"Stini," I crouched on the cold loam, sap slick on my fingers as I lifted the treant’s arm. "Think this thing drops coins?"

Her snort hit like a pebble in a pond. "Are you kidding? This thing doesn’t mint coins. And didn’t you say no killing treants? How do we claim the bounty if they’re dead?"

"A… spite-born drop?"

"You tell me."

Heat rose first, then pain pricked like needles. She slipped behind me and started yanking my hair, one strand at a time.

"Look, sometimes you slip, right? It’s totally possible to accidentally chop one or two monsters."

"But you wiped them out. You wrecked the monster ecology!"

Guilt bit like frost. "I didn’t realize my magic had gotten that strong."

I swear it was a miscast. I was clowning with the girls mid-fight, and my AOE, Spears of Benevolent Malice: Ensemble, drank a little too much mana.

Fine, I admit I overcast by a lot, so please stop plucking my hair, I’m begging you, Stini.

At the spell’s birth, shadow-lances whooshed up from the earth, a thornfield that covered the entire treant grove.

The treants, and the other monsters hiding among them, all died. The Demon King’s retainers revert to pure mana and idea when slain, but worldly-born monsters leave bodies.

Green blood pooled like mossy puddles. Corpses piled like a hill of roots.

We killed humanity’s enemies, sure, but a Hero Squad chatting atop a heap of bodies looked villainous no matter the angle.

Stini and Gloria didn’t see it that way.

In the Silver Era, right and wrong stand like black ink on white paper. Mindless, raging treants are enemies to humans.

And killing enemies, however you do it, is called correct.

This era breeds no soft saints. Mercy isn’t for enemies. Forgiveness doesn’t erase the ledger.

The girls had no knot over killing. They felt we’d stepped one pace closer to peace under an open sky.

What really needled Stini was tomorrow’s bounty turning to smoke.

The Hero family is deep in debt, thanks to Augustus botching it and wrecking the Academy.

"Stop pulling my hair—ow, ow. Wait, you said treants might have rare materials we can harvest? Gear-grade material?"

"Nope." Stini’s voice was ice over steel, and her fingers kept plucking. "To make money, I studied every bounty and posting for the Eastern Groves. I logged every harvestable. Treants have no tough parts, no hard parts, no usable parts."

"If no one’s made gear from treants, we can set the trend. Lead the fashion."

I argued like a cornered fox, just to save my hair.

"Oh?" She kept on yanking.

"Look, a treant’s—" I pictured that ugly bark-face as armor and winced. Her gaze darkened like stormglass, and her fingers sped up. If she kept this up, I’d be bald. "Wait, wait. Treants can pool power across their area. They must have a special organ. High mana conduction. That’s harvest value."

If they were born of the Demon Realm, the form might be weirder than a nightmare. But worldly monsters, though leaning dark like their cousins, are still products of order. Special abilities have reasons, and reasons have organs.

I’m guessing treants stack the strength of their kin in one zone because of a special organ.

"No," she said, cold as a winter blade. "Alive, their mana conduction is great. But once a treant dies, the special organ—called the Root Cluster—crystallizes. Normal mana won’t conduct. No mage buys that junk."

Her tone could frost glass.

She never listens in monster ecology, yet the moment money’s involved, she’s a walking ledger.

"B-but we’ve got a pro alchemist. We can have Raven study it. Maybe she can make it conduct."

"Maybe," she said, fingers pausing like a held breath. She thought a heartbeat. "…But I think the bounty pays better."

Her fingers flew faster, like hail on a drum.

"I’ll apologize. I’ll apologize sincerely! Spare my hair. Plucking me bald won’t make me stronger!"

"If apologies worked, we wouldn’t need the Heretic Inquisition."

She let go of my hair. This time she drew her longsword, point flashing like lightning, and stabbed straight at my skull.

"Hey, hey! Don’t kill me over a single bounty!"

I snatched up my Greatsword and swung backhand to where she stood behind me.

Stini’s Holy Sword, Galewind, punched into the ground with a steel whisper. It skewered the monster lurking under my feet, drank her mana, then bloomed holy flame that turned it to ash.

My Greatsword, Valor, ripped the wind like a banner in a storm. The cut smashed the ambusher dropping in on Stini. Weight like a falling anvil broke its spine. A wide wheel crushed it flat. This time the body truly split.

