A technique designed to annihilate evil.

My master had described the principles, but the technique itself was my own creation, born from his words.

It was an Aura cultivation method tailored for a single purpose: to kill Demonkin.

I watched the creature before me.

“Gaaaaarrrgh!”

The bat-winged Demonkin shrieked, clawing at the arrow protruding from its neck. 

Flames, impossibly, erupted from the wound, fouling the air with the stench of burning flesh. Yet through it all, another scent bloomed.

Faint, clean, and unmistakable.

Camellias.

The effect was staggering. Far more potent than I had anticipated.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll slaughter you!” the Demonkin howled, its voice cracking with agony.

One arrow hadn’t crippled it, but the wound was severe. The power came from the Aura cultivation method my master had taught me, though my understanding of it had been incomplete.

“You certainly learned the technique by sight,” he had told me. “It seems your talent wasn’t enough to grasp the imagery behind it. Either that, or you simply lacked the time.”

He was right. Before my regression, my training in the Demonic Realm had been brutally short. I’d been little more than a hunting dog then, grasping at any power I could find.

It would have been a miracle if I had mastered every nuance.

And until he’d explained it, I’d never known that Aura cultivation techniques were built upon something as abstract as imagery.

Aura cultivation. It was the breathing method every knight learned, the foundation of their power. Its forms were countless, from third-rate exercises sold in dusty market stalls to the secret arts of ducal houses like Praha.

Yet their users never questioned the principles.

Why would they? Since one didn’t need to understand the source of their power to grow stronger, they felt no curiosity.

The number of knights who reached the rank of Aura Expert was a mere handful. A Master was a single grain of sand on a vast shore, and a Grand Master was but a speck of dust in the wind.

And that was the paradox. Without that understanding, true mastery was impossible.

I had overlooked that simple truth.

Imagery, my master had explained, is everything one feels in the moment an Aura cultivation technique is created. Some craft their art while watching snowflakes drift from the sky. Others gaze upon the unyielding earth.

“I created my technique while watching a camellia flower bloom upon rotten ground—a flower that blossoms with defiant purity, drawing its strength from all that is foul. When I saw that, I knew I had found my path.”

So that was the source of the scent. Every time I used my master’s method, the air carried the subtle fragrance of camellias. Not ostentatious, but blooming with the quiet strength of a wildflower on the roadside.

“You bastard! Where are you!” the bat Demonkin roared, its eyes scanning the gloom.

I drew my bowstring taut.

A low whistle filled the air as I infused the arrowhead with Aura.

The creature was already flagging from its fight with the Grand Duke. Better still, my first arrow had been a surprise, and the pain was still blinding it.

But it would recover soon. I had to end this.

If I drag this out, the Grand Duke will die.

Mihaila was keeping him stable, pouring her divine power into his failing body, but it was a temporary measure. I had to get him out of this Demonic Realm and to a healer, and fast.

“The man is surprisingly high-maintenance,” I muttered, feeling the Aura pool at the tip of my arrow.

It was an Aura steeped in the Demonic Realm’s influence.

It felt viscous, clinging to me with a sludgy, unpleasant energy that pulsed from my very heart. A wave of nausea rose with it, but within that corruption, the faint scent of camellias was just enough to steady me.

I exhaled a long, slow breath.

“There you are!” The creature spotted me and charged.

I held my ground, bow steady, not moving an inch.

A subtle crackle resonated within me. The energy dwelling in me is not purely demonic.

It was a seed of pure Aura, nested within the demonic energy. A noble camellia, taking root in rot, destined to blossom with purity.

As the camellia broke through the shell of demonic energy, my Aura flared.

FWOOSH!

“So this was it.”

I watched the light surge, using the demonic energy as its soil.

Then, as the Demonkin shrieked its final war cry, I calmly released the bowstring.

“Die!”

My own technique, forged to destroy Demonkin, surged toward its target.

The arrow didn’t just fly; it tore through the air with a deafening roar, unleashing a vortex of power and a blinding flash of light.

“GAAAAAHH!”

The bat Demonkin was thrown backward by the impact. A moment later, a gaping hole erupted in its abdomen, painting the gray sky with a crimson spray.

The Demonkin’s corpse slammed into the ground with a wet thud. Silence fell, heavy and complete. In its midst, only the faint scent of camellia blossoms announced the battle’s end.

* * *

Paul watched the confrontation with a dazed expression.

Is he even human?

He had sent a Demonkin flying with a single arrow—a creature the Grand Duke himself had failed to defeat. It was hard to believe they were the same species.

He couldn’t begin to fathom how that bastard, a mere archer, had won.

Fuck. Isn’t that cheating?

They called him the second coming of the Divine Archer, but at this point, wasn’t he practically a new Grand Master? And that Demonkin had been on a completely different level from the others…

And all I could manage was stand here!

Paul bit his lip, his fists clenched in frustration.

