The knight, a woman named Lysa, half-drew her sword. "You insult our house, River! Don't blame us for being bold! Our young master is a genius. When he awakens, he'll surpass even your precious Naide."
Jaedan burst into laughter, his eyes gleaming with defiance. "A genius? He's never faced a real opponent. I slew C-rank monsters at sixteen. What has Daemon done besides tormenting peasants? And raping innocent girls?"
Erwan took a step forward, his armor creaking. "You talk too much, River. If you want a duel with our young master, name the time and place. But don't slander his honor behind his back like a coward."
Jaedan's knights closed in, hands on their weapons. Torren, Jaedan's right-hand man, a bearded veteran, murmured, "Young master, stay calm. A brawl here would be reckless."
Jaedan ignored the warning, unhooking the Misi-Genebig lance from his back. The runic steel tip glinted in the pale moonlight. "No need for a duel, Torren. If Daemon's so great, where is he? Dead in that cave, no doubt, crushed by his own arrogance."
Lysa spat on the ground. "You'll regret those words soon enough." She drew her sword.
Like everyone else.
Jaedan opened his mouth to retort, but a low rumble shook the earth. The cave before them vibrated, cracks zigzagging across its facade. Stone blocks collapsed, raising a cloud of dust. An inhuman, guttural roar echoed from the depths.
"What's happening!?" Jaedan shouted, stepping back, his lance pointed at the entrance.
"Young master!" Torren rushed to his side, sword drawn. "A cave-in! Something's gone wrong in there."
Erwan paled, staring at the cave. "The young master… Daemon's in there!"
Jaedan, despite his disdain, felt a twinge of worry. He turned to Lysa. "Your genius is probably in pieces under those rocks or trapped in the portal. Quite unfortunate. Young Master Indivar perished due to his arrogance."
Lysa clenched her fists, tears in her eyes. "You're lying! He's alive!"
Jaedan ignored her, pivoting to his knights. "Torren, take ten men. Start clearing the entrance. If there's a chance Daemon's alive, we'll get him out. Dead or alive."
He didn't like Daemon, but he was a knight. And every knight, noble or not, should help others.
Torren nodded, barking orders. Jaedan's knights set to work, lifting stone blocks with their bare hands.
Indivar's knights, initially frozen, joined the effort, Torren and Lysa pushing boulders with fierce determination. Dust clung to their armor, their grunts of exertion filling the air.
Jaedan, lance in hand, watched the scene, his mind racing.
"Get out of there, bastard," he muttered. "Show me what your Blood Lotus is really worth."
...
Thirty minutes before the dungeon collapse,
Daemon Leen staggered through the cave's depths, his boots slipping on a floor slick with blood and viscera. The metallic stench of carnage saturated the air. Before him, the ice ogre boss, a three-meter mountain of muscle, wielded a mace studded with jagged frost spikes. Its pale blue, cracked skin oozed a viscous fluid.
Its eyes, two white orbs, fixed on Daemon with raw fury. The fight had dragged on too long. Daemon's potions were depleted. He'd downed his last strength vial, his muscles burning with effort. Pain, numbed by the poison he'd injected, returned in waves, each movement reopening gashes on his arms and thigh.
The ogre charged, its mace crashing down with a force that fractured the ground. Daemon barely dodged, the wind of the blow whipping his face. He countered, plunging his dagger into the ogre's flank. The blade sank in, tearing through frozen flesh.
Thick, almost black blood spurted, splattering his tattered armor. The ogre roared, swinging a fist the size of a boulder. Daemon tried to block with his forearm, but the impact shattered his ribs. A sharp crack echoed in his chest, followed by an explosion of pain. He spat a mouthful of blood, his lungs wheezing with each breath. His legs buckled, but he forced himself to stand.
Daemon seized an opening. He leaped, driving his dagger into the ogre's left eye. The blade pierced the cornea, releasing a gush of ocular fluid mixed with blood.
Groooooaaahhh
The ogre howled, shaking its head, its hands clawing at its face. Pus dripped from the ruined socket, staining its fur. Daemon landed heavily, his chest throbbing with pain. He had no time left. Groaning, he spotted a stone door at the room's end.
"It's in this room!"
He ran, each step driving shards of broken bone into his muscles. The ogre, blinded on one side, roared and swung its mace. The weapon struck Daemon in the back, hurling him through the half-open door. He crashed inside, his shoulder cracking against the floor.
Blood gushed from his mouth, splattering the stones. His broken ribs grated against each other, every breath wrenching a muffled groan.
"Kuhh-Shit… I… I'm gonna… die… Fuck—"
A rumble shook the cave. The ogre bellowed, and distant growls echoed. Reinforcements were coming. Daemon, half-conscious, staggered to his feet.
Was it adrenaline, the poison, or fear of death?
He didn't know. His vision, blurred by sweat and blood, fixed on a glint at the room's far end. A sword.
The Khaibet. Embedded in a skeleton's sternum on a stone throne, the weapon was black, veined with gold, dark chains floating around its hilt as if animated by an unseen force.
The room glittered with treasures: high-grade mana stones piled in mounds, chests overflowing with gems and gold. But Daemon's eyes were only for the sword.
He lurched forward, tripping over scattered skulls. Behind him, the ice ogre forced the door, tearing it from its hinges. Smaller ogres, equally ferocious, leaped inside, their rusty axes sharp enough to tear him apart.
Daemon reached the throne, his hand stretching for the Khaibet. An invisible force repelled his fingers, crushing pressure twisting his wrist. A voice thundered in his mind:
"You are unworthy!"
Daemon gritted his teeth, blood dripping from his lips.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he roared, his voice hoarse.
"I don't have the Indivar bloodline, so what? Before Raven, Eden wielded it, and he wasn't of that line either, but he was worthy?!"
He screamed in his mind, his eyes bloodshot. Death was too close for this bullshit.
He spat a bloody gob on the skeleton.
"If you think I'll die because of your tantrums, go fuck yourself, Nefertoum! You're already dead! Give me that damn sword!"
His nails tore against the hilt, blood streaming from his fingers. The black chains coiled around his arm, slicing his skin, tearing chunks of flesh.
"Aahhhh Fuck—That hurts like hell—Damn it!"
Daemon screamed, his eyes blazing blood-red. With a primal cry, he gripped the Khaibet and yanked. The blade tore from the sternum with a crack of bone, cartilage shards flying around him.
The chains tightened, ripping his muscles to the bone. Blood gushed, soaking his arm, but he held on. He slammed the sword into the ground, the hilt vibrating under his palm.
*Blood Lotus*