Outside the camp, the demons lood like shadows stretched by nightmare.
Their forms towered over the humans, eyes gleaming with cruel amusent, grins sharp as razors. Though their strength wasn't overwhelming—only Level 3 and 4 of the Adept Rank—there was a savage arrogance in how they carried themselves.
They didn't need overwhelming power.
They had sothing worse—control.
And they knew it.
The Demon Envoy, taller than the others, stood in front of the group. His skin was like polished obsidian—black, reflective, almost unnatural in its stillness. Two long horns curved from his skull, and his blood-red eyes scanned the villagers like a rchant examining livestock.
Then he sneered.
"Good to see you're all still alive and behaving," he said, his voice slithering with mockery. "Today… we'll be taking five."
He paused, letting the word hang in the air.
"Preferably children."
A hush fell over the camp.
The villagers stood frozen—breath held, fists clenched, expressions tight with quiet dread.
Then the man who had spoken to Max the night before—Barry's father—stepped forward. His voice trembled with restrained fury. "Five? And children? The deal was two. And no children. That was the agreent."
The Demon Envoy laughed—short and sharp.
"Ah, yes… the deal." He tapped a clawed finger against his chin. "Funny thing about deals. They work… until they don't."
He turned to his subordinates and snapped his fingers.
"Go. Pick five."
The demons didn't hesitate.
They moved swiftly, stalking through the tents, ignoring the screams, pushing aside the elders, and grabbing children—by their arms, their collars, even their hair.
"No!" a woman cried. "Please—not my daughter!"
A boy no older than seven was yanked into the air, struggling, kicking.
A little girl scread for her mother as she was dragged toward the envoy.
Then—
A voice bood across the camp.
"Leave the children."
It was Marcus, the ranch's leader. A broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a voice like thunder. He strode forward, fury in his eyes.
"We had an understanding," he growled. "We suffer. We obey. But we keep the children out of this."
The Demon Envoy's expression didn't change. He glanced at Marcus with mild interest.
"And I said… it doesn't matter."
He shrugged lazily. "You exist at our rcy. Not the other way around."
From the shadows of his tent, Max watched it all unfold—his expression a mask of quiet fury.
'Damn… this is worse than I imagined. They're not just controlling them… they're farming them.'
His hands tightened in his lap.
He didn't want to act yet—his body wasn't fully recovered.
But this?
This crossed every line.
His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly beneath the fabric of the tent.
He whispered under his breath.
"Magic Sword Barrage."
A ripple of energy swept across the field.
Then—
Boom!
Five blue, glowing swords suddenly materialized in the air above the camp. They hovered in silence, each one humming with restrained power, their edges radiating deadly, magical heat.
The demons turned, confused.
"What—? Who's there?!"
The Demon Envoy looked up, alarm flickering in his crimson eyes. "Who is it!?"
But he never got an answer.
One of the swords plumted from the sky, tearing through the air like a falling cot—
—and drove straight through the Demon Envoy's skull.
CRACK!
The sword pierced cleanly, exiting through his chest in a spray of black blood.
His body twitched once—
Then collapsed to the ground.
Dead.
A heartbeat later—
WHUM! WHUM! WHUM! WHUM!
The remaining four swords exploded downward, each finding its mark with ruthless precision. The other demons didn't even have ti to scream. Their bodies were impaled, scorched, and dropped like broken dolls.
Silence fell.
All that remained was the soft hum of the swords fading into blue mist… and the stunned, disbelieving gasps of the villagers.
Max sat quietly in the tent, his breath slow and asured, arms still covered in faintly glowing dragon scales.
He had intervened.
And just like that… Max had made his presence known.
Monts after the last of the glowing blue swords faded into mist, the flap of his tent was thrown open. Several villagers rushed inside—faces pale, eyes wide with shock and fear, not relief.
Marcus stood at the front, his fists clenched, his expression twisted in disbelief.
"Was it you?" he asked, voice tight, almost trembling. "Did you kill them?"
Max's brows furrowed. He had expected confusion—maybe so tension—but this? Panic? Fear? Anger? Not gratitude?
"Yeah," Max said flatly. "It was ."
Marcus's face turned red. He clutched the sides of his head as if trying to contain his thoughts. "Why would you do that?!" he barked, voice cracking.
"They gave us a place to live… fields to grow our food… shelter. You've just dood us all!"
Max's expression hardened. Cold. Disgusted.
"They gave you land? Shelter? And in return, what? Your people? Your children?" he asked, voice low, eyes narrowed. "That's not a deal. That's enslavent."
"This is the only way we've survived," Marcus snapped back. "You think we haven't tried fighting? You think we wanted this life? We've been like this for generations!"
Max scanned the others. n. Won. Elders.
And all of them wore the sa look—resignation. Fear masquerading as wisdom. None of them dared to imagine another life. Their thoughts were caged.
'What the hell happened to them?' Max wondered grimly. 'What kind of life breaks people like this?'
But then—
"We can fight! We can kill them!"
The shout rang out across the tense silence.
Everyone turned.
It was Barry—the sa sharp-eyed boy who had crept into Max's tent the night before. His small fra shook with rage, but his voice was firm.
"They've taken our families—again and again! It's not fair! And I don't care how small I am—I want to grow strong and make them pay!"
"Quiet, boy!" an older man barked. "You don't understand. We've lived this way for centuries."
"Yeah," another muttered darkly. "Now you've shattered the order. No telling what the demons will do now."
Barry spun toward them. "That doesn't an we just sit and do nothing!" he shouted. "Even if we die fighting, it's better than living like this!"
Max turned slowly to the boy.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
There was still hope.
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