Louis Berg, Lancelot, even the other members of the Special Task Force… every one of them had joined the fight. They had bought time, contributed something.

He, on the other hand, had been frozen in place.

Dammit… Dammit all!

He had once dreamed of being a hero like them, of fighting evil and earning the people’s applause. So why was he standing here, paralyzed by fear? And worse, why was he now seen as an enemy by these very heroes?

I have to run.

If he stayed, he would die. Once they returned to the North, Louis Berg would kill him and everyone else involved in this incident.

He knew Louis’s temperament. And with the Grand Duke hovering on the brink of death, all authority in the family would fall to him.

Lady Lea is already wrapped around his finger.

If they were weak, he might have fought. But after seeing that display? He had no choice but to flee.

Right. To hell with being a hero.

He wasn’t a child anymore. It was far more important to survive as a wealthy pig than to die a fairytale hero.

Paul began to back away, a shadow melting into other shadows.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Divine Archer clicked his tongue as he watched the twitching form of his own opponent.

“Damn thing’s tenacious.”

It seemed his disciple had already handled his end of things. A master couldn’t very well be outdone by his student.

And I need to check on the ice brat’s condition.

He had felt it during his fight with the oafish ogre—an unmistakable dip in the flow of energy. The Grand Duke’s life force had nearly guttered out. If left alone, he would die soon.

They weren’t close, but the man was his disciple’s future father-in-law. That was reason enough to care.

The Divine Archer glanced at the High Elixir in his coat and steadied his breath. He’d paid a handsome price for the potion, but it was cheaper than a man’s life. And even if it weren’t, the ice brat would surely find a way to repay him.

“Alright,” the Divine Archer muttered, drawing his bowstring one last time and aiming at the ogre, Solamio. “Time for you to die.”

With a sharp crack, the arrow struck Solamio square in the brow, and the colossal frame crashed to the ground.

The demonic energy he had been sensing scattered into nothing.

“Is it dead?” the Divine Archer murmured.

Solamio remained motionless.

“Aagh… This is abuse of the elderly.”

Patting his aching back, he turned and headed for his disciple.

“Father!”

The scene awaiting him resembled a funeral. The Grand Duke’s daughter was wailing over her father’s body, surrounded by grim-faced knights. His disciple was watching over them all with a complex expression.

“You look worried,” the Divine Archer said, his voice dry.

In their talks, Louis had sworn he wouldn’t become the ice brat’s son-in-law. But judging by the look on his face now, he was ready to lay down his life for that girl, let alone his heart.

The Divine Archer snorted and shook his head.

Young people these days. They can never be honest with themselves.

“Step aside,” he said to the knights.

They hesitated, but when they saw the Divine Archer, they parted without a word.

“Hmph. The young fellow’s already flirting with death,” he muttered, approaching Lea. He pulled the High Elixir from his coat. “Would you move for a moment?”

“Waaaaah!”

“Tsk. Your father is still alive. Stop your worrying and move. This should be enough to keep him breathing.”

“R-really?!” Lea’s head shot up.

“Yes.”

The Divine Archer nodded and tipped the High Elixir to the Grand Duke’s lips.

As the liquid flowed from the vial, color returned to the Grand Duke’s pale face, and his breathing evened out.

“There.” The Divine Archer stood, acting as if it were nothing.

Lea burst into fresh tears, this time of relief.

Louis bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“For what? I did it expecting to be compensated.”

“I will give you whatever you ask. I intended to repay you regardless.”

“Forget it. What kind of master takes payment from his own disciple? Anyway, you took down that creature. Quite impressive.”

“It was thanks to your Aura cultivation technique, Master.”

“…It seems you’ve broken through a wall.” The Divine Archer nodded, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

To grasp so much from so little… he wondered if the word ‘genius’ had been coined for people like this. “For now, let’s go back and talk. We still have to deal with the other nobles, but we must regroup first.”

“Yes, let’s—”

Just as Louis nodded, a primal chill swept over the clearing, colder than any winter wind.

The Divine Archer and Louis spun around as one, their eyes fixed on the source of the feeling.

A voice, deep and grating as a glacier scouring stone, echoed through the Demonic Realm.

“…Dead.”

The voice grew, layered with a mountainous weight of rage.

“Jin dead. Human kill Jin.”

Then came a promise.

“Humans. Avenge. All die.”

“What is this?” the Divine Archer breathed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

The ogre he was certain he had killed was standing once more. And cradled in its massive arms was the corpse of the bat Demonkin.

“…Was it playing dead?”

Lamenting his mistake, the Divine Archer began to draw up his Aura again. If it had come back to life, he would simply kill it again.

He drew his bowstring.

At that moment…

With a sickening crack of bone, the ogre bit into the bat Demonkin’s corpse, chewing the flesh as if savoring it. Then it stuffed the entire body down its throat.

“AVENGE HIIIIIMMMMMMM!”

A wave of demonic energy exploded outward, warping the very air.

The true battle had just begun.

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