“So, Roots,” Galen crouched beside the broken mass that was Karnag, his red eyes glowing faintly beneath the smoke. “Where is Sylvathar?”

Karnag’s jaw trembled. His mouth dripped with dark ichor, the scent of burnt wood and blood clinging to his body. “What makes you think I’ll tell you that… human,” he spat weakly, trying to sound menacing—but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Galen smirked, but there was no joy behind it—just cold fire. “You still don’t get it,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “Unlike you, I’m a man of my word.”

Shhk—

Before Karnag could blink, his left arm was gone.

Severed.

A sickening splurt followed as greenish blood sprayed like a fountain. His scream was raw, primal. His body thrashed in place, but he couldn’t move—couldn’t even tell how it happened. Galen hadn’t moved. Hadn’t flinched. But the pain was real, and his arm lay yards away, twitching like a dying insect.

“GAHHHH—!!”

Galen leaned closer, his tone dipping into something darker—quiet, lethal. “I’ll ask again,” he said, brushing specks of blood off his knuckles. “Where is your bastard of a Lord?”

Karnag’s breaths came out in short, ragged bursts. The pain was overwhelming. The realization even more so. ‘He’s not just stronger… he’s something else entirely.’

“…You… you don’t scare me,” he managed, voice shaking. “I’d die before I betray Lord Sylvathar…”

Galen blinked slowly. “Good,” he whispered.

And then—CRACK!—his boot came down on Karnag’s shattered ribs.

The demon howled in pain, coughing out chunks of black blood.

“I don’t need your fear,” Galen said, straightening. “I need your screams.”

He snapped his fingers. A magic circle lit up beneath Karnag’s body—dark crimson, pulsing with a low hum. A sigil of fire and pressure. One designed not to kill, but to hurt.

Karnag screamed again as the myst ignited his nerves, burning inside his body. “STOP!! STOP—!!”

Galen crouched again, calm and clinical, like a doctor checking a patient. “Talk, and the pain stops. Lie, and I turn your blood to vapor.”

Karnag’s head slumped to the side, his breath shallow and ragged. “You… monster…”

“You really think you’re in a place to call me that?”

The cracks in Karnag’s defiance split wide. His remaining claw scraped at the dirt in agony, his body twitching with fading strength. “Lord Sylvathar… he’s already crossed into this realm… a long time ago,” he wheezed. “He walks among you humans… Phase One is already complete…”

Galen’s eyes narrowed. “Phase One? What does that entail?”

Even through the agony ripping through his body, Karnag managed a smug grin—teeth stained with ichor. “It seems… my Lord is as cunning as ever. Your kind… so drunk on their own thirst for power… they made deals with him. Willingly. And with his blood now coursing through them, the seeds have been planted.”

His voice dropped into a whisper filled with sinister pride. “Soon, the Gaia demon bloodline will rise… and we will no longer be the lowest in the Lord Tier hierarchy.”

Galen’s bored gaze cast down at Karnag. “So that’s the game. Gaia demons are considered trash back in your realm—useless, weak. No different from an Advanced Horror at their worst.” He turned slowly, tone cold and surgical. “Sylvathar intends to breed them here… create a new generation of demons on Amthar itself. A homegrown infestation.”

“Yes… and you’ve already fallen behind,” Karnag coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth. “You’re sharp… but it’s too late…”

Galen exhaled, the faintest trace of disgust curling his lip. “You demons… always thinking you’re playing chess, when you’re barely surviving checkers.”

The flaming sigil beneath Karnag flickered, then dimmed as Galen turned away.

Karnag watched him go, fury rekindling within him. ‘You arrogant bastard…’ he thought, forcing his broken body upward. Every part of his body was destroyed and vision spinning—but still, he surged forward one last time.

“You think you can just turn your back on me?!” Karnag roared, limbs trembling. “No matter how strong you are—you don’t turn your back on a living enemy, you arrogant leech—!”

Galen didn’t flinch nor stop.

Hands in his pockets.

Voice calm, almost lazy.

“I told you…” he said. “I’m a man of my word.”

FWOOOOM!!!

—KZZZHHHHMMMM—!!

A tower of fire exploded where Karnag lunged, a hellish column of incandescent wrath. It roared into the sky like a phoenix born in rage, swallowing the would-be attacker whole.

No scream.

No cry.

Only ash, scattered on the wind.

Galen kept walking. “Rest easy, Roots,” he muttered under his breath. “You were never in my league.”

“Damn… poor Root,” Magnus said as he hopped down from the jagged boulder he’d been lounging on. “At least the guy didn’t die screaming.” He casually tossed Galen’s trench coat back to him, like nothing had happened.

