.

An insistent, painful itch started crawling over his shoulders. Scratching, biting, gnawing. The feeling was spurred on by all-crushing weight pressing down on him; the looming apocalypse timer, invisible and ever-present. Every day, every minute, every second wasted was a moment where Valtia inched closer to destruction.

Simon welcomed the sensations like old friends. He knew from experience that the itch and the weight could only be lessened by one thing.

Progress.

"I have to ignore Helmund for now," he seethed, "as we aren't strong enough to fight him. You convinced me to ignore the slaving industry for much the same reason. But this...creature?" He jabbed a finger at Armand's house. "This abomination?"

Like a falling guillotine, Simon inclined his head. "He's within our power. No more averting my eyes. I refuse to let him escape."

Katarina's posture sagged with defeat. "The slaver band, the Fell Beast, and now this." A sardonic chuckle rose up from her chest. "You're fearless, aren't you?"

"No."

The understated severity of his response caught her off-guard. Simon carefully adjusted his emotions before speaking further. "I'm not fearless. I get scared just like anyone else."

He'd made sure of that.

**

15 Years Prior

"Simon! SIMON!"

The young boy stood unmoving as three people rushed around him. Two of them were his parents, dashing forward at full sprint, their faces frozen in rictuses of horror. The third person was an unknown man running in the opposite direction, a knife held in his hand.

Seconds ago, it had been pressed against Simon's neck.

His father swept him into a tight hug, clutching as if the boy might vanish at any moment. His mother – noting that his father had the emotional support angle covered – got in front of them, standing like an unyielding bulwark in case the assailant returned.

"PSYCHO PIECE OF SHIT!" Red-faced, she bellowed at the fleeing man. Her expression was so murderous that if it were a gun, he would've been shot dead twenty times over. "THIS ISN'T OVER! I KNOW YOUR FACE, AND I'M A GODDAMN PROSECUTOR! YOU'LL ROT IN A CELL! YOU WON'T EVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AG–"

"Mom?"

The sound of her son's inquisitive tone was like a flipped switch. She instantly whirled around, kneeling down to join her husband in a warm, bone-crushing squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Simon! I'm so sorry! We only took our eyes away for a second!" She was starting to babble. "This is a public mall, we didn't think, why could, why didn't anyone do anything?! Need to have a word with the head of security here and–"

"Mom." Simon patted her on the back – he'd seen people on TV do that to comfort family – and pushed his lips up into an encouraging smile. "I'm okay." He didn't like it when his mom and dad got upset. Everything was nicer when they were happy.

Both of his parents let go, closely scrutinizing him. "No injuries," his father stated, with an exhalation of relief. "Should still take you to the hospital. Just to be safe."

His father's voice sounded calm, but his hands trembled as he spoke. Simon wasn't sure why. If he hadn't been injured, then what was wrong?

Maybe this will help? "He didn't hurt me. Wasn't going to."

Angry veins bulged in his mother's forehead, a telltale sign that she would be visited by migraines later. "That man had a knife, Simon."

"But he wasn't gonna use it."

Both of his parents hesitated. They exchanged glances between each other. Simon mentally settled in and got comfy – that look usually happened before a big talk.

"Simon," his father began, saying his name almost like a question. "Why do you think that man wouldn't have hurt you?"

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The boy shrugged. "Cause he was scared."

His hands were trembling more than yours are now.

It had taken a lot of courage for the mugger to reveal his knife – courage that promptly evaporated when he looked down and saw not an ounce of fear in his supposed hostage. As if he'd been anticipating a different reaction from Simon, and the one he got instead was...

Unnerving.

"He was frightened," Simon reasoned, trying hard to put his thoughts into words, "which means he wouldn't have hurt me. People don't do things they're afraid of."

Another shared, knowing look between his parents. Simon let out a sigh. What had he said wrong this time?

"Were you scared?" his mother suddenly asked.

"Not really." He knew how people were supposed to act when taken hostage by bad guys, he'd seen it watching movies – but the people in those movies always ended up fine anyway. Saved by heroes, same as today.

And even if the man had wanted to harm him, it wouldn't have changed how Simon felt very much. Fear was a quick thing. Like a cute fluttering bird, zipping in and out of vision before disappearing, never staying long enough to leave an impression.

With great care, his mother leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. Her gaze was overflowing with equal amounts of love and concern. When she spoke, it was in a slow, methodical voice; his parents had learned that he was receptive to arguments that were explained in detail.

"Simon...maybe you're right. That man may have been afraid to hurt you. Deep inside, he might've known it was a terrible idea."

She shuddered, as if imagining a horrible sight. "However, you need to realize something important about people – they don't always behave the way they should. A person can act against their own self-interest."

