“But why should I help you? Right now, I’d gladly watch you die by his hand.” Eli smiled, lips curved like a hidden blade.
“I came out to collect your Memory Crystals. I haven’t told them I massacred the Red Elf Race. If someone with spatial abilities like me doesn’t return safe, they’ll collect your memories with the same brute force.” Isco lied; alone, he was a lone spark that could never burn a forest.
The slaughter was surely ordered from above; at a time like this, you ride that wave.
“Then your sins are heavy indeed.” Eli squinted and drew a slow breath, like smoke feeding a kiln.
“Relax. I’ll trade blows with that Bloodkin. What you do, do on your own. Deal?” He shook his head, dismissing it like dust on a sleeve.
Isco nodded and sank into silence, a stone vanishing into dark water.
“A Bloodkin of marquis rank.” Eli’s grasp of Bloodkin was thin, names like dust in an old book. Hero Birand had studied them, yet never faced them head‑on—in this life, Eli even less so.
He barely knew their ways of attack, only that holy light magic was their bane, like shadows shrinking from dawn.
“What’s there to fear about Bloodkin? I thought it was just some Po Village custom.” The Demonic Lord shrugged, disdain falling like cold rain, ignoring how feeble her power now was.
Eli watched her with amused eyes. “Edlyn‑chan, got any tricks against them?” His voice stroked the air like a cat’s paw on silk.
“Ew! Don’t call me that.” Edlyn shook off goosebumps like drops off a leaf, then sighed. “To deal with them, just lock your gaze on their eyes!”
“That simple?” Eli raised a brow, taut as a bowstring.
“Tsk.” Called a country bumpkin by a Hero’s tone, Edlyn bristled like a cornered cat, yet had no clean retort.
They were one of the Demon Race’s eight outer vassal races, a black tide that once teamed with Dark Elves to spear assaults on Goblins and Elves.
She couldn’t exactly tell Eli she was the Demon King—that’s why she knew these currents, truth knotted under a veil.
Given her current pinch‑a‑Hero‑to‑death strength, saying more would be teasing him—Itching for a beating, are we?—a thunderstone hidden in silk.
Still, in aura, she couldn’t afford to lose, like a banner that must not drop.
Edlyn planted fists on her hips and shot Eli a lofty look, eyes cold as lantern glass, the kind that said, You hick, how’d you become a Hero?
Eli didn’t know what brewed in her heart. He only saw that mischievous face; he touched the teardrop mole by her eye, a dragonfly kiss on water. “Alright, alright—you know the most.”
Of course, inside, he didn’t take her words seriously; he let them drift like fallen petals.
Eli looked at Isco. “It’s about time to start, or he’ll grow suspicious.” His timing felt like a blade’s shadow cutting close.
Isco nodded, a reed bending in wind.
Eli shut his eyes and brought his hands together. White light welled over him, dawn pouring over snow. He rose into the air; the airflow loosened his ponytail, and sanctity breathed from him like incense.
Isco looked up with worship and greed, eyes twin candles before an altar. “Worthy of a Hero—what a mesmerizing aura!”
Eli opened his eyes. His pupils began to shift. The left sclera blackened to night; the right iris blanched to snow. Left all black, right all white—night and day sharing one face.
Edlyn shuddered hard under his glance, like a struck bronze chime.
The Hero’s Judge Mode, first stage—a temple bell calling the storm.
She saw again that battle form etched deep in memory. Back then, with a Demon God’s blessing, she could match his final‑stage Judge; now…
Judge Mode came from the second shard of memory, five stages in all. Eli hadn’t mastered it. He could only brush the world’s weave, reaching stage one. Mana, defense, speed, resistance surged; his senses leapt like hawks on thermals. He couldn’t yet do more.
With one palm, he blasted Isco away. Outside, bats scattered like torn clouds. Neighbors sensed trouble—doors slammed, windows boarded.
Eli swept a look around. He’d planned to take everyone away, but the pressure gnawing from all sides since he burst from the room pricked like thorns in fog, and he wavered.
The Bloodkin man sat on a throne woven of bats, a stemmed glass pinched between fingers. He watched Eli burst forth and smiled, a thin blade for a smile. “So you do have some unusual tricks. If I capture you as well, perhaps…”
Golden radiance gathered behind Eli, shaking off the swooping bats like leaves in a gale. In Judge Mode’s senses, a massive black vortex of energy coiled where the Bloodkin sat.
As Isco tumbled back, energy knit inside him too. Magic? Perhaps his power was better called an anomalous ability, threads stitching under skin.
“Spatial Warp!” A white field of light pressed at Eli’s side. The marker he’d planted on the Bloodkin earlier flashed. Eli blinked to the Bloodkin’s flank, and his golden energy blade thrust in the same breath.
The Bloodkin’s pupils tightened; he jerked his head aside. The blade nicked his skin, which he crushed in his fist. Sizzle—searing meat—and a charred stench rose from his hand like smoke off a grill.
Eli smiled. “Char‑grilled Bloodkin—decent dish.” He yanked the light‑sword free and stabbed for the heart. The Bloodkin reeled back, then tried to trigger the mark hidden on Isco—no effect. “Tch. Damn thing.”
Isco flash‑stepped to Weimi, wherever she’d been stashed; her bloodline held nothing special, and the Bloodkin had no appetite now, so he hadn’t drunk her blood.
Isco panted hard. Such long‑distance recall strained him, a bow bent past its arc.
He scooped the unconscious Weimi and ran at once, feet drumming like rain on stone.
He knew he’d be no help to Eli—might even drag him down. A thread of self‑interest tugged, and he cut away like a fish fleeing the net.
Eli gathered another blade in his right hand and drove both toward the Bloodkin, twin fangs lunging through the dark.
