Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

Searing pain flashed behind Simon's eyeballs. Same as when using Identify on Kirkelas, the Ravenous Wanderer, and Armand Calloway. He ignored it – more important things to focus on.

Piers strode forward, taking in his surroundings with an air of bemusement. He wore an expression of detached interest as he examined the tavern-goers, as if he were visiting the local petting zoo. His gaze swept over Simon's table–

And kept going, moving on to the next group in line.

Simon released a deep internal sigh, the stress flowing out of him as his fraying nerves settled. He's not here for us. Piers doesn't know we're the ones who attacked the stronghold.

It was well-known that the son of Duke Helmund had made Caelryn City his stomping grounds. His arrival at this tavern was likely just a horrible coincidence. He wasn't here to hunt anyone down.

Although he still might. There was a distinct glimmer of madness blazing bright in his eyes – the face of a man who was just looking for an excuse.

"So this is the best you have to offer, hmm?" Piers shook his head sadly. "Today has been a regrettable procession of disappointments. I heard that a band of malcontents had assaulted some of my father's servants at Caelryn, so I journeyed here to help aid in his search...yet my labors were all for naught. The villains have vanished into the ether, with neither hide nor hair to be found. Seeking to raise my spirits, I sought out what was promised as the most luxurious establishment in the lower districts, but..."

He shrugged. "Suppose I only have myself to blame if it doesn't meet my standards. You people do what you can with what you have, and that in itself is admirable."

Piers leisurely sauntered over to a large table in the center of the tavern. The occupants made themselves scarce as he approached, making room for the Helmund scion and his retinue of guardsmen.

Simon committed everything he could about the nobleman to memory. His movements, the way he walked, which side he favored, potential blind spots. Wasn't much to go off of, but any small hint of information gleaned now could mean the difference between life and death later on.

It was a strange feeling, to analyze the man you would one day have to kill.

"No need to stop on my behalf," Piers announced, in a genial tone, spreading his arms wide. "The day is still young! Resume your merriment."

He didn't phrase it as an order, but the tavern-goers knew better. Their conversations abruptly restarted, erupting into a rowdy clamor tinged with traces of desperation. It was a twisted pantomime of festivities; all the energy, yet none of the joy.

Piers didn't mind. If anything, he found their reactions entertaining, his lips creeping up into a pleased smile.

His mood only faltered when several people near the front door tried sneaking outside. A harsh glare froze them in their tracks, sending them scurrying back to their tables like cornered rats.

Couldn't let the playthings go before he'd had his fun, after all.

Bastian and Cyna were fighting a losing battle against themselves, barely keeping their composure. Both of them had purposefully turned away from Piers – and good thing too, because if looks could kill, the nobleman would've been dead twenty times over. Cyna especially seemed on the verge of charging forth...even though she would be running into ten skilled soldiers and a man who could kill her with the ease of squashing a bug.

In contrast, Katarina appeared remarkably calm. Her stoic expression stood out within the tavern's deluge of heightened emotions, like the eye of a raging storm. Someone who hadn't known her for very long may have assumed that she wasn't worried.

Simon, on the other hand, saw a woman who would've leapt off a cliff if it would get her out of this room faster. He wasn't surprised when the Arcane Rogue sent him a frantic hand signal under the table. 'Plan?' she asked.

'Wait,' he signaled back. Caching Piers' attention would be a death sentence. Their only real option was to keep quiet and hope the storm passed them by. It shouldn't take long for the nobleman to get bored of bullying hapless commoners and leave for greener pastures.

Unless he decided to raise the stakes. If that happened, they'd just have to run for the hills and pray that Piers didn't give chase. Even if he hadn't been surrounded by a squadron of high-Level guardsmen, Simon wasn't remotely prepared to face him yet.

But I will be eventually, he reminded himself. That's the benefit of being a transmigrator – my growth is unparalleled. I can play the long game better than anyone else.

Still...it would feel like a wasted opportunity to merely sit here and do nothing.

Simon sent Kat another hand signal. 'Sin Scry. Wake me after 5-10 seconds.' The Skill put him under a sort of time dilation when used, letting him experience prolonged visions while only a brief period had passed in reality, so ten seconds should be more than enough to learn everything he needed to know.

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And aside from exposing its target's worst, most despicable crimes, Sin Scry also had a tendency to reveal useful intel in the process. Who knows? Maybe it would catch Piers monologuing about his dad's evil secret plans or something.

Katarina paused, then nodded. She would shake him from his trance if it went on for too long. Bastian or Cyna might notice, but ten seconds of torpor could be explained as him just spacing out for a bit.

Simon looked over at Piers, waiting for a moment where the nobleman was preoccupied. Sin Scry–

...

...

...

...

...

Air.

Simon remembered to breathe, gasping as his lungs refilled.

Sweat was pouring down his face. The room spun, blurring with sights and colors, a dreamscape of overpowering sensations. His skin felt electrified, like hot pokers were dancing on his nerve endings.

A table of anxious faces greeted him. "Are you alright?" Bastian asked, sounding so concerned that Simon couldn't tell if it was acting. "Katarina tried to rouse you, but you just...sat there, eyes blank. Seemed dead to the world for a good three minutes."

Three minutes. An innocuous statement that almost made Simon burst into laughter. His chest lanced with pain as his voice tried to crawl out of his throat, little daggers piercing him from within, wanting to laugh or scream or cry.

"He gets like this sometimes," Kat hurriedly added, covering for him as best she could. "Though it usually only lasts a few seconds. This time was longer."

Yes. It was.

So much longer.

So much more.

I can't.

The thought struck him like a thunderclap. I can't. I can't I can't I can't. I can't be here right now.

So he wouldn't be.

You're not here.

You're not here.

You're not here.

With the ruthless efficiency of a surgeon with a scalpel, Simon isolated his consciousness within his own mind.

He hadn't done this since his battle with the Ravenous Wanderer, as the aftereffects of severe dissociation were always grim, but he didn't care about that right now. Couldn't care about that right now.

You're not here.

You're not here.

The mantra began to overtake him. He let it.

You're not here. None of this is happening to you.

You're not here. This pain is not your own.

You're not here.

You're just looking in.

--

The human consciousness named Simon was at peace.

Like an observer from on high, he sat back, comforted by the fact that he was untouchable. While his flesh-and-blood vessel may have been subjected to Sin Scry's visions, an accelerated heart rate meant nothing in this palace of blissful solitude. The body itself was still teetering on the edge, but its sensations were detached, muted.

They belonged to someone else.

Five people were sitting near the consciousness. Katarina Cartier, Bastian Evergray, Cyna Noname, Tomas, and Edward. All of them were staring at the vessel with perturbed expressions – they couldn't understand how its demeanor had shifted so suddenly.

"Simon..." Katarina Cartier said, unable to hide her distress. "What did you see?"

Proof that I should've heeded Sin Scry's warning. The Skill had cautioned him, hadn't it? Right there in its Description from the very beginning. 'There is no cooldown limit, but...take care. Not all is meant to be known or seen.'

Well. Every mistake was a lesson, as they say.

It mattered not. He was safe now, shielded from the agony of awareness. In this sanctuary, what he'd seen was immaterial. No intrusive emotions could subvert his will here.

He was an existence governed by the tenets of cold logic and rationality.

Peering through his body's twin orbs of sight, Simon located the human named Piers Helmund. The nobleman was busy imbibing a glass of brandy that he clearly thought tasted like swill. He wasn't looking in their direction.

Up you go, the consciousness ordered, willing his body to stand up. He maneuvered his inert flesh like a remote-controlled automaton, expertly directing its legs to step forward, one-two, one-two. The walk cycle gradually put distance between him and his table.

Katarina called after him, whispering something in a hushed, urgent tone. Her words were examined, deemed superfluous, then filtered out before they ever reached Simon's sphere of critical thinking.

The vessel kept moving forward. Its steady gait was ordinary, unremarkable, like a placid ghost drifting aimlessly through the world. Nothing about him was designed to draw attention. One-two, one-two.

Despite being surrounded by handpicked soldiers, Piers Helmund was actually the first to notice as Simon drew closer. The nobleman eyed the approaching meat-body with a lazy, unconcerned gaze. "What are–"

That was all Piers managed to say before Demonic claws ripped his throat out.