Simon didn't quite get what 'self-interest' was, but he nodded along, attempting to understand her meaning. He hated not understanding people. "So, that man could've hurt me? People can do things they're afraid of?"

"Yes. For many reasons."

Simon frowned. From what he knew of fear, it was decidedly unpleasant. Why subject themselves to that? "Doesn't make sense."

"People often don't." His mother paused, looking over to where the mall security guards were finally hurrying towards them, like the last horse crossing the finish line. "If you want, we can discuss it more later. Just remember what we've said for now. Please."

The boy nodded. He took his parents' teachings to heart, carving them into his worldview.

Their family spent the next few hours dealing with mall security and the police, making tedious statements and settling legalities. Eventually, enough was enough, exhaustion rearing its ugly head. The three of them gathered their things and went home.

Later that afternoon, Simon jumped off the roof of their second-story house.

His parents found him soon after, drawn by the sound of his pained screaming. He'd tried to stay quiet – knowing that he was going to be in big trouble if they found him – but that was difficult when he was suffering from a fractured leg. The pile of leaves at the bottom had done little to cushion his fall.

"Simon? SIMON!" In what seemed like a rerun of earlier, his parents dashed up to him...though this time their horror had been partially replaced with exasperation. "Why?! Just, why?!"

Despite the pain, he peered up at them with glittering eyes. "Sorry. Had to."

His mother shook her head in growing disbelief. "You did this on purpose?"

"Didn't think I would get hurt." Simon gestured down at the leaf pile, glaring at the crunched foliage like it had betrayed him. "That's why I put this here. People on TV don't get hurt when they fall into leaves."

Neither of his parents knew how to respond to that.

"It's okay," he assured, his face beaming like the sun. "Was worth it. Needed to test."

"You, you run tests with your science kit," his father mumbled. He paled as he examined Simon's swollen leg. "That's why we bought it for Christmas, remem–"

"Mom. Dad. I get it now."

His parents didn't exchange a knowing look this time. Both of their gazes were transfixed on him, as if seeing their son in a new light.

"I kept wondering," Simon continued, his mouth splitting wider than ever before. "Why would anyone do something they were really scared of? People seem miserable when they're terrified. Just didn't make sense."

Every inch of him was shivering. He could feel his heartbeat in his mouth, sparks of electricity dancing on his skin.

"But then I felt it." Joyful laughter burst out of him. "When I looked over the edge of the roof, I started sweating, like tiny zaps all over me – and when I jumped, my body got so hot, so...fast! Like I could run ten laps around the yard! Like I'm lighting up on the inside!"

"Like you feel alive," his mother whispered.

"Yeah! That!" He met their gaze. "That's why people do things they're afraid of! It's FUN!"

Simon regretted his words the instant they came out of his mouth.

He hated not understanding people. He hated making his parents upset.

And both things he hated most were combined in the look they gave him now.

**

Present Day

Ah, the follies of youth.

A wistful, nostalgic, and bittersweet smile spread across Simon's face. That was one story he never intended to share with others. Far too embarrassing.

'Implicitly confuses fear with excitement' had been the psychologist's official diagnosis. It was a symptom commonly associated with thrill seekers, adrenaline junkies, and Darwin Award winners. Worried that their son might fail to live past his 20s, his parents had pushed him to learn how to regulate and understand his emotions more...

Carefully.

Their efforts were a success. Took a couple years, but he ultimately got the hang of things.

Overall, that day with the mugger and the rooftop ended up being a surprisingly beneficial experience. It taught Simon to identify and embrace his emotions, elevating them to a higher status than before. His parents had been immensely proud with his progress – and his reduced propensity for risk-taking.

Although...perhaps Valtia was causing him to backslide? He'd kinda rushed headfirst into grave danger on multiple occasions now. Some of those situations had been unavoidable, but the rest were just him refusing to take his foot off the gas.

Then again, would I be any better-off if I'd been more careful? A cautious Simon wouldn't have acquired his Demonic abilities, rescued Katarina and Gerold, or saved Springwater – heck, he wouldn't have even survived Stuart. Calculated recklessness had earned him gain after gain.

It might not last. Maybe one day he would make a fatal error, and that would be the end of things. After all, the line between genius and idiocy was only defined by success, and he couldn't win forever.

Don't need to win forever, he reminded himself. Just long enough to make a difference. The candle that burns quickest shines brightest, and a one-year phenomenon will change the world infinitely more than a lifetime of mediocrity.

He knew that. He agreed with it. It was why he'd transmigrated. To shake Valtia from its self-destructive inertia, to tear its society up by the roots – and to slay the untouchable monsters roaming its streets.

After tonight, there would be one less.