Chapter 515: Die A Man

Ashen Arcana, a store that dealt in wands and in growing condition. The door of the wand making shop was in an alleyway, located in the region that had taken some of the worst of the Black Wolves’ Disaster. It was halfway between the Dark Tower and the Complex Demonic Red. The wand store withstood because of the owner and his wands, hiding himself like a camouflage animal, standing when fire ran rampant.

Even Dasha’s Qi Sense had failed to detect Ashen Arcana. It wasn’t until days later that he saw the building between crumbling buildings and cross-referenced his memories. This wasn’t there before, he thought. So he checked. He told the wand maker that he would have someone come in repair the buildings around him. The Dark Tower and the stores around it would return.

“Do not be afraid.”

“B-but after the attack, no one will—”

The wand maker was happily wrong. The Red Sorcerer was arguably the best transmutator in the Underground and he with the help of three other Sorcerers changed everything. The evil malice dissipated. The buildings returned to what they were before.

Upon seeing the white mask of the professor, the old wand maker rubbed his hands and welcomed him with a bigger smile than ever. The Red Sorcerer had touched up on everything. Dasha put down a pouch of bronze coins. Every time he visited, he carried money.

The old maker loved it.

“Professor, your experiment has been making some noise. I had to use a special wand and spell to send it to sleep.”

“Oh? You approached it?”

“Yes, my apologies—”

Dasha raised a hand and he stopped speaking. “You saw that it was necessary. I accept the wisdom of an experienced one such as yourself.”

The smile on the wand maker grew and he bowed theatrically. “Thank you. Thank you plenty.”

“No, thank you.” Dasha looked him up and down, and then the rest of the store. There was nothing off, save for one thing. Four boxes on the highest compartment of the shelf, slightly pulled out.

“A-apologies for the mess.” The sharp-eyed wand maker noticed that Dasha noticed. “My age has caught up to me, it seems.”

“…no need. To fear the Kingslayer is natural.”

The wand maker pursed his lips and looked down. Nothing more needed to be said.

To the storage room at the back it was. The wand maker had to use a special wand and spell to send the monster to sleep, huh? It was growing exactly as quickly as he desired. His business having grown, there were more crates and shelves than ever. Previously, it was a box that hid the hatchet. Not anymore.

“Allow me.”

The wand maker was with him. With a swish and flick of his blue wand, the shelf compressed and turned into the hatchet.

“You can transmute,” Dasha noted. “At such a high level too.”

“I was a student at Arcadia Academy,” the wand maker stated with pride. “I graduated as a top-of-the-line Wizard—although perhaps that is a bit biased. I relied on wand crafting in order to make up for my lack of fire power.”

“Ahh, by stealing blood and hair of other students?”

“How did you…? Yes exactly, by stealing a small essence of them and amplifying via a wand, I managed to imitate and in some cases surpass them, if only for the duration of the wand’s existence.”

“This is your secret art.”

“It is secret art of all wand makers. How much a maker can extract and amplify the elements within are what separate the masters from the amateurs.”

Dasha took a long look at everything before looking at the hatchet he made. “It seems I am accompanied by a true master.”

“I was taught by the greatest wandmakers in existence. My very first mentor was an Egyptian who who worshipped Ra. He died of natural causes and I inherited a staff supposedly blessed by the Sun God. I could not wield it so I took it apart. I understood what I could and then decided to go on a journey. I learned what I needed to.”

Dasha almost wanted to take a seat. This was a life story he was intrigued by. The wand maker’s confidence was edging toward arrogance too. That was fine. “I see. Did you make friends with the Red Sorcerer?”

“Ohhh, no, no. But I was inspired! His skill is deft! More than I ever expected!”

A nod. The wand maker knew better than to go down there with him and stepped back. Dasha opened the hatchet with his foot and jumped down. He walked for ten long minutes in a narrow cave-like passage. It was slippery, rocky, and damp. The side walls were lined with shelves of dangerous and experimental wands.

Torches were added to the shelves, courtesy of the wand maker. The shelves and the torches stopped when the cell appeared.

A low growl rumbled from the darkness of the cell, deep and guttural.

Dürr.

