Slowly, my senses began to awaken as I emerged from a deep slumber. Each muscle in my body ached and protested as I tried to move, the aftermath of overusing my ability hitting me like a ton of bricks. As I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh. My gaze immediately went to my left limb, now reduced to a mere stump where my hand used to be. Consciousness fully enveloped me and a practical thought crossed my mind - for the next few days, I would have to work with only my right hand until my father could commission an artificial one from skilled artisans among the dwarves.
Unfortunately, without materials that conduct mana well, the prosthetic would limit the magical capabilities of my left hand. I turned my head and surveyed my surroundings. Though I was no medic in my previous life, it was clear that I was in a medical tent.
With great effort, I groaned as I attempted to rise from the bed. A medic, startled by the sound, quickly rushed towards me with wide eyes. ''THE YOUNG MASTER IS AWAKE'' He shouted for those outside before turning back to me just in time to see my stump coming towards his face.
"Shut up!" I growled, squinting against the throbbing pain that seemed to intensify with each passing second.
The medic, caught off guard, clutched his nose as a trickle of blood escaped. A sharp curse escaped his lips, "Fuck!" His voice felt like a hammer to my head, each word pounding against my skull. I winced, hoping the silence would be the solution to my throbbing head. But then a sudden stinging sensation erupted in my stomach, causing me to throw the blankets away and take stock of my situation. My eyes widened at the sight of red seeping through the bandages wrapped tightly around my abdomen. "Damn," I thought to myself, "I must be in a bad shape." The medic, now speaking in a hushed tone as he apparently learned a lesson from his outburst, urgently called for an assistant. It seemed that the stitches holding my wound together had given way. Groaning in pain, I endured the discomfort as the medic carefully undid the bandages to assess the state of my injury.
He sighed with a hint of frustration, "The wound's opened up again." His assistant swiftly came over and was immediately ordered around by the medic. "Get me some clean bandages and be quick!" Together, they meticulously cleansed the wound, gently dabbing at it with damp cloths and antiseptic solutions. The medic explained as he worked, "We'll have to restitch it," his skilled fingers expertly maneuvering the needle and thread.
During the process, the assistant added with a note of caution, "Please try not to make any sudden moves; we want those stitches to hold." I nodded in understanding, gritting my teeth against the persistent ache gnawing at me.
Finally unable to bear it any longer, I reluctantly asked, "Got anything for the pain?" The medic looked at me with sympathy in his eyes and gave a knowing nod before reaching for a small bottle among the array of medical supplies. "Here," he said, handing me the container, "drink this. It's a painkiller; it should offer some respite from the discomfort or pain." Gratefully, I eagerly gulped down the liquid in the bottle as if it were a soothing elixir. Gradually, a welcomed calmness enveloped me and the persistent pain began to subside. The medicinal elixir worked its magic, and damn if it wasn't some good stuff.
As the medic continued to work, the entrance of the tent flopped open once again, revealing the face of my father, the lord of this land. His eyes met mine and I could see a mixture of relief and guilt reflected in them. I knew he felt responsible for my current state, as it was his decision to have me lead the vanguard that resulted in my injuries.
As he walked towards me, I couldn't help but take in his appearance. He still wore his armor, though it had been cleaned and polished, indicating that some time had passed since the raid. When he reached a few meters away from me, he stopped and his gaze fell on the medics working tirelessly to stop my bleeding.
After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor finally let out a sigh as he finished his work and gave his parting advice before bowing to both my father and myself and leaving us alone in the tent. The silence hung heavy between us before I finally broke it with a casual greeting, "Good morning, Father?" I asked as I did not know the time
"I'm sorry, Favian. It's my fault," my father expressed with a mixture of guilt and remorse. He knelt beside me, his warm hand enveloping mine in a comforting manner. I wanted to speak, to tell him that he was right, but the words caught in my throat."Did the raid conclude? Did we emerge victorious?" I managed to croak out, desperately trying to push away the memories of the brutal battle."Yes, we succeeded. The dungeon was obliterated from start to end, and it's all thanks to you. You don't know how proud I am of you, son," my father said with tears streaming down his face. Amidst the emotional mix of laughter and tears, he repeatedly whispered, "My son is a demon-slayer, a demon-slayer.'' His reaction was composed given the magnitude of the title.
This accolade was not given lightly and was only bestowed upon those who successfully vanquished a demon. And I had not just defeated any demon, but one of the twelve powerful demons in service to the Demon King. And since I stood alone against him and emerged victorious, my prestige and name would undoubtedly soar across different kingdoms. But then a thought entered my mind - should I hide this achievement ?The answer came swiftly: No way.Fuck that.Nothing could take away the pride and recognition I deserved for shedding blood and risking my life in this epic battle. I was determined to display the demon's head proudly on the gates of our mansion as a symbol of my triumph. This was an accomplishment that I intended to embrace fully and without apology. After all, heroes should never shy away from their glory and honor.
Usually the title of demon slayers were usually reserved for the elitè of the kingdom known as war-saints.
While we had them, the demon king had the twelve high demons ,once numbering 15, their ranks had been reduced to 12 after the war and now to 11 after my stunt.
On the opposite side on once the Narai kingdom, could boast formidable force of 10 war-saints. However, they too had suffered losses and were now down to just four remaining fighters, while the demons killed 6 the kingdom only managed to bring down 3, bringing the scale of power clearly on the demon's side.
One would think that after this loss, our kingdom would be invaded by the others nations, since we were weaken. However this was not the case, as our kingdom served as a crucial buffer zone against the demonic threat, neighboring kingdoms would have been at risk of invasion if not for us. It was an unspoken yet understood rule that any harm inflicted upon our lands would not only be viewed as an attack on our kingdom, but also heightened the danger of demons spreading to other territories. This consensus was born out of fear, as no one wanted to inherit the responsibility of being the sole barrier between other races and the relentless demonic forces.
As a result, none dared to actively fight against us and instead offered support through troops, weapons, and funds. It had been thirty years since our kingdom had engaged in battle with any other race apart from demons - a mere three years before they appeared on our planet. Their sudden appearance remained shrouded in mystery for the natives of this world , but their destructive powers were well-known and feared by all...
As I sat in the tent, my father's proud gaze bore into me, tears glistening in his eyes.Suddendly though he asked something, I wish he did not
"But Favian," he spoke with confusion laced in his voice, "why would you hide your abilities to such an extent?" I wished he would continue crying instead of asking questions. My palms grew clammy as I searched for an answer. "I only discovered them a few days ago, Father. And with everything else going on, I didn't want to add more confusion to you by revealing them. But then the demon appeared and... well, you know how it ended." His expression softened and he thanked me profusely, calling me a hero for saving not only him but all the men inside the cave and possibly even the entire county.
Just then, the tent flapped open once again, revealing the figures of Alistair, the princess, and Victor - commander of the expedition. They all looked at me, covered in bandages with my missing arm starkly visible. Victorion's gaze held a mix of pain and guilt, likely blaming himself for what had transpired inside the dungeon. But deep down, I knew it wasn't his fault. No one could have predicted the horrors we faced inside.
I mean if I had to blame someone, not counting that fucking prick without an head, I would have blamed my father....
Despite everything, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at being hailed as a hero, after all who wouldn't wish to claim victory after a battle fought through teeth and nails?