Noir and Elion made their way back to the elder's hut. As they entered, the elder offered a gentle smile, his pale blue eyes filled with a quiet wisdom that seemed to reach into the very core of the room.
"I must thank you," Noir began, his tone sincere but still guarded. "You've helped me more than I expected." He paused, then continued, "But I think it's time for me to go. I've already taken much of your time."
Elion stood tall, his long, silver-white hair flowing gracefully down his back. His expression remained calm and thoughtful, as if carefully weighing Noir's words before responding. With a measured gesture, he raised his hand, a sign of both patience and quiet authority.
"Why not rest for a while?" Elion suggested in his calm, soothing voice, his tone diplomatic and fair. "Leave tomorrow morning. It would be wise to regain your strength after the process you've just been through." His pale blue eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to assess Noir's state of weariness with a depth of understanding that only centuries of experience could offer.
Noir hesitated, feeling the weight of his exhaustion. Elion's words were not a command, but rather a gentle invitation, the kind that carried the wisdom of ages. Despite his cautious nature, Noir felt a sense of trust in the elder's suggestion. He nodded slowly.
"Alright," he agreed. "I will rest for the day."
Elion's warm, knowing smile appeared briefly before he inclined his head. "Wise choice," he said softly, his gaze lingering on Noir as if gauging his inner turmoil, yet offering no judgment. He stepped aside, allowing Noir to make his way to the small guest area of the hut.
As Noir settled in, Elion quietly returned to his place by the hearth, his green and silver robes flowing with his graceful movements. He leaned gently on his intricately carved staff, the symbols of nature and the elements softly glowing along its length. Though he appeared deep in thought, his presence was a quiet comfort, like the steady hum of the forest surrounding them. Even without words, Elion's calm presence seemed to ease the tension in the room.
"Rest well," Elion finally spoke, his voice low and steady, the words carrying the weight of someone who had witnessed countless lifetimes of struggle and survival. "Tomorrow will bring clarity."
Noir, feeling the last remnants of tension slip away, closed his eyes. The elder's voice was the last thing he heard before he drifted into a deep, restorative sleep, trusting that Elion's wisdom and patience would guide him through whatever challenges awaited him next.
The night passed without incident, and a new morning dawned over the elven village. Noir awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, the weariness from yesterday's training nearly gone. He rose and moved to the doorway, noticing a crowd gathering at the village entrance.
He stepped outside and saw almost all the female elves standing by the entrance, their bags and belongings clutched in their hands. Their faces were filled with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.
Noir watched with curiosity as the scene unfolded. So this is what they meant by jobs in the duchy, he thought. The elves appeared genuinely happy, even eager, as if this were a rare opportunity for them.
After a few moments, Martin arrived with a broad smile, his demeanor friendly and welcoming. He moved with purpose, greeting each elf by name, carefully escorting them toward a series of large, decorated horse-drawn carriages waiting to carry them away.
Noir observed in silence, noting the care Martin took in handling the elves, the way he ensured each one was safely boarded. His manner was polished, and the elves seemed to respond positively, chatting among themselves with excitement.
As the last of the elves climbed aboard, Noir knew it was time to prepare for his own departure. He returned to the hut, gathering his few belongings quickly. Having already given his thanks to Elion the previous evening, he decided it would be best to leave quietly, avoiding any unnecessary farewells.
He moved swiftly, his steps silent as he headed toward the edge of the village, his thoughts already turning to the journey ahead.
Noir walked along the horse path, moving with a steady, confident stride. He carried The Grimreaper slung over his shoulder, its weight a comforting presence. His posture was almost regal, each step exuding an air of authority and power, as if he were a king surveying his domain.
As he continued down the path, he passed the carriage carrying the female elves. The elves, still excited and full of hope, waved at him, their expressions bright and cheerful. Noir, despite his usual cold demeanor, felt an odd compulsion to respond. He raised a hand, giving a small wave in acknowledgment. For a moment, he felt a strange connection to these beings—innocent, unaware of the fate that awaited them.