“I left you for over two weeks now. I am glad to see you have not gone hungry, Dürr..”

The thing in the cage barely resembled a man anymore.

Once, Dürr had been human—a weakling of a warrior. Now, he was something else. The transformation had spread, unchecked, unchecked by mercy or intervention. Thick tufts of black fur matted with filth and dried blood covered his body. His limbs were stretched, elongated, twisted into something inhuman. His face, once belonging to a man, had pushed forward into a half-formed snout, jagged fangs glinting in the dim light.

Only his eyes remained—pale, eerily human, full of something that teetered between hunger and recognition.

So little of Dürr remained. But there was still something left.

Another growl. This one sharper, warning.

Dasha went right up to the cell. BAM! The metal of the cage groaned as Dürr’s claws raked across the bars. Defiance. Instinct. A last remnant of his former self clinging to control. He was probably trying to grab onto them as he would like a human. To try and shake the cell to threaten him.

“Not too bad.”

Dasha’s Qi spiked exponentially.

“But I can do better.”

His Qi climbed surged, pressing down like an invisible weight. The torchlight flickered violently and Dürr froze. Not by choice. His wolf body locked up, limbs stiffening as if bound by unseen chains. The beast’s breath hitched, a low whimper escaping its throat.

“You are not quite a monster so the Monster Tamer has not kicked in.” Dasha leaned in. “Although I’m sure you know it isn’t true. You remember, don’t you? The men and women you devoured. You did so all because you wanted to live.”

The cage trembled as Dürr forced his head to move. Forced himself to submit.

Good.

Dasha reached into the cloth bag at his side. A gift.

Raw meat. But not just any. The flesh of a gish, a rare magical beast, still humming with residual energy. He unwrapped it slowly, deliberately. Let Dürr smell it. The reaction was immediate. A violent snarl. His claws scraped against the floor, pupils dilating. Hunger. Not human hunger, but something deeper, more primal.

Dasha tossed the meat through the bars. It hit the ground with a wet slap.

Teeth sank into flesh, tearing, devouring. The sounds were awful—wet, snarling, ravenous.

Dasha watched.

This was necessary.

’His evolution is in a fickle state. Being starved for two weeks is something his human side and his wolf side can cope with. However, his body knows his wolf side is better suited for it. Therefore, he evolves deeper into a wolf. His mind and body and soul go closer to that side.’

Dürr was already too far gone. Starvation had only pushed him deeper into the beast. If Dasha had waited longer, there would have been nothing left but an uncontrollable, mindless monster.

But now…

Now, he would rebuild him.

The right diet. The right conditioning.

He would not let Dürr die a man. He would make him something greater. He would make him a monster for when he fought the goddesses.

In some ways, there were four methods of power. In some ways, perhaps.

***

“Quality or quantity? Which is more important?

Players of the System gain a proportional increase in quality and quantity as they ’level-up’. This term describes a numerical increase like age. Like age brings muscles, a level-up brings mana. Not just to the body but to the soul.

That is the crux of the System: the Soul. Feeding it and empowering it. In many ways, it is perfect for a genius such as myself. My Golden Core has long since hatched. My Nascent Soul has risen. I am unrivalled.

The Demonic Sect will not accept a Heavenly Demon with a Golden Core. Never. The day we do is the day we die.

And yet…

Do I believe I was in a rush? Yes. Yes, I do. It is but an insignificant thing to what I am now yet as it has been advised to me, the insignificant is what matter to the greats. My flaw lays in the fact that I did not practice the darkness, the Yang, as much as I should have. I never had the talent for it. Everyone told me this.

But the new do not obey the old.

Watching the new generation and their methods of sacrifice for power, I wonder…would it be possible for a Cultivator not inclined toward an element to suddenly gain it after a sacrifice? It is but a thought but…

The Tang Clan and their fabled poison. I do not presume to upset the balance that I have built all my life. However, every day, I wake up with the tinge of fear. A healthy fear that I would never divulge to my advisors. I am the Principled after all.

Should I seize the clan for my selfish gains? Betray the Tang so that I may sleep with ease? Or shall I continue to maintain and bring balance as I always have?

Power or power.

I must decide soon.”

– Private Journal of Heavenly Demon: The Principled

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