The Immortal Demon (3)
A sinister hiss filled the air as a black mist surged forward.
This was no ordinary fog; it was a malevolent force capable of melting skin, festering muscles, rotting organs, and scrambling nerves—a veritable storm of curses.
A mass of curses, dozens in number, coalesced into a visible form, corroding the cave’s floor and walls as it rushed toward a lone human.
A deep hum resonated as a tattoo on the man’s shoulder began to glow—a protective sigil against curses.
Though the onslaught was a barrage of nearly a hundred curses, many were relatively harmless on their own. They caused diarrhea, itching, foul breath, and fatigue. The sigil easily dispelled these minor curses and even weakened the more potent ones.
A series of sharp cracks echoed through the air as the mist collided with the sigil’s power, shattering invisible barriers.
The demon, spewing the black mist, was taken aback by the sight of its curses breaking apart.
“An elf’s sigil? Those pointy-eared bastards swore never to aid humans. How did you get your hands on that?”
Dalen didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he drew his axe and charged forward.
With a thunderous crash, the cave floor shattered beneath his feet, propelling Dalen like an arrow through the air.
He made the bold choice to confront the demon’s curses head-on.
Despite the sigil dispelling many curses, the dark mist still managed to touch Dalen’s skin, leaving purple bruises and a bluish mold growing in the creases.
His iron-like muscles began to fester, and the curses seeped into his nerves, disrupting his superhuman senses.
Even with the sigil’s protection, the core curses of the black mist were deadly enough to kill an ordinary person.
While not as devastating as the witch’s curse that turned everything to ash, it was still a force that no ordinary body could withstand.
But Dalen’s body was far from ordinary.
His heart pounded fiercely, sending hot blood coursing through his veins.
The regenerative power of dragon’s blood kicked in, healing his injuries as quickly as they occurred.
The festering muscles regenerated stronger, and the mold withered under the intense heat.
Steam rose from Dalen’s body as the dragon’s blood surged through him, making him unstoppable, like a cannonball through smoke.
“Dragon’s blood…!” the demon exclaimed in disbelief, but Dalen merely smirked.
He had reached the demon’s face in an instant, raising his axe high.
“Are you done marveling?” he asked.
A blinding flash and a deafening roar followed as a bolt of lightning struck.
This was no ordinary strike. It was the culmination of countless battles and realizations—a lightning-infused blow that had once split the Telia Guildmaster in two and torn apart a demon with bare hands.
The demon’s formless body was crushed under the weight of the attack, and Dalen redefined the concept of his domain.
The power to manifest the impossible with sheer will and imagination—that was the essence of his domain.
“How can a mere weapon harm my formless body? I am beyond the reach of fists and blades!” the demon cried, cloaking itself in a red aura.
Its body had shrunk by a tenth, a consequence of its nature—growing with sacrifices but weakening with exertion.
“I must consume you here, even if it means using all my power!” the demon declared.
The space around it warped, and blood-red flames erupted from its hands.
“I am Arvor, the Immortal Demon, the dark star tree of the inverted heavens, master of twisted space and hellfire. I shall endure until the end of time—urk!”
Another lightning-infused sword strike shattered the demon’s misty form.
The demon writhed on the ground, groaning in pain.
Dalen approached, clenching his fists slowly.
His strength had surpassed its limits, manifesting as thunderous lightning strikes.
His night vision, too, had reached a critical point, allowing him to see through spells and mysteries.
Now, as his martial skills reached their peak, he pondered how the ancient armor combat techniques of the Empire’s former knight commander, Dehaman, would evolve.
He exhaled slowly, grasping the fragments of potential within his mind.
Armor combat required armor to be effective, but for Dalen, finding armor tougher than his own skin was no easy task.
To perfect his armor combat, he needed to forge his own armor from the materials at hand.
He peered into the realm beyond his imagination.
The foundation of that snowy mountain was the sky filled with thunder and the earth pulsing with dragon’s blood.
He couldn’t forge armor from the sky and earth, but by shifting his perspective, he saw other possibilities.
Flames, frost, and electricity danced near the cabin, intertwined in a mesmerizing display.
His D-rank spell skills had grown significantly since he first acquired them.
Dalen opened his half-closed eyes and raised his tightly clenched fist to eye level.
His calloused skin was as tough as steel, and his hide was tougher than any beast’s.
Upon this armor, forged from his immense vitality, he layered flames from his imagination.
“What is that?” the demon gasped, seeing the fiery armor covering Dalen’s arms and legs.
The demon retreated slowly. This was a battle it couldn’t win.
There was no need to fight. It could escape into a pocket dimension and ambush the warrior when he let his guard down.
Arvor, the Immortal Demon, discreetly opened a portal behind him, revealing a twisted void.
And then, the warrior vanished.
With a fiery punch, Dalen struck the demon’s side, sending it reeling.
The martial art, using spells as armor and weapon, could tear apart even a cursed, formless body.
With a powerful kick, he launched the demon into the air.
In an instant, Dalen was on the ceiling, descending like a lightning bolt, slamming the demon back to the ground with his fiery fist.
The relentless assault continued, shrinking the demon’s body and clouding its mind.
It had lost the will to counterattack with curses or other means. Its only option was to flee.
But even that was impossible.
The warrior’s fiery armor attacks flowed seamlessly, leaving no openings for escape.
“Wait! Just wait a moment—urk!”
Whenever the demon thought it saw an opening, a punch would land.
“Just a little more time—argh!”
Whenever it tried to gather its power, a shoulder would slam into it.