After the carriage disappeared from view, Noir continued on his journey, moving deeper into the forest. Hours passed as he roamed the thick woods, not entirely sure of where he was headed, his mind occupied with thoughts of what he had learned so far.
Suddenly, a loud noise broke through his thoughts. He stopped, his senses sharpening, ears straining to catch the direction of the sound. That... what was that? Noir thought, feeling a prickling at the back of his neck.
The sound was distant but unmistakable—shouts, cries, and the crackle of fire. He felt a surge of curiosity mixed with caution. Something is happening... he realized. Deciding to investigate, Noir moved toward the source of the noise, his movements swift but controlled.
As he drew closer, the sounds grew louder, more distinct. His eyes narrowed as he made his way through the dense foliage, careful not to make a sound. Finally, he reached a small clearing and stopped, hidden by the shadows, and what he saw made his blood run cold.
A group of bulky humans stood around a small campfire, their faces twisted with malice. Several female elves were bound in chains, their hands tied tightly, their clothing being ripped from their bodies. The elves were screaming, struggling against their restraints as one of the humans—an imposing man with a thick beard and a cruel grin—held a branding iron over the fire, its tip glowing a menacing red.
Noir's grip on The Grimreaper tightened. He watched in silence, his eyes flashing with anger. He could feel the tension in his muscles, every fiber of his being urging him to act, to strike.
The man with the branding iron lifted it from the flames and pressed it against the bare back of one of the elves. She screamed, her body convulsing as the metal seared her flesh. The other elves cried out in fear and pain, their voices filled with desperation.
"No... please!" one of the elves begged, tears streaming down her face.
"Quiet, you!" snarled another human, striking her across the face. "You'll all get your turn!"
The scent of burning flesh filled the air, mixing with the smoke from the fire. Noir's breath grew heavy, his rage boiling inside him. How could they...? His mind raced with fury. How could they do this?
Asmodeus's voice hissed in his mind, filled with dark amusement. "Humans... always so delightfully cruel, aren't they?"
Takir's voice was more serious, a low rumble of anger. "This is wrong, Noir. Even by human standards, this is barbaric."
Noir's eyes remained fixed on the scene before him, his anger growing with every passing moment. His grip on The Grimreaper tightened, and he felt the weapon respond to his emotion, its red aura flickering, hungry for blood.
Not yet... Noir told himself, holding back the urge to rush in. He needed to know more, to understand the situation fully before making his move.
Another scream pierced the air, and Noir felt his patience wearing thin. He could feel his aura pulsing, a dark energy building within him, begging to be unleashed.
One of the humans, a large brute with a scar across his face, laughed cruelly. "Keep screaming, little elf," he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "No one can hear you out here."
Noir's eyes narrowed further, his anger reaching a boiling point. I hear them... he thought, feeling the darkness inside him rising, urging him to act.
"Are you going to just stand there, boy?" Asmodeus taunted, his voice mocking. "Or are you going to do something about it?"
Takir's voice rumbled in agreement. "These humans deserve a reckoning, Noir. Show them the meaning of fear."
Noir took a deep breath, his gaze still locked on the men tormenting the elves. "Not yet..." he whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible. He needed to be careful, to choose the right moment to strike.
But the anger inside him was growing, like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
He continued to watch, waiting, calculating, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation.
Soon, he thought, gripping The Grimreaper tightly, feeling its hunger echo his own rage. Very soon...
The scene before him continued, the cries of the elves filling the air, the humans oblivious to the dark figure watching them from the shadows.
Noir's face hardened, his decision made. These humans... they will pay.
Noir continued to watch, his eyes locked on the horrifying scene unfolding before him. He could feel his anger boiling, his heart pounding with rage and frustration. His grip tightened on The Grimreaper, knuckles white with tension. Then, he saw him—Martin. The same butler who had charmed the elves with his polite demeanor, now orchestrating this cruel display.
Martin stood at the center of the chaos, his face twisted in a smug grin as he gave orders to the men. "Mark them all!" he commanded loudly, his voice cold and remorseless. "One by one, make sure each one of them bears the word SLAVE!"