Galen caught it, flicked it open, and slid it on in one motion. “Yeah. That wraps up our inspection of the rift. Let’s head back.”

Magnus stretched with a yawn, walking beside him. “So, Sylvathar’s already here, huh?”

“Yep. That’s what Root-boy spilled before he turned into charcoal.”

Magnus let out a half-laugh. “Looks like your wish came true… just not in the way you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Galen muttered, adjusting his collar. “But since the bastard’s playing dress-up among humans, finding him’s gonna be like hunting a shadow in the fog.”

They passed through the fractured terrain, ash curling at their feet.

“So… we telling Mystica and Dove?” Magnus asked.

“Of course, dumbass. They’re the ones who sent us here. But we’ll do it on the train. I’m done breathing this cursed air,” Galen said, scrunching his nose.

As they crossed the edge of the war-scarred land, the magical barrier shimmered around them. On the other side stood about twenty knights, weapons drawn, armor gleaming, eyes tense.

Magnus leaned toward Galen, voice low. “Looks like the knight you yelled at actually took your order seriously.”

The older knight from before stepped forward with a crisp salute. “Sir Magna, we did as instructed. Reinforcements have arrived and are holding position.”

Galen gave a lazy wave. “Cool. Nothing to worry about now. Threat’s gone. You can all go back to doing your assignments… the knight stuff.”

One of the younger knights blinked. “Sir… guarding this zone is our assignment.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Galen replied, scratching the back of his neck like he’d forgotten they were professionals too. “Anyway, we’re out.”

Magnus clapped his hands. “Later, knighties! Don’t let the shadows eat you or whatever. Byyyeee.”

The two of them strolled past the line of armored soldiers, heading toward the awaiting train that sat humming softly on the tracks.

“Thank you for your service, Sirs! Safe travels!” the knights called out in perfect unison.

As the train began to pull away, the tension melted from the air. The knights who had been stiff as statues finally relaxed their shoulders and exhaled.

“Bro… we were just face-to-face with them,” one knight said, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“They actually talked to us,” another muttered, dazed. “I’m never washing my helmet again.”

While their comrades gushed, the older knight and his younger counterpart passed through the barrier for a final sweep.

But what they saw stopped them cold.

The land was scorched, sure—columns of blackened earth, heat still clinging to the rocks—but what shocked them wasn’t the damage.

It was the silence.

No Feral-class beasts. No Titanborne hulks. Not even a single Horror-class demon lurking anyway.

They were all dead.

Every. Last. One.

The young knight’s voice trembled. “They did all this… just the two of them?”

The older knight lit a cigar with a shaky hand, eyes still locked on the smoldering remains. “Yeah, kid. They’re not like us. They’re monsters… just on our side.”

They turned and stepped back through the barrier.

The older knight looked over the squad. “Good news, boys. No patrol duty tonight. For once in six damn months… you all get a full night’s sleep.”

Cheers erupted like victory bells.

***

Back on the train, Galen and Magnus had slumped into their seats, boots kicked up. Galen reached over and hovered his hand above a glowing Myst crystal. It shimmered for a moment, pulsing with arcane light, before projecting a magical hologram mid-air.

There she was—Mystica, perched gracefully in her room, dressed in her usual glamorously wicked ensemble, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“I thought you and Dove were checking out the outer edges of the Crescent Kingdom,” Galen said, head resting on his hand.

Mystica gave a lazy wink. “We were. Done with that. Now we’re back. Dove’s already rearranging my shelves, by the way.”

“I see,” Galen muttered.

“So… what did you two lovebirds find out about the rift?” she asked, head tilting ever so slightly.

Magnus grinned, tossing an arm behind his head. “Well, sweet Gally here got a little hands-on and pulled some juicy intel.”

Mystica narrowed her eyes, amused. “Got his hands dirty? Wait—don’t tell me something came out of the rift?”

“Oh yeah,” Galen replied, voice low. “A Gaia demon. Stronger than the usual mutts, but it wasn’t Sylvathar. Still… your fear and my little wish both came true.”

Mystica’s playful expression didn’t change, but her tone sharpened ever so slightly. “Sylvathar… he’s already here, isn’t he?”

Galen nodded slowly. “Yeah. And there’s more. But it’s better if we explain in person.”

“You’re right,” she sighed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Hurry back, darlings. Dove’s been a menace since we got home. I need her off me.”

Magnus chuckled. “Well, she is into women.”

“Unfortunately for me,” Mystica said with a smirk, fading from the crystal.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep