Chapter 477: Honest Assessment

Damien and Haldric soon arrived back at their destinations back at the residential section of the barracks.

Damien had barely closed the door behind him when exhaustion finally seeped in like water through cracks.

The barracks corridor was quiet, lanterns now dimmer because the moonlight was bright enough to allow sight, the muffled sounds of soldiers settling for the night drifting from farther rooms as well.

Fenrir just kept strolling behind him, silent and watchful as always, while Luton bounced onto the bed before Damien even reached it, vibrating with that odd, pleasant hum the Stellar Slime made when relaxed.

Damien exhaled slowly. Peaceful nights were rare as there was always something happening that made even his peaceful nights turn into chaos. He intended to take this one for himself and not jinx it.

Before anything else, he knelt by the low table in the center of the room and brought out the items he had purchased that day. The detonating powder, binding scrolls, specialized binding crystals, a reinforced travel cloak, and several medicinal vials capable of restoring mana essence in emergencies. Everything went into Luton’s (Universal Space) except one object.

The map he’d secured from his trip.

He unfolded it carefully, taking up almost the entire surface of the table. The parchment was thick, reinforced with alchemical fibers. Every major kingdom, every minor city-state, every mountain range and river across the Northern Continent was drawn in decent detail.

It wasn’t exactly the best of details but it was decent enought to allow him identify all that needed identifying. Beyond the mainland, smaller islands dotted the seas like scattered jewels.

And far to the east, isolated and ringed by swirling currents and storms, the Forest of Twin Disasters sat like a lone stain on the ocean. It was evem painted with black and two intersecting lines covered the land, warming everyone that the place was off limits.

Damien tapped the map lightly. “That’s our next destination.”

Fenrir lifted its head, rumbling once. Luton bounced in agreement—or maybe hunger. With Luton there was no telling unless it wanted to.

“Yes, yes. You’ll get to eat plenty,” Damien muttered.

He folded the map again and set it aside. Tomorrow, he would cancel Fenrir and Luton after heading out and then summon Skylar for faster movement. It could cover a larger distance after all.

He wasn’t worried about the wolf or the slime—they had grown significantly from all the demons and beasts he’d fed them.

Even now, they were drawing from his magic essence to replenish themselves, but it was nothing he couldn’t manage. His core pulsed with steady strength, continuously refilling what the summoned beasts were expending to stay around him.

Finally, he stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head. A rare softness embraced him—clean sheets, a warm blanket, a quiet room. He closed his eyes.

And just as sleep began to drag him under, when he was on the verge of meeting unconsciousness, he was forced out.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

His eyes snapped open with an irritated sigh.

Fenrir growled. Luton puffed up defensively like a balloon.

Damien stood and opened the door.

Haldric stood there, posture stiff, expression a shade more serious than usual. “Damien. Sorry for disturbing you once again. The commander has called for you.”

Damien leaned against the doorway. “Now?”

“Yes.” Haldric nodded. “And… the council is present as well.”

Damien’s brows rose a fraction. “Is something wrong?”

Haldric hesitated. “Nothing immediate. But it’s important. They want to hear your report on demon activity up until now.”

Damien rubbed the bridge of his nose. So much for sleep. “Fine. Lead the way.”

Fenrir followed them out of the room, tail brushing faintly against the floor. Luton decided Damien’s shoulder was the best vantage point and blobbed itself up to perch there, clinging like a needy pet.

Soldiers passing in the hallway gave the trio a wide berth—rightfully so. A wolf that radiated killing intent, a slime that could devour flesh and bone without leaving a trace, and the man they belonged to… no sane soldier would willingly cross them.

They walked through several long corridors, out into the cold night air, and toward the council chamber beside the commander’s office. Two guards stepped aside instantly when they arrived.

Inside the chamber, lamplight flickered against polished stone floors and banners bearing the kingdom’s crest. A long table stretched across the room where half a dozen council members sat alongside Commander Vargan.

Every pair of eyes locked onto Damien the moment he entered.

Commander Vargan rose. “Damien. Thank you for coming at short notice.”

Damien inclined his head. “I was asleep. But I’m here.”