Noir's eyes widened as he realized the depth of the betrayal. These elves... the ones who had smiled at me, the ones who were so hopeful... His breath grew heavy, his vision tinged with red. His blood was boiling with anger. He watched as Martin walked over to one of the larger men, who was grinning maliciously.
"The Duke will be pleased with this present," Martin said, patting the brute on the shoulder. "Make sure none of them escapes."
One of the men, a hulking figure, leaned closer to Martin. "And what about... a little fun with them, eh?" he sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Can we have some... enjoyment before they are sent to the Duke?"
Martin chuckled. "Do what you will," he replied with a dismissive wave. "But make it quick. We have a schedule to keep."
The brute grinned and grabbed one of the elves by her arm. She screamed, her voice filled with terror, struggling against his grip as he dragged her toward a nearby tent. "Please, no! Help! Someone, help me!" she cried, her voice desperate and filled with fear.
Noir's grip on The Grimreaper tightened further. His body trembled with rage, the memory of their sweet smiles flashing in his mind. He was on the edge of unleashing his fury when he suddenly hesitated. Can I really do this? Can I kill them? He had never taken a human life before. He didn't want to become a monster.
He felt his breathing quicken, his heart racing with indecision. They're humans... just like me... he thought, doubt creeping into his mind.
"You fool," Asmodeus's voice hissed in his mind, cutting through his hesitation like a blade. "You are not human anymore. You are a demon—a demon who stands above these pathetic creatures. They are your enemies."
Takir's voice followed, a deep rumble filled with disdain. "Look at them, Noir. See them for what they truly are. They are weak, they are cruel, and they would not hesitate to kill you if given the chance. You are beyond them now, stronger than they can ever be."
Noir's eyes flickered, his grip tightening again on The Grimreaper. I'm not a human...? he thought, his breath steadying as he felt the surge of power within him. He knew what needed to be done. His hesitation vanished, replaced by a cold, determined focus.
I have to act... Noir decided, his eyes narrowing with newfound resolve. I have to save them.
Noir's grip on The Grimreaper tightened further, his eyes narrowing as he felt the dark energy coursing through him. The weapon responded, its aura flaring with a deep crimson light, sensing the anger and the hunger within its wielder. Noir stepped forward, and as he did, he channeled the skill Veil of Shadows, shrouding himself in a cloak of darkness that melded with the night, making him nearly invisible.
With a swift, silent movement, Noir lunged forward, using the enhanced speed from Claw of the Wild to close the distance between him and his enemies in the blink of an eye. His body spun gracefully, and The Grimreaper followed in a deadly arc, its blade whirling like a scythe in a storm, cutting through the air with a vicious hiss. As the weapon made contact, it unleashed Poisonous Fang, coating its edge in a toxic energy that cut deep into the flesh of the nearest attacker, who screamed and staggered back, clutching at the wound as the poison began to take effect.
Noir didn't stop. He swung The Grimreaper again, this time activating Infectious Touch. A dark tendril of energy shot out from the weapon, latching onto another attacker, spreading a sickness that caused the man to gasp and collapse to his knees, his body convulsing as the dark energy seeped into his veins.
The camp erupted into chaos. Men scrambled, trying to regroup, but Noir pressed the attack, his movements fluid and relentless. He unleashed a Primal Roar, the sound reverberating through the air like a beast's call, shaking the ground and disorienting his enemies. The men staggered, their senses overwhelmed by the roar, their bodies trembling as fear took hold.
Seizing the moment, Noir spun on his heel, The Grimreaper's blade glowing fiercely. He used Predatory Instinct to sharpen his senses, allowing him to perceive every slight movement of his opponents. He saw their fear, their hesitation, and he struck with deadly accuracy. The blade of The Grimreaper flashed, cleaving through weapons, armor, and flesh alike, moving with the speed and ferocity of a predator on the hunt.
He advanced with a powerful leap, using his momentum to strike down multiple enemies at once. He swung The Grimreaper low, sweeping the legs out from under two men, and as they fell, he brought the weapon down hard, severing their heads in one fluid motion. The blade pulsed with satisfaction, feeding on their life force.