"Nice synergy!" She flashed me a victory sign, then dove into the next wave like a gull into surf.

"Synergy my ass! You almost ventilated my skull!"

I roared after her. She’d struck at my head because she truly believed I’d dodge. No killing intent is harder to read than a candle in fog.

Damn this Hero.

I leveled Valor and dipped my head, folding most of my body behind the blade like under a steel roof. I shoved forward.

Two Barlo Rabbits lunged and slid along the greatsword’s slope, skidding past to my back like water off a tile.

Good. Four ahead, two behind. A neat circle.

While shoving, my body set into a cutting stance like a bow drawn to the ear.

I half-circled a horizontal cut in front. Then lifted Valor over my head and swept the rear half-circle.

Seven solid impacts thrummed up the hilt. One more than expected. Looks like another idiot rushed in.

I was ready to bark at Stini again, but she wasn’t even looking my way. No point posturing.

Alright… go help Princess Golia. We’re fighting in pure monster turf, and after a win someone must stand watch while others harvest.

Her Highness was the lookout. If monsters slipped past, things on her side looked bad.

Yeah, I’m the Son of the Demon King, but I know how adventuring squads are built.

They say it best: the one who knows you most is your enemy.

I’ve never been hunted by a Hero before coming topside, but I did my homework. I read a mountain of records to counter Hero hunts.

Before she left, Stini didn’t forget to bless me with applied spells: Iron Fortification and War God Unparalleled. Valor suddenly felt light as a reed, and my cuts flowed like water.

Honestly, warriors in the Silver Era are unlucky. You need a mage or a cleric to really fight.

Stini loves those high-tier buffs. With Iron Fortification and War God Unparalleled on a warrior, your stats triple. Your body turns harder than iron, agility spikes, endurance swells.

Even low-tier stuff like Iron Sheath and Hero’s Horn boosts you by half again. With support, two equal fighters won’t be equal.

My build is Shadow Sorcerer with a warrior side job. My warrior fundamentals can match Stini’s, but Shadow Sorcerers lack buff-type applied magic. I misjudged human limits and felt real awkward at first.

Put stance and esoterics aside, peak warriors can cut bullets and swing a greatsword like a willow switch. With a bit of talent and grind, most can get there. But the human ceiling sits like a lid. Stamina and endurance lag, and that cages human combat.

Other races—Lunarfolk, beastfolk, Aerian—have better bodies. Humans have low base stats. Training won’t change the species sheet.

How long can you swing at full force? How long can you sprint flat out?

Big wars grind five or six hours like a millstone. A glass-cannon berserker style won’t last.

So a warrior without magic doesn’t solo. The Hero Academy instructors chant that like a temple bell.

When I set my body’s physical parameters, I pegged all-out at about twenty minutes. Enough for one clean hunt. If I catch breaths, I can scrape thirty.

After arriving topside, the combat instructors taught us breathing techniques that restore stamina.

Breathing, huh. Another lesson. Demonfolk don’t need to breathe. I’d never thought of recovering through breath. We draw nutrients straight from mana. We don’t even need to eat.

Our racial stats are too high. In battle, our stamina crawls back; muscles don’t ache; and if you gas out, you sit a moment and you’re ready. No breath required. I used that tier of hero as my body’s template. Turns out I tuned it wrong.

Humans can fight all-out for about five minutes. But they steal breaths mid-fight, tuck tiny rests in the gaps. Over time, their total drain rivals Demonfolk who only charge forward.

So I still don’t know the breathing forms. Stini picked them up naturally.

She says in a duel, one-hit kills are rare. What matters is breaking the opponent’s breathing rhythm.

When I found her drifting through a tide of monsters—no, when I found Princess Golia—it had been about fifteen minutes since I split from Stini.

Her Highness was dueling someone wreathed head to toe in mana from the Ocean of Darkness.

Oof. A rare one. An SSR-tier mid retainer among the Demon King’s retainers. A mortal who chose to drown in the Ocean of Darkness, and rose as a retainer.

I want one. Even I, a specialist in recruiting mortals, only have three so far.

I carved a road through the sea of beasts with my greatsword, and ran over with a hunter’s curiosity blazing.