"Hey, wait a second, what are you?!"
A demon stared at Cercius in confusion, grabbed him by the shoulder, and stopped him abruptly just a few steps before the estate.
That instantly drew the attention of other demons. Within seconds, they had surrounded him, packed tightly together with no gap left for escape.
Before Cercius could utter a single word, one of them shouted, "That's a human! What is a human doing here?!"
"Hehe~ what a catch! We can play with him!" another chuckled darkly.
A deep sigh escaped Cercius. Haah~ He was mildly disappointed that his plan had not worked until the very end. Yet he wasn't actually annoyed—if it had worked, it would have been far too boring.
He drew his sword from its sheath.
The demons were already grinning, ready to mock him—yet before a single one could open their mouth, the blade flashed. Too fast for their eyes to perceive.
With a single swing, more than a dozen heads fell to the ground.
The demon who had grabbed him lost "only" the arm with which he had seized Cercius' shoulder.
"What a shame. I didn't put much effort into this plan anyway. I'll just deal with you all before I take care of the baron." Cercius spoke indifferently and gave his blade a casual flick to shake off the blood.
"Th-the Baron…!"
The maimed demon struggled to speak, horrified that the human had uttered his master's name. But before he could finish, his head too separated from his body.
A massacre began.
With deadly precision and superhuman speed, Cercius cut through the demon ranks. Some threw themselves at him fanatically, while others fled in panic as they watched their companions fall effortlessly.
Not even thirty minutes later, the grounds were cleared. Cercius had not received a single wound—not even a speck of blood marred his form. He stood immaculate, surrounded by a sea of blood.
Just as he turned toward the estate and prepared to enter, the two large entrance gates slowly opened on their own, and a figure stepped out.
"What the hell is going on out here? Why are you making such a racket?" a voice thundered from within, clearly irritated by the echoes of battle resounding through the area.
"Did I not make myself clear? If you want to fight, do it somewhere else and don't disturb my peace!"
Cercius' indifferent gaze fell upon the figure—roughly as tall as he was, about 1.90 meters—and possessing none of the elegance of a noble demon. At first glance, Cercius nearly mistook him for a simple weakling.
But he quickly sensed the subtle aura the demon exuded. Even suppressed, it crackled like a blazing fire—easily noticeable, and by no means weaker than Cercius' own.
Once the figure had stepped fully outside, still unaware of Cercius' presence, Cercius' own mana began to flare involuntarily.
The demon, with the classic black-gray skin of his kind, fiery red accents, and two sharp ruby-red horns atop his head, looked around irritably, likely in search of his subordinates.
His tense gaze swept across the wasteland. But instead of familiar followers, he saw only carnage—and in its center a figure that certainly did not resemble a demon, standing without a single drop of blood on him.
He frowned in confusion.
"What are you supposed to be?" he asked suspiciously, failing to comprehend what had happened here.
Before he received an answer, he felt the stranger's mana intensifying further, and his expression hardened. Suddenly, a dark grin spread across his lips—one that could mean joy or barely contained fury.
"Oh… so that's what you are."
The demon clenched his fist, and his aura began to swell, like a flame growing larger and hotter.
"Did you come here to challenge me?"
Apparently, he had understood Cercius' intent in entering this territory—and realized that the human's bloodlust was the reason his subordinates were gone.
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as if trying to hold back his rising anger. He could not lose control and slaughter the stranger before getting answers—even he, as a demon, was not that governed by emotion.
Cercius, however, saw no reason to speak. He drew his sword, raised his shield, and prepared for battle. His actions would speak more clearly than a thousand words.
"Aha~"
Aamon immediately recognized Cercius' intention. But instead of calming him, the realization only seemed to fuel his rage further—pushing him over the edge.
His aura swelled frighteningly and made the surroundings tremble with an oppressive heat that rose by the second. Soon flames erupted from his body—first from his shoulders, then his arms, then his back, and finally even from his head.
Alongside his anger, literal fire now blazed.
"Very well—then die!" he roared, completely losing control, and unleashed a devastating attack of blinding flames.
With both hands, the demon focused his power on Cercius and hurled three fireballs the size of gym balls at him in rapid succession.
Cercius walked toward them undeterred: he cut the first fireball apart with a single sword strike, dodged the second with casual ease, and deflected the third with his shield as though it were nothing more than a toy—until it burst in a bright explosion.
At that moment, Aamon had already drawn his weapon—a long black trident streaked with pulsing red lines. With a roar, he hurled it toward Cercius in an outburst of demonic force.
Flames blazed along the trident's tips.
Cercius' eyes widened in surprise.
