Martial Demons Ascension

The forest was quiet again, save for the drip of blood pattering from broken bodies into damp earth. Mist still pressed heavy against the trees, the unnatural fog of the devil beast king's domain smothering the air.

While Cerys crouched over the corpses, wiping her spear and adjusting the way the bodies lay, as if cataloguing the kills, Rhyka did not waste a second. His golden eyes burned as he expanded his Martial Vision, threads of light racing outward through the fog.

The mist fought him, scattering the lines, blurring the edges. But he pushed harder, stretching his awareness until every nerve in his skull ached. And still,

That hollow remained.

The patch of nothing stayed fixed in the same place, untouched by his probing, a void in the web that refused to give up its shape. The beasts had bled and died outside of it. Cerys had fought outside of it. The void had not shifted.

It was still there. Waiting.

Rhyka cut his focus before the strain split his head in half. His gaze slid back to Cerys.

She was standing now, spear cleaned, eyes sharp as they flicked toward him. Her grin was faint, but her expression betrayed irritation at his silence.

Rhyka smirked, cold and dismissive. "You're pretty weak, aren't you? Very disappointing."

Her eyes narrowed, aggravated. For a second, her jaw tightened, her grip on the spear shaft flexing as if she wanted to ram it straight into his chest.

But then, her expression shifted.

The irritation smoothed into something more controlled, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Maybe so," she said, her voice almost light. "But you… somehow, your body's like a Rank 2 beast's. That's not training. That's something else."

Her eyes lingered on him, probing. "Your instincts, your senses, you dodged an ambush most Rank 3s wouldn't have survived. And that's not even mentioning how you tore one of them apart piece by piece."

The words were framed as praise. But Rhyka could hear it, the thin needle hidden in the honey. She wasn't congratulating him. She was digging, testing, trying to see what he would reveal.

His smirk widened, sharp and arrogant, but his tone was colder than ever.

"Of course I did. I'm the one who killed them. You were just here."

The air between them tightened.

Cerys's grin faltered for a beat before returning, thinner, her eyes glittering with unspoken annoyance. She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she turned sharply and began moving back toward the caravan, her boots crunching softly in the mist.

Rhyka watched her go, his golden gaze burning in the fog.

She was holding back. He was sure of it.

And worse, she was watching him just as closely as he was watching her.

Or at least attempting to

The mist clung to their clothes as they moved back toward the caravan, the metallic stink of blood following them like a shadow. Rhyka's long spear was still slick, dark drops pattering with every step. His shoulder ached faintly where the first hound had grazed him, but his stride was steady, eyes half-lidded in that practiced mask of arrogance.

Beside him, Cerys walked in silence at first, her expression unreadable.

Rhyka broke it with a smirk. "You know," he said casually, "if you gracefully prostrated yourself, kowtow, say, a hundred times, and called me 'Master,' I might consider giving you some pointers."

Cerys's head snapped toward him, incredulous. "What?"

"I mean," Rhyka continued, tone infuriatingly smooth, "with how sloppy your movements were, you clearly need the help. Lucky for you, I've got more than enough skill to spare."

Her jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with irritation but then, unbidden, a thought crept in.

His spearwork…

She'd been watching him the entire time. The precision of his thrusts, the speed of his pivots, the way he used the length of the weapon to control the fight. It was clean. Too clean. And yet he had switched to a spear this morning, as if it were nothing.

What if the spear isn't even his main weapon?

The possibility left a chill crawling down her spine. If he could fight like that with a weapon he didn't specialize in, then what would he look like with one he had mastered?

She didn't answer him. Just scoffed and looked away, quickening her pace.

When they reached the caravan, the camp had grown restless. The merchants were huddled close to their wagons, whispering nervously, while the four Rank 3s stood waiting. Selvara's sharp eyes scanned them immediately, narrowing at the blood on their weapons and the cuts on Rhyka's shoulder.

"You ran into something," she said flatly.

"Three Rank 3 beasts," Cerys replied, her voice clear.

That made all of them stiffen. Even Doran, who rarely reacted, raised his brows. "Three?"

"They ambushed us in the mist," Cerys continued, recounting in detail. "Fast. Smarter than normal. We held them off, killed all three." She glanced briefly at Rhyka, then back to the group. "He fought one alone. Spear through the eye, crushed its pelvis, tore it apart piece by piece before finishing it."

Kael let out a low whistle, his smirk fading into something closer to disbelief. "This kid?"

Selvara's gaze sharpened, shifting to Rhyka. Her eyes lingered on the smoothness of his skin, the calm in his expression, the faint smirk on his lips that looked completely at odds with the blood still drying on his clothes.

Cerys went on, her tone clipped but honest. "He dodged their ambush, too. Pure instincts. If he hadn't, I'd probably be dead. And the last two, he pierced one's heart, I finished the other. But he carried the fight."

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then Kael chuckled, shaking his head. "So the brat wasn't bluffing after all."

Doran grunted, folding his arms. His eyes remained locked on Rhyka, assessing, unreadable.

Selvara didn't speak. She only studied him longer, as if trying to peel back the layers of his arrogance to see what lay beneath.

Rhyka, for his part, only smirked wider, his chin lifting slightly.

"Of course I carried it," he said, his voice cool, mocking. "Didn't I say already? I'm better than all of you."

Cerys grit her teeth at his tone, but she didn't argue.

Because for the first time, even she couldn't deny it.

Not on the surface