From the shadows, two figures stood watching—two n, cloaked in darkness. They were the ones who had been orchestrating the attacks against Nero and Khione, sending wave after wave of monsters. Their goal was clear: test the duo, wear them down, and then eliminate them. Cautious by nature, they hadn’t easily fallen for the duo’s ploy. But after the third wave and seeing the apparent state of exhaustion in their targets, they finally decided it was ti to erge and finish the job.
With a brief glance at one another, they stepped out of the shadows and materialized into reality, standing just a few ters away from the two who lay sprawled on the forest floor.
The mont they appeared, the act ended.
Both Nero and Khione sprang to their feet without hesitation—no longer worn, no longer struggling. Nero instantly hurled a concentrated fireball toward one of the figures, while Khione conjured and fired a sharp ice arrow.
Swoosh!
Boom!
Pshii!
The two figures stood unhard, but now alert. Nero and Khione weren’t trying to harm them—it was just a greeting, a sharp, wordless ssage:
We see you now.
"Hoh! So you were just pretending?" said the man on the left, amusent laced in his voice.
"I knew it," muttered the other, who clutched a crooked snake-headed staff. Both were bald, clad in ominous black robes marked by a disturbing sigil—a snake biting its own tail.
"You’re from Ouroboros," Khione said coldly, her eyes sharpening like blades of ice. She had never imagined she’d face the very embodint of her nation’s greatest enemy—public enemy number one.
Even Nero, who had spent much of his life as a recluse, recognized that na. Ouroboros, the forbidden organization of Demonized Humans, lunatics who worshipped monsters and chaos itself. The re sight of them made his stomach twist. Rage surged unexpectedly from deep within him—boiling, choking fury. He didn’t understand why, but the hatred he felt was pure and overwhelming, barely restrained.
"Bravo," the knight said mockingly, his head tilting unnaturally to the side. "As expected of the Ice Princess from one of the great clans. Now, be a good girl and kindly... die for us."
The mage chuckled beside him, eyes gleaming with heat.
"Hehehe... I’ll enjoy skinning the pretty boy from the Raizen family." His voice was sickening, feverish. Nero felt chills crawl across his skin.
Then, the knight raised a hand, halting his twisted companion. He eyed Nero with a flicker of interest.
"I’ve heard your story, Nero. The boy with no blessing from his family’s sacred lightning, yet chosen by the Law of Fire. They call you a cursed child, don’t they? Cast aside, forgotten... But we see your worth.
Join us."
His voice turned passionate, persuasive—like a serpent whispering from the Garden.
"With us, your strength will grow without limit. You can have your revenge on the Raizen family. On everyone who threw you away. Let us guide you to true power. With Ouroboros, you’ll no longer be unwanted—you’ll be feared. Respected. Worshipped."
For a mont, the air was still. He truly believed his words would sway the young man.
Khione, however, stared at him like he was the biggest fool in existence. Even after spending only a few days with Nero, she understood sothing crucial about him: he was proud to the bone. A lone wolf who walked his own path. He didn’t take shortcuts, especially ones that involved licking the boots of monsters.
She was certain of his answer even before he opened his mouth.
"Hell no," Nero said flatly, a sharp smile of contempt curling his lips. "Why would I need a bunch of cockroaches to do anything for ? If I want sothing, I’ll take it myself. I haven’t fallen so low that I’d rely on maggots like you."
The mage’s face contorted in fury, eyes twitching.
"You—!"
The knight chuckled, placing a calming hand on his partner’s shoulder. "Is that so?"
Nero nodded, still wearing that mocking grin. But inside, his muscles were coiled tight. He could feel the pressure radiating from these two—this would be nothing like the fights they’d had so far. Even while holding back, their strength was suffocating.
The mage, he guessed, was an Adept Mage—far more experienced than Khione, likely at the middle stage of the realm. And the knight? Nero’s instincts scread danger. He was no ordinary Red Knight—he had to be at least mid-stage, possibly even brushing the peak of that level.
This would be a battle to the death.
"Then die," the knight said calmly.
And at that mont, the restraints were lifted.
The corrupted energy around them surged as both enemies began to twist and contort—bones cracking, flesh shifting.
They were beginning to transform into their Demonized forms.
The knight’s body began to contort grotesquely, muscles snapping and bones grinding as his form twisted into sothing no longer human. In monts, he stood fully transford—a monstrous hybrid of man and salamander. His skin had been replaced with thick, glistening crimson scales, each one pulsing faintly as though magma ran beneath. A long, muscular tail, reptilian and ridged with glowing lines, lashed violently behind him, cracking the ground with each movent.
The mont his transformation completed, the entire area was swallowed by a suffocating wave of heat. The air shimred like the surface of a furnace, and the earth at his feet began to sizzle and lt, darkening and warping under the intense temperature. Trees around them withered on the spot, their trunks hissing and splitting as sap boiled from within, bark curling like burnt paper.
A foul, sulfurous stench exploded from the creature’s body, thick and acrid, a blend of burning tar and rotting eggs that forced even the most battle-hardened stomach to twist.
Khione’s expression darkened.
This creature—this walking calamity—was a living blight against her very existence. Her Law of Ice instinctively resisted it, recoiled from the blazing aura of molten corruption. She clenched her jaw, a wave of nausea threatening to rise. The very presence of this thing defiled the natural balance of the world.
His fla, unlike Nero’s noble, pure blaze, reeked of decay and perversion. It wasn’t power—it was pollution, corruption in its most grotesque form.
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