He ducked his head aside in an instant, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectile. But just as the trident shot past him, it dissolved into thin air—and at that very same moment, Aamon materialized directly in front of him, the weapon once again firmly in his hands.
With full force, he thrust the trident forward, aiming straight at Cercius' chest to pierce him.
Cercius reacted in the final second. He raised his shield and blocked the attack before the blazing prongs could reach him.
A piercing screech rang out as the tips scraped across the metal—yet even this strike could not break the shield.
Growling, Aamon pulled the trident back, swung it wide, and struck again with the force of a hammer. Flames now engulfed not only the prongs but the entire weapon—down to the very spot where he gripped it.
Sensing the rising threat, Cercius charged his shield with mana and reinforced it. When the trident crashed down, the impact thundered like a storm, but again, the shield did not shatter. Instead, Cercius held firm—though the blow sent him skidding several meters backward.
Without hesitation, he lowered the shield, lunged forward, and brought his sword down on Aamon in a powerful arc.
Aamon reacted swiftly—as though he had fully anticipated the counterattack—and swung his trident in return. With a sharp clang, sword and blazing trident collided.
Cercius unleashed more and more of his power, but even so, he could not overpower the weapon. So instead, he chose a different approach.
He suddenly leapt backward, pulling away from the clash, and with a flick of his hand began casting magic.
Earth Pillars!
In an instant, several stone pillars burst from the ground and shot toward Aamon.
The sheer size of the pillars and the short distance they traveled made it almost impossible to stop or break them through brute force. So Aamon made the only reasonable decision—he dodged.
One after another the stone pillars smashed upward, yet Aamon avoided them all with expert agility. When he had finally escaped the last one and turned to locate his opponent, shock overtook him.
Cercius had appeared behind him as if from nothing. He swung his sword, pouring an almost unfathomable amount of mana into it, causing Aamon's eyes to widen.
Cutting Wind!
As Cercius unleashed the technique—already terrifying from a distance, but utterly overwhelming at close range—Aamon spun around in desperation.
The demon baron hurriedly gathered massive amounts of demonic energy.
He threw every ounce of his power into resisting the attack. Flames burst around his body with increasing intensity, forming something akin to a cloak—or a magnificent, fiery mantle.
His trident channeled streams of demonic force in the form of searing flames that clashed with the blade that tore through the wind.
A thunderous explosion echoed across the barren wasteland as the two forces collided. A great cloud of smoke spread from the impact point.
Seconds after the collision, a figure burst from the smoke at high speed.
It was none other than the demon baron Aamon. But now he was covered in wounds, the flames around his body extinguished—leaving only a figure marked by injuries that were anything but minor.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Aamon cursed repeatedly as he treated his wounds with his demonic power. "What the hell was that attack?! Even when I countered with everything I had, he tore through my flames and hit me head-on?!"
He replayed the previous clash in his mind. He could not comprehend how a single sword technique could break through his defense so easily, no matter how sudden the strike had been.
Moments later, Cercius also emerged from the smoke—though from a different side. He, too, had taken minor damage, but only on his left arm, and only shallow wounds.
As soon as he cleared the smoke, he searched for his opponent. The instant he spotted him, he dashed toward him without hesitation, intent on finishing off the wounded demon.
"You won't escape from me!" Cercius declared firmly as he saw Aamon fleeing.
Meanwhile, Aamon summoned flames beneath his feet and used them to propel himself forward in an attempt to escape. He expended all his remaining energy to convert it into speed.
"Damn it!"
Realizing he was being pursued, Aamon clicked his tongue in frustration and accelerated further.
But Cercius used both his Body Enhancement and wind magic, accelerating to an unbelievable speed—one Aamon could not hope to outrun. It took less than a minute for Cercius to catch up.
Earth Manipulation: Rock Prison!
The moment he reached him, Cercius cast his spell to stop the escape. Countless boulders erupted from the earth beneath Aamon, shooting upward and burying him under their immense mass. It happened too fast for the demon to react. He was struck before he could even end his acceleration, cut off mid-flight.
"No!" Aamon's desperate scream echoed from deep within the compressed stones.
At the same moment, Aamon's fiery demonic power burst forth, creating destructive force the likes of which had never been seen from him. The prison of stone was instantly torn apart, freeing him.
Once freed, the baron hurled himself at Cercius with every last ounce of strength and unleashed a final, desperate attack.
Wrath of the Hellflames!
Flames engulfed his entire body, generating a storm from which Cercius could not escape—one that threatened to incinerate everything around it without leaving even ashes behind.
But Cercius had no intention of evading. Determined, he faced his opponent's last outburst head-on, mana erupting from him as he prepared his decisive counterattack.