One of the brutes managed to get close, swinging a heavy axe at Noir. With a quick sidestep, Noir evaded the blow, then countered with a wide, sweeping strike that unleashed a wave of dark energy. The wave struck the man with the axe, lifting him off his feet and hurling him back several meters, his body slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch.
The scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the acrid smell of fear. Noir felt the power of his weapon grow with every kill, its hunger insatiable, urging him on. He darted forward, dodging arrows and blades, moving like a phantom in the night.
His eyes locked onto the brute dragging the elf toward the tent. Noir flung The Grimreaper forward, the weapon spinning through the air like a spinning top. The weapon's dark tendrils extended as it flew, wrapping around the brute's neck and yanking him off his feet. Noir pulled the weapon back into his hand, the tendrils retracting, and with a quick, decisive motion, he ended the man's life with a single stroke.
The remaining attackers tried to flee, their faces pale with terror, but Noir wasn't finished. He lunged forward, using his enhanced speed and strength to close the distance in an instant. He swung The Grimreaper with both hands, the blade glowing bright with a deadly light, cleaving through armor and bone with ease.
"Monster!" one of the men shouted, stumbling back, his voice filled with terror. "He's a monster!"
Martin's face drained of color as he watched Noir decimate his men with ease. "No... this can't be..." he whispered, stumbling back.
Noir's eyes locked onto Martin, his face expressionless, his crimson eyes burning with a cold fury. "You..." he muttered, his voice low and filled with hatred. "You will pay for this."
Martin turned and ran, terror in his eyes, but Noir was already moving. He lunged forward, The Grimreaper trailing behind him like a shadow, ready to strike.
"Help! Someone, help!" Martin shouted, his voice filled with desperation as he fled into the woods.
Noir's lips curled into a grim smile. Run... he thought. Run while you can...
The Grimreaper thrummed with anticipation, its dark aura pulsing with every step Noir took. He could feel the hunger of the weapon, the same hunger that now burned within him. He was done hesitating. He was done being afraid.
Noir moved swiftly through the shadows, his footsteps silent as he tracked Martin. The forest thinned out, giving way to a small clearing where a well-decorated house stood—a stark contrast to the brutality he had just witnessed. Noir's eyes narrowed as he watched Martin rush inside, the door closing heavily behind him.
The house was imposing, its walls adorned with intricate carvings and symbols that marked it as a place of significance. Outside, a line of bulky men stood guard, each clad in heavy armor, their hands gripping swords and spears. They seemed vigilant, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharpness that suggested experience and readiness for battle.
Noir held his position in the undergrowth, assessing the situation. "So, this is where the orders come from," he muttered under his breath. He could sense the tension in the air, the oppressive aura of authority and control emanating from the building.
Martin went straight to his master, Noir thought, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He knew he needed more information, needed to understand who was behind this operation before he struck again. If the Duke is involved, then this goes much deeper than just one village or one shipment of elves.
He glanced around, noting the number of guards and the positions they were in. Attacking head-on would be foolish; even with his skills, the odds were against him in a frontal assault. He needed to think, to strategize.
"Patience," Takir's voice rumbled in his mind, sensing his internal struggle. "A dragon does not strike blindly. It waits for the perfect moment to unleash its fury."
"But a demon," Asmodeus countered, "knows when to take risks. Caution is for those who fear consequences."
Noir's grip on The Grimreaper tightened. He knew he had to be careful. If he were to attack now, he needed to ensure that every strike counted, that every move brought him closer to his goal. I need to find out more... confirm if the Duke is truly behind this, he thought, weighing his options.
He watched the guards, studying their patterns, waiting for an opening, a moment of vulnerability. His heart pounded with a mixture of anger and anticipation. He wanted to move, to act, but he knew that his next decision would be crucial.
"A wise choice," Takir's deep voice rumbled, a hint of approval in his tone. "Sometimes patience can achieve what force cannot."
Asmodeus let out a low, mocking laugh. "Patience, patience... always patience with you two. Where's the fun in that?" He paused, then added with a sly tone, "But very well, mortal, I'll concede. This time."