It was as if the warrior knew exactly what the demon was planning, how it intended to escape.
And indeed, he did.
Despite having the option of using lightning strikes, Dalen sought to master armor combat for a reason.
He had grown weary of the Immortal Demon’s tendency to flee at the slightest provocation, having witnessed its escape patterns countless times.
“Wa-wait—!”
“Shut up.”
“Urk!”
The one-sided beating continued for quite some time.
Dawn was approaching.
Even with his nearly superhuman stamina, Dalen was beginning to tire after hours of relentless combat.
At the end of it all.
“I-I surrender!”
Finally, the demon cried out in defeat.
“Haha, surrender. I surrender…”
The demon’s laughter was unhinged, its mind shattered and worn beyond repair.
It had even stopped using its basic magical powers, causing its amorphous body to twist and contort grotesquely.
Having exhausted all the power it had gained from its sacrifices, the demon had shrunk to a size that barely reached Dalen’s knees.
It sprawled at Dalen’s feet, arms and legs outstretched in a pitiful display.
Seeing this, Dalen slowly lowered his fist.
‘That should do it.’
Dalen thought to himself.
He had beaten the demon as if he intended to kill it, but that was never his true intention.
After all, an immortal demon couldn’t be killed by any means.
The reason Dalen had pummeled it so relentlessly was due to the conditions required to use the corrupted relic.
‘The Chains of Halman have surprisingly strict conditions for use.’
Once bound, the Chains of Halman exerted an absolute power that could subdue even a dragon.
However, to bind a target, one of two conditions had to be met.
The target had to be so critically injured that it couldn’t resist any interference.
Or, if that wasn’t possible, its will had to be broken to the point of being unable to resist.
Given the demon’s immortality, the first condition was impossible to achieve.
That left the second option.
Dalen’s relentless beating was intended to deplete the demon’s power and break its will to resist.
“Please, just spare me. Or kill me, if you must. Oh, gods, save me from this merciless violence…”
The demon’s contradictory plea to the gods was almost pitiful.
Dalen chuckled softly and unwrapped the chains from his wrist.
The chains, glowing with a subtle violet hue, seemed to move with a will of their own, slithering toward the demon.
The demon, its mind already mush, offered no resistance.
With a soft clinking sound, the chains wrapped around the demon’s shrunken form, glowing intensely as they sank into its amorphous skin.
Before long, Dalen felt a connection form between himself and the demon.
The chains had finally bound the demon’s essence, making it his servant.
“Take on a physical form,” Dalen commanded.
“Ugh.”
The demon’s body immediately shifted from its amorphous state to a tangible form.
Dalen nudged it with his foot, feeling a texture that was both soft and resilient, like a mix of cotton candy and a rubber ball.
“How did I fall to such a state… How…”
The demon seemed to finally grasp its predicament, pounding the ground in a tearless lament.
Dalen raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”
“Ugh…”
The demon didn’t respond, only continued its tearless sobbing.
Dalen scratched his chin.
Hmm, seems like I’ll need to teach it how to answer properly.
He discarded his tattered armor and donned a dark robe he found in the cave.
Now that he was dressed comfortably, he was ready. Dalen stretched his stiff shoulders and spoke.
“Hey, demon.”
“Ugh. To hear such insults from a mortal and be unable to retaliate, my god…”
“From now on, every time you say anything other than ‘Yes’ or ‘Master,’ you’ll get ten more hits. Got it?”
The demon looked up with a dazed expression and mumbled.
“Uh, yes?”
“That’s twenty hits, then.”
Dalen raised his fist.
A demon that doesn’t listen to its master needs to be disciplined promptly.
There was still about an hour until dawn, plenty of time for some training.
Lucia gazed out at the distant mountains. The sun was just cresting over the peaks.
They were supposed to meet Dalen at the crossroads at dawn, but he still hadn’t shown up.
‘Nothing’s gone wrong, right?’
Lucia rubbed the reins with her fingers. Sensing her anxiety, the horse lifted its head and neighed softly.
Just then.
“Hey, isn’t that Dalen?”
shouted Parn, the young mercenary.
Despite having lost one eye, the boy had remarkably sharp vision.
Lucia quickly turned her head, enhancing her sight with the power of her holy tattoos.
In the distance, she saw a large warrior approaching. He had sold off his armor, it seemed, wearing only a dark robe.
The sacred sword wrapped in cloth on his back and the magical dagger at his waist were unmistakable identifiers.
“Dalen!”
Lucia called out. Dalen, having already spotted them, waved his hand casually.
“Uh… but what’s that?”
Parn asked.
Lucia focused her enhanced vision further. She saw Dalen dragging something behind him.
A dark, lumpy mass bound with rope.
She thought he might have caught some wild animal, but as Dalen drew closer, her assumption shattered.
The dark mass, which she thought was dead, was alive and writhing.
It didn’t resemble any animal, more like a lump of clay molded into a vague shape.
And most tellingly, the ominous tremor and warning of holy power that always filled a paladin’s soul.
As she stepped back from the black mass being dragged like a sack, Lucia spoke with a sense of disbelief.
“Dalen, that can’t be…”
“It is.”
Dalen grinned.
He lifted the rope in front of him.
Dangling from it, the black mass let out a dying groan.
“M-Master… Yes, I understand… M-Master…”
Poking the incomprehensible creature with his finger, Dalen proudly declared.
“The immortal demon, Arbor.”
”…”
“As of today, it’s my slave.”
Lucia was at a loss for words.