Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

"No."

Simon's voice was resolute. He waited patiently as the shock caught up to Katarina, converting her surprise into fury. "No?" she repeated. "What do you mean no?"

"We're not killing him," the transmigrator declared. "Find a different target."

Across the street, a sharp-eyed man was sizing up the local passerby. His gaunt face marked him as a victim of chronic malnutrition, and his fingers twitched with nervous energy, as if psyching himself up for an imminent burst of action.

A thief. One who lived and died by his trade. Every failed robbery added to the growling of his stomach and the thinning of his flesh.

Katarina pulled Simon around by the shoulder, turning him to face her. "You used Identify and Sin Scry on him?" she asked.

"Correct."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then explain yourself to me. Because I'd say that condemning someone to starvation is deserving of punishment."

Simon suppressed a frown. While he understood where she was coming from, that wasn't going to make the following discussion any less awkward.

For a moment he was tempted to invent some excuse to smooth things over, but promptly rejected the notion. He'd already lied to her about Armand; wouldn't be good to get into the habit.

"We disagree on the fundamental premise of your argument," he began. "Uriel didn't condemn you."

Katarina visibly swallowed her anger. "That man stole food from my father when we were at our lowest. We should have died. Almost did. And he knew that when he took from us."

"True. Doesn't make him worthy of death."

"That man–"

"Uriel," Simon interjected. "They all have names. Even the ones we hate."

"Uriel nearly killed my father and I. If we hadn't chanced upon a spot of good fortune shortly after he disappeared our last rations, neither of us would be here today. Now, admittedly, he's no Armand. He didn't hold knives to our throats."

She jabbed an accusing finger at Simon. "But I know you aren't one to overlook the consequences of people's actions. When someone is without means, taking what little they have can be tantamount to murdering them. You told that Waystation guard as much when you severed his finger."

"Notice how it was just a finger," the transmigrator pointed out. "And that was with Irving being far worse. He acted with malice, purposefully targeting those who couldn't fight back – and he loved every second of it."

"What else would it have taken for you to kill him?"

"Not much," Simon confessed. "Irving was borderline. Uriel, however, isn't even close. He doesn't enjoy hurting others. I didn't sense anything like that during Sin Scry."

The visions had been something of a dry palette cleanser. After Armand's nightmare-inducing Sin Scry – like submerging his mind in a nuclear waste dump – Uriel's dispassionate self-interest felt oddly refreshing. The thief hardly wept bloody tears over the people he'd robbed, but outside of the basic relief of getting to put food in his belly, he also hadn't been especially proud of it.

This was simply how he survived.

"He endangered you," Simon continued. "I get it. It's normal to want to get even. But I've made my decision, and you aren't swaying it."

"Thought you needed EXP," Katarina muttered.

"I do. Badly." Itch, itch. "If you have any other suggestions on who to target next, I'm all ears."

"That's a surprising amount of trust – considering you've opposed my very first choice."

Yeah, she's pissed. Katarina's fiery tone had waned to embers, but there was still a steely, harsh glint in her eyes. She despised Uriel, and she'd craved this vengeance. If Simon wasn't careful, this incident could spawn a minor grudge.

He also didn't have the slightest idea how to make people not hold grudges against him. His time in school and foster care had largely been the opposite. If inspiring enmity was a competition, he would've qualified for the Olympics. Nor did he have the charm necessary to turn this into some sort of teachable moment, where everyone came out smiling and feeling great about themselves.

Bereft of options, and with irritation gnawing at his thoughts – and shoulders – Simon opted to rip off the band-aid.

"I won't kill a man just to satisfy your resentment," he flatly told her. "If you believe that Uriel should die for wanting to feed himself, then I suppose I'll be Fell Harvesting half the city next. Yourself included. The two of you aren't that different."

Katarina jerked back as if she'd been slapped.

Simon expected her to snap at him, venting her frustrations. After being denied the revenge that she'd clearly been dreaming of for years...well, he wouldn't have begrudged her a few pointed remarks.

Instead, she turned away, averting her gaze as she leaned against a nearby wall. In a heartbeat, all the fight had gone out of her.

...I was wondering when this elephant would show up.

This wasn't because of what he'd said – mostly. The comparison to Uriel did sting, probably. But Simon recognized that look in her eyes, and it wasn't new. It had flickered there once before.

After she'd shot a slaver with an arrow to the skull.

'When?' Katarina thought, her feelings plain on her face. 'When did I grow so cavalier at the prospect of killing people?'

Relia the slaver. Armand the serial murderer. Two extremely justifiable kills. Their unambiguous nature had let her push down her reservations. As long as the targets stayed acceptable, she wouldn't have to worry about the path she'd chosen to tread.

Yet pushed-down thoughts never kept quiet forever. They always took their due eventually, demanding payment in full – and with interest.

Katarina didn't speak. It wasn't for a lack of effort. Several times she opened her mouth, ready to apologize, or argue in her defense, or who knows what. Nothing came out.

Excellent work, Simon. You've made the problem worse.

And there was still room to dig deeper. If she started asking him how he handled the mental burden of cutting lives short, he doubted that 'it doesn't really bother me' would be an appropriate or well-received answer.

"What other targets did you have in mind?" Simon threw out. "The day is young. We've got plenty of time to find an alternative."

"I..." Katarina hesitated. "I'm not sure if I should–"

"Being wrong once isn't an indictment on who you are. I still trust your judgement, Kat."

Slowly, her posture relaxed. Not entirely, but enough for now.

"Alright," she said. "Though...to simplify things for the both of us, let's not limit you to just one option."

--

She hadn't been kidding. This was a veritable EXP buffet.