Luton, for emphasis, jiggled once. Fenrir sat behind Damien, its presence filling the chamber like an extra wall.

One councilor cleared his throat nervously. “Is… the wolf staying?”

Damien glanced at Fenrir. “Unless you want him outside alone.”

The council collectively shook their heads. No one wanted that. Who here could guarantee what it would do when left outside without it’s master?

Vargan gestured to an empty chair. “Sit. We won’t take long.”

Damien sat.

“First,” Vargan began, “we want your report on demon activity. Haldric’s team was nearly annihilated. You arrived at the perfect moment. We need to know what exactly you encountered.”

Damien nodded. “They were normal demons. The standard types you usually see everywhere but among them were something more scary. Demon variants. They’re new and stronger and I believe someone is manufacturing those.”

One councilor leaned forward. “Demon variants?”

Damien shook his head. “Not only were they variants.”

Silence thickened.

“There were a few new ones,” Damien said calmly, as if discussing the weather. “Similar appearance with old variants, but sharper movements. Stronger essence density. They weren’t leading the horde, but they stood out.”

Vargan’s expression darkened. “So the reports are true, then. The demons are evolving.”

“Or like I said, being modified,” Damien added quietly.

The council stirred anxiously.

“Modified? By who?”

Damien shrugged. “I didn’t stick around to interrogate them. But I’ve seen traces of it before. Somewhere out there is a group capable of altering demons. Strengthening them. The vanguard is coming. Slowly, but steadily.”

A long pause followed.

Finally, another councilor spoke. “How strong would you say these new variants were?”

Damien thought for a moment. “If a normal demon is Grade Seven, then these variants possess almost twice the strength even at the same Grade Seven. Maybe a bit higher.”

Fear rippled across the table.

Vargan exhaled. “That brings us to our next matter.”

He stood straighter, shoulders squared.

“We want you to assume temporary command of a strike unit.”

Damien blinked once. “A what?”

“A strike unit,” Vargan repeated. “A small elite group meant to neutralize demon breaches before full hordes form. With what you’ve shown today, you’re… uniquely qualified.”

“No,” Damien said immediately.

The council recoiled at the bluntness.

Haldric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damien—”

“No,” Damien repeated. “I’m not settling here. I’m not becoming part of your military. And I’m not taking command of your units.”

The room fell silent.

Vargan’s gaze hardened but not unkindly. “Then allow me to ask more directly—would you be willing to join our army? Permanently? Name your rank, your payment. Whatever you want.”

Damien almost laughed.

“I’m a mercenary,” he said. “I don’t serve kingdoms. And I don’t belong to one. I have my own path.”

One councilor frowned. “You’d be turning down guaranteed security, resources, authority—”

Damien cut him off. “Security won’t matter when the demon war reaches its peak. Your walls will crumble like Delwig’s did. I’m not tying myself to anywhere that can be wiped out by the wrong enemy. And besides, how much security can you give me that I can’t give to myself with my beasts by my side?”

A cold silence spread across the chamber as they stared at Luton and Fenrir.

He continued, voice low but steady. “I have my own war to fight. My own targets to reach. And my own goals to attain. Staying here would only slow me down and I’d rather die than slow down.”

The councilors exchanged glances. They knew they couldn’t force him.

Vargan finally sighed. “Then give us this much—your honest assessment. How long do we have before the demons begin full-scale incursions into every human territory?”

Damien didn’t hesitate.

“Not long.”

One of the councilors whispered, “How… not long?”

“A year at most,” Damien said quietly. “Less if these variants spread faster than expected.”

Fear. Pure fear flashed through their eyes.

Vargan nodded grimly. “Then we will prepare. Thank you, Damien. You have given us clarity—unpleasant as it is.”

Damien rose to his feet. Fenrir followed. Luton jiggled once, as if saying goodnight.

“If that’s all,” Damien said, “I’ll be leaving.”

Vargan stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. A high-ranking gesture. “Our kingdom owes you a debt. Whatever path you choose, know you have allies here.”

Damien paused. “You don’t owe me anything. I only killed what would’ve killed you.”

“Even so.” The commander exhaled deeply. “We won’t forget.”

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