Martial Demons Ascension

The rattling of wheels grew louder, then lanternlight spilled across the frozen path The caravan rolled into view, a small train of carriages, heavy wagons laden with goods, and the long necked draft beasts pulling them, their breath steaming in the night air The merchants rode close, cloaks drawn tight, their jeweled rings and polished buckles glinting in the firelight Wealthy, nervous, out of place on a mountain road

But what drew Rhyka's attention wasn't them

Four distinct auras pressed outward from the front of the caravan, sharp and undeniable They weren't just stronger than the students or villagers, these were presences that distorted the air itself The kind of weight that forced a body to recognize it

Rank 3

Three stood at mid stage, solid and well balanced, their cores steady and disciplined The fourth… heavier, sharper, carrying an authority the others lacked Peak stage, a fighter on the edge of breaking through again

Rhyka's golden eyes flickered faintly with Martial Vision He didn't just sense them, he saw them Lines of force and intent flowing through every step they took, their movements efficient and dangerous in ways no villager or student could replicate

They were mercenaries, no doubt, elite guards

And to his surprise, when the leader stepped forward, his expression wasn't hard or suspicious It was warm

The peak stage fighter was a tall man with a scar running down one cheek, his hair streaked with gray His cloak shifted in the wind as he gave Rhyka and Nero a broad, practiced smile, his hand lifting in greeting

"Well met," the man said, his voice carrying easily over the crunch of the caravan wheels "You must be the ones we were told about The noble son and…" His eyes flicked briefly to Rhyka, golden irises glinting under the moonlight "…the prodigy of fists I've heard much already"

Rhyka's brow twitched faintly He had expected suspicion A test Maybe even mockery Not a friendly welcome His smirk didn't fade, but inside, a part of him felt strangely disarmed

Behind the leader, the other three stepped out in turn, two girls and two boys in total One girl carried herself with the calm grace of a water mage, her black hair tied neatly in a braid The other leaned casually against the caravan, a spear slung across her shoulder, her auburn hair tied back in a messy tail One of the boys was lean, quick eyed, hands always twitching near the knives at his belt The last was broader, heavier, his presence grounded like stone

All of them, Rank 3 All of them seasoned

And all of them, to his further surprise, were… friendly

The braided girl inclined her head politely The auburn haired spear wielder gave a sharp grin and a nod The knife user smirked faintly, as though sizing Rhyka up but finding no reason to sneer The broad one even lifted a hand in casual greeting

It was disorienting

He'd braced himself for hostility, for the scrutiny he'd faced every day of his life in the village Instead, these were people who had already accepted him, because Emmet and Nero had vouched for his strength, because to them, Rank 3 wasn't about the shape of your core or the spells you cast It was about what you could do

And Rhyka had already proven what he could do

Nero, as expected, didn't linger on pleasantries He returned greetings lightly, his noble demeanor intact, offering measured nods and polite acknowledgements before turning his attention toward the rest of the caravan He spoke briefly with the merchants, exchanging words with the guards, his tone cool but never dismissive

Rhyka stood a step behind, arms folded, golden eyes calm but sharp as he returned the greetings with a small tilt of his head The warmth still felt strange, but he didn't let it show

Inside, though, he marked the moment

For the first time, strangers had looked at him, a boy with no core, no blessing, and instead of mockery or pity, had smiled

Rhyka wasn't visibly shocked, but he filed it away Their behavior was worth noting These weren't villagers puffing up their chests, nor students scrambling to prove themselves They were professionals, confident enough in their own strength that they didn't need to posture

After the leader's friendly greeting, the group of Rank 3s moved closer, stepping out of the dim lantern glow of the caravan to stand in front of the three waiting figures The wind pressed against their cloaks, the faint crunch of snow punctuating the silence before one of them spoke

The scarred leader raised a hand slightly, gesturing for the others "Introduce yourselves, better to know the ones you'll march beside"

The first was the girl with the long black braid She stepped forward gracefully, her pale hands folding neatly in front of her Her voice was clear, calm, and precise

"My name is Selvara," she said "Water affinity, mid Rank 3" Her dark eyes flicked briefly to Nero, then to Rhyka, and she gave the smallest of nods "I handle control, defense, don't hesitate to call if you need cover"

Her tone was professional, not cold The kind of introduction born of someone who'd done this dozens of times before

Next came the auburn haired girl with the spear slung across her back She grinned wide, tilting her chin up with an air that bordered on cocky but never tipped over into arrogance

"Cerys," she said simply "Wind affinity, mid Rank 3 I like fighting up close, and I don't scare easy" She leaned on her spear as if to punctuate the point, her grin sharpening "Try to keep up"

Rhyka's golden eyes flicked over her, her stance, her grip, the way her weight shifted unconsciously to her back leg She was quick, aggressive

The knife user went next He was lean, wiry, with sharp features and restless hands that seemed incapable of staying still Even as he spoke, one finger tapped against the hilt of a blade, as though reminding himself it was there

"Kael," he said His voice was quiet but carried a certain edge, like someone who didn't waste words "Fire affinity, mid Rank 3 If I say duck, you duck"

His eyes lingered on Rhyka a moment longer than necessary Not hostile, just measuring The way a hunter sizes up prey and decides whether it's worth chasing

Finally, the broad shouldered man at the back stepped forward His presence was heavier, grounded, as though his sheer weight pressed into the earth His hair was cropped short, his jaw square, his eyes steady

"Doran," he rumbled "Earth affinity, peak Rank 3" His voice was deep, gravelly, but not unkind "I'll be taking point when the road gets rough Stick close, and you'll live"

He gave a single nod, final and deliberate, before stepping back to stand beside the others

Four fighters, different personalities, different roles, but already meshed together like the pieces of a seasoned squad

Rhyka gave them a once over, golden eyes flicking faintly with Martial Vision Their bodies carried the truth of their words, Selvara's balance tuned for control, Cerys' twitching eagerness, Kael's taut precision, Doran's anchored strength He didn't respond right away, but the faint smirk on his lips said enough

These weren't villagers These weren't classmates

These were the kind of people he would soon have to measure himself against