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Simon watched as another man walked up to the front entrance of a small, sturdy-looking building. Potential Target #11 was tall and bulky, scars lining his body like farewell letters written by his enemies. He had a face that might have been handsome if it wasn't filled with so much contemptuous disdain for the world.

The woman guarding the entrance – named Clarice, formerly dubbed Potential Target #2 – was just as roughspun as the man. They stopped for a moment to converse, trading barbs and greetings with casual ease. Neither seemed particularly fond of the other, but there was an undercurrent of camaraderie to their exchange.

Simon didn't waste the moment. Identify. Sin Scry.

Katarina nudged him as soon as the visions ended. "Your verdict?" she whispered.

"That's eleven for eleven." Simon resisted the urge to let out a low whistle; the noise would've drawn undue attention to them. "I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

The man now known as Vargas walked confidently into the building. Its front door slammed shut the instant he'd stepped inside, shutting tight with the sound of numerous locks clicking into place. Clarice resumed her silent vigil as she presided over the building's one and only entrance.

Inside, a group of unrepentant murderers were gathering to meet.

They weren't on the same level as Armand Calloway – not figuratively or mathematically. Each member of their band of brigands was much weaker than him, and they'd killed less people, at least on an individual basis.

It was still easy to decide that all of them had earned a visit from the reaper. Muggings, maimings, murder...their rap sheets went on and on. They even took a twisted sense of pride in their craft, luxuriating in the feeling of superiority it gave them over most commonfolk.

Their fate was set in stone. At this point, it wasn't a matter of morality, but of logistics:

How many of them could Simon slay in one night?

No single person would grant nearly as much EXP as Armand had. To receive adequate nourishment, Simon would need to sample a full course of the buffet – and in one sitting. When the others learned that their comrades had been slain, they would strengthen their defenses and be on the lookout for assassins, so coming back for seconds may not be feasible.

Their Estimated Levels range from 10 to 13, he thought. I'm Level 18. My unique Skills and bonus stats from Fell Harvest also give me an advantage, so I feel very confident taking any of them one-on-one. If Kat participates as well, then it's no contest.

Main issues are location and travel time. Unlikely that they all sleep in this building. They'll be spread out. Could track two or three of them home, but no more than that.

Unless I interrogate whoever I go for first. Make them lead me to the next bandit? Then interrogate that one too. Like connect-the-dots. Travel, interrogate, kill, repeat until they're all dead.

But if I get false info–

"In the interest of honesty," Katarina whispered, "you should know that I also have a vendetta against these people. They once attempted to coerce me into joining them. When I balked at the...initiation that would be required of me, they took umbrage."

"I remember some of that from when I used Sin Scry on you. They wanted you to murder an innocent, right?"

"Yes, and I..."

She trailed off, staring at him. "From what you've described, your Skill depicts the lowest depths our souls have sunk to. Why would it reveal a time when I refused to kill?"

"Because you were briefly tempted by the offer. According to Sin Scry, that momentary weakness ranked among your all-time worst offenses."

'It didn't have much material to choose from', were the words that went unspoken – yet loudly heard.

Katarina fell silent again. Simon let her process things, his attention returning to the bandits' hideout as Potential Target #12 arrived.

The next would-be villain was a young man who appeared no older than twenty. He looked far more nervous than the others, his gaze shifting and his posture crooked, as if he was a recent hire stumbling through their first day on the job. The woman guarding the entrance sneered at him, obviously looking forward to hazing the new guy.

Identify. Sin Scry.

Simon nodded to himself as the visions faded. Another one for the chopping block–

"Henry?"

The name burst from Katarina's mouth in a hushed utterance. Her eyes were wide as she gaped at Target #12 with horror. "What is he...no. He didn't."

"You know him?" Simon asked.

"For years. We weren't dear companions or anything like that, but we were friendly enough. He seemed a decent fellow – which is more than could be said for many in Caelryn. I enjoyed his company."

A note of dismay entered her tone. "If he's here, then that means he's agreed to their terms. A blood price paid for a seat at the bandits' table. One life snuffed out at their request."

She glanced over at Simon. "What did Sin Scry show you? Is he merely considering their offer, or has he already carried out the deed?"

The transmigrator hesitated to respond – which was all the answer she needed. Katarina clenched her fists for just a moment, letting the tension build before releasing it in a long, tired sigh.

"So be it." She sounded...defeated, as if one of her few nostalgic memories of the city had been poisoned. "That's twelve of them that have arrived. When I last left Caelryn, their numbers did not exceed eleven, so Henry should be the final member. How do you intend to cull them, Simon?"

Already jumping straight to the planning phase? Not that he minded. Simon was anxious to sweep some garbage off the streets.

He just needed to figure out how. Fighting them head-on was much too risky – he and Kat would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Hunting them down one-by-one was an option, but it came with a high risk of partial failure. If the bandits caught on halfway through, then some would escape and squirrel themselves away, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Simon peered closer, scrutinizing the hideout. "No windows?" he asked.

"None. The walls and ceiling are densely fortified as well – virtually impenetrable unless you're a warrior of exceptional strength. The only way inside is the door you see there, which they guard fiercely."

...Oh. Oooooh.

Simon barely held in his laughter. Is it really that easy? Well, I guess this wouldn't work without Channel Essence, but wow. Fortified walls and no windows. They've served themselves up on a silver platter.

Granted, there was only a slim chance that this method would actually yield EXP...yet he wanted to try it anyway. The opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up.

Time to test a hypothesis. "Kat, can you lead me to the nearest black market?" A savage grin spread up his face. "Or just a market. Either will do."