Martial Demons Ascension

The first gray light of dawn bled across the mountain ridges when the sound of movement stirred through the mercenary quarters. Bedrolls shifted, boots scraped against the wooden floor, muted voices rose as men and women stretched stiff muscles and gathered gear. The smell of boiled grain and bitter tea wafted faintly from the caravan's cookfires outside.

Rhyka was the last to emerge from his roll.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his neck as though he had simply overslept. But as soon as his golden eyes flicked toward the group gathered at the far side of the room, his composure slipped for just a fraction of a second.

The four Rank 3 mercenaries were already awake, already assembled. Selvara, Cerys, Kael, and Doran sat across from Nero, their cloaks draped neatly around their shoulders, their posture relaxed but alert. They were murmuring among themselves in low tones, the kind of conversation that carried the weight of familiarity.

Rhyka's chest tightened. Images from the night before tried to creep back into his mind, golden lines of Martial Vision mapping obscene movements, faint moans echoing too clearly in his sharpened hearing. His face flushed before he could stop it.

He forced himself to move, sliding out of his roll with deliberate calm. He didn't look at the four mercenaries. Not directly. Instead, he crossed the room quickly and dropped into the empty space beside Nero, mask of indifference plastered across his face.

Nero noticed immediately.

His gray eyes flicked sideways, taking in the faint color in Rhyka's cheeks, the stiffness in his jaw. He didn't say anything, not yet. But his lips curled faintly at the edge, the tiniest smirk threatening to form before he swallowed it back and leaned forward.

The conversation shifted naturally to him.

"As I was saying," Nero's voice was smooth, calm, carrying easily over the quiet. "The first leg of the journey will be straightforward. We'll descend along the northern ridge, cut across the stone veins, and pass the river basin by the second day."

He gestured idly at the rough map spread across the floor between them, traced in charcoal lines and faded ink. His finger tapped the edge of a mountain pass, then slid eastward.

"That will take us as far as the threshold," he continued. "By then, we'll be in the outer reaches of the devil beast king's domain. That's where the real danger begins."

The mercenaries nodded slightly, their expressions sober.

Nero's tone remained even, but his words sharpened. "Even at the edges of his territory, the beasts are Rank 3 more often than not. Strong, cunning, territorial. A single mistake will cost us lives." His eyes narrowed faintly, gray irises catching the morning light. "And that's the outskirts."

He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Going deeper…" He exhaled softly, his tone colder now. "The thought alone should terrify anyone with sense. The king's presence warps the land itself. Rank 4 beasts are drawn to him like moths to flame. And at the center"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Everyone present understood. The Rank 5 devil beast, the monster that ruled the mountain, was beyond their current strength. Its domain was expanding steadily, its presence pressing against the village like a slow-rolling storm. To step directly into that domain would be suicide.

Even Rhyka, who smirked at most warnings, felt a faint chill run through him. He could see beasts in his Martial Vision sometimes, flickers of intent and predatory hunger bleeding into the web of golden lines. Rank 3 beasts were already dangerous. To face them constantly, with stronger ones lurking behind, was a different reality entirely.

Still, he kept his face cool, his smirk faint. He couldn't show hesitation. Not here.

Nero folded the map away neatly, his movements sharp. "For now, we focus on the first half of the journey. Keep your eyes sharp, conserve your strength, and do not," his gaze flicked meaningfully across the mercenaries, then briefly to Rhyka, "underestimate anything you see."

Silence followed.

The fire outside cracked, the sound faint through the walls. Boots shifted as the mercenaries adjusted their gear. The day was beginning, and with it, the road into danger.

Rhyka exhaled slowly, forcing the flush from his face. Whatever strange awkwardness had haunted him from the night before, whatever images lingered, they had no place now. The road ahead demanded all of him.

And in the golden web of his Martial Vision, he could already see the possibilities branching, waiting.

By midday the caravan rolled past the last of the markers that the village had set up years ago, rough wooden posts capped with faint enchantments, simple barriers designed to deter lesser beasts from drawing close. They weren't strong, but they'd been enough to give the villagers a bubble of safety for generations.

Once they passed those posts, the air felt heavier. The trees loomed taller, their trunks dark and warped from years of unchecked mana. The ground bore claw marks and deep tracks that no normal animal could have left. Even the wind shifted, colder, sharper, carrying scents of iron and musk.

They were no longer in the villagers' territory.

The mercenaries halted the wagons and formed a loose semicircle around Nero and Rhyka. Selvara spread the map across a flat stone while Kael and Cerys leaned against nearby trunks, arms crossed, their eyes flicking toward the tree line as if half-distracted. Doran simply stood, arms folded, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the fireless camp.

Nero and Rhyka sat opposite them.

From the very first words, the mercenaries' tone was clear.

"You two need to understand something," Selvara began, her voice smooth but cutting. "Out here, hesitation or arrogance gets people killed. You're strong, no doubt, but strength isn't enough. Discipline keeps you alive."

Cerys snorted, her grin sharp. "What she means is, don't go rushing ahead thinking you'll save the day. I've seen kids with too much talent end up gutted in less than a heartbeat." Her eyes flicked to Rhyka, lingering pointedly.

Kael added his own barb, quieter but edged. "Listen. Follow orders. Don't improvise unless someone tells you to. We've been in these mountains longer than you've been alive. Don't make us bury you in them."

Doran's voice was last, heavy as stone. "If you think you know better than us, don't."

The dismissal was absolute. Not openly insulting, but layered with the kind of patronizing tone veterans used when speaking to rookies they didn't trust. Their eyes kept sliding back to Rhyka in particular, as if Nero's nobility and reputation still bought him some credit, while the boy with no core was nothing more than a liability.

Rhyka felt his jaw tighten. His golden eyes flicked downward for a moment, avoiding their stares. Even after last night, when his Martial Vision had shown him far too much, he still couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes now.

He smirked faintly instead, forcing the mask back into place.

"If I make a decision," he said coolly, "it'll probably be the better one."

The words hung in the air like a blade unsheathed.

Selvara's brow arched faintly. Cerys let out a low whistle. Kael's smirk sharpened, his fingers tapping lightly against his knife. Doran's silence deepened, the air around him heavier than before.

But before the tension could stretch further, Nero's voice cut through, smooth as ever.

"He's right."

All four mercenaries turned to him, surprise flashing in their expressions.

Nero leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed but his words firm. "Rhyka isn't like other fighters. He sees things differently. And when he moves, it's not by accident. If he says he's making a call, you'd be wise to consider it."

His gray eyes flicked toward Rhyka, then back to the mercenaries. "That's why I'm traveling with him. Not just because he's strong, but because he's someone who makes winning decisions."

The silence that followed wasn't mocking this time. It was heavier, more thoughtful, though still colored with skepticism.

Selvara's lips pressed together. Cerys clicked her tongue but didn't laugh. Kael's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a more calculating stare. Even Doran gave the faintest grunt, unreadable but not dismissive.

Rhyka finally let himself breathe, his smirk steady. He still couldn't look them straight in the eye, but inside, he marked the shift. Small as it was, it mattered.

They didn't believe yet. But they were starting to wonder.