Martial Demons Ascension

When the door closed and silence reclaimed the dojo, Rhyka let out a long breath For the first time that evening, his guarded expression slipped His lips curled into a small, unrestrained smile

The meeting had gone well Better than he could have asked for Nero had made his position clear, others would not be leaving with them, at least not now, and Rhyka found himself more than satisfied with that The thought of dragging along the rest of the class, with their petty rivalries, shallow grudges, and endless whispers, was laughable He had no interest in shepherding weaklings out into the real world

This journey, whatever it became, was his

But that didn't mean he was blind

He leaned back against the door, golden eyes glinting in the lantern light as he mulled over Nero's words about the devil beasts His smile faded into something harder, sharper He had never fought one Not directly And yet, thanks to the Martial Vision, he understood enough about combat to grasp the danger

Humans who reached the same rank as a beast could often claim victory in a duel, skill, weapons, strategy, all gave them an edge over raw instinct But that rule blurred the higher one climbed At Rank 3, the playing field shifted A beast's body was stronger, its instincts sharper, its resilience monstrous The humans who fought them had to match that strength with equally overwhelming skill or specialized magic

And here, in the mountains, the average devil beast wasn't weak

They were Rank 3 by default

Because the mountain itself was ruled

The Rank 5 beast, the so called "king" of the region, had established a domain that bled into the land itself Every creature beneath it grew stronger, sharper, more dangerous, as if its very presence seeped into their blood A flock of lesser beasts under such a lord wasn't just dangerous, it was a nightmare

Rhyka's fingers drummed against the wood of the door Nero had traveled through that Alone

And the noble had survived

It hadn't been easy, though Nero himself admitted as much, and Emmet had hinted at the truth earlier To cross the range without being torn apart, Nero had moved at a methodical crawl

Three months

That was how long it had taken him to make it across to the far side and find reinforcements

Three months of constant vigilance Moving only when shadows hid his presence Concealing his aura until it was almost nonexistent Resting in shallow caves or beneath thick roots, eating dried rations, drinking melted snow, never once lowering his guard

Three months of watching the fog of a Rank 5's domain, knowing that even a misstep could draw predators of Rank 3 strength out of the trees

Rhyka imagined it, Nero weaving through the mountains, every step measured, his glass magic woven into traps to cover his retreat, his eyes scanning the horizon for the faintest shift The arrogance he carried now wasn't hollow, it had been forged in that slow, grueling march

And it explained why the caravan had not arrived yet

The Rank 5's growing influence made passage suicidal Merchants, guards, even veteran adventurers would think twice before challenging such territory

Rhyka's smirk returned faintly

He had no experience against devils, but soon enough, that would change If Nero was serious about subjugating the beast when he returned, then Rhyka would be there And when that happened,

Rhyka slid the door closed behind him and stepped into the night

The air was cool, sharp, and carried the faint smell of pine drifting down from the higher ridges The village itself was quiet at this hour, most homes already dim, their lanterns extinguished, the last sounds of conversation fading into the wind For anyone else, it would have been an ordinary mountain night

But not for him

Rhyka's boots crunched softly against stone as he walked out past the dojo His golden eyes flickered faintly, Martial Vision stirring beneath his skin like a second set of senses eager to awaken He didn't stop until he reached one of the taller outcroppings at the village edge, where the ground fell away into the vast open drop of the mountainside

With one fluid motion, he climbed Fingers dug into cracks of stone, feet pressing into ledges smaller than a fist, his body moving with a predator's grace until he perched high above the village The wind tore at his hair, snapping strands loose from the tied ponytail, but his balance never wavered

He stood there for a long moment, letting the world breathe around him

Then, with a steady exhale, he opened his Martial Vision fully

Golden light burned in his eyes, the mountain range unfurling before him like a vast, shifting tapestry He could see it, not in the way normal sight worked, but as a world alive with lines of intent, movement, and energy Every roof in the village glowed faintly with the presence of its inhabitants Every flick of movement, a bird darting between trees, a fox padding silently across stone, traced a line across his perception

It was overwhelming

His chest tightened with the weight of so much information The farther he looked, the harder it became to parse From this height, the entire village was laid bare, every shift of life illuminated by Martial Vision, and beyond it the mountain itself stretched on and on in threads of motion and power

Rhyka forced himself to focus To narrow

He drew his breath steady, threading his perception into something finer, trying to push it beyond the walls of the village, down the spine of the massive peak that towered beneath him Nearly fifty thousand feet of jagged slopes, sheer cliffs, and endless ridges spilled downward into shadow

For a moment, he felt he might actually succeed He could sense it, the heartbeat of the mountain itself, the pulse of unseen things moving far below His golden eyes strained, burning faintly as he pushed the Vision to its edge

And then, everything stopped

At first it was like a wall, a haze that abruptly cut his perception short But the longer he stared, the clearer it became

A mist

Thick, roiling, a disgusting burnt orange that blotted out the golden light of Martial Vision It wasn't natural fog It churned like smoke, and within it were stains, dark, infectious looking blotches, spreading and shrinking like sores across the mist's surface

Rhyka's stomach tightened The sight was revolting, but worse was the feeling that came with it The mist wasn't just a barrier It rejected his perception Where Martial Vision reached for truth, the haze pushed back with corruption

It was the domain

The suffocating imprint of the Rank 5 devil beast, spilling across the mountain like a disease, devouring everything beneath it

Rhyka's jaw clenched as he pulled back, sweat beading at his temple Even at this distance, the mist's presence was oppressive, its weight pressing against his senses like a hand trying to smother him

He exhaled sharply, golden light dimming from his eyes The village was calm, but beyond it, down the slopes, the mountain was already claimed

And he knew, sooner or later, he'd have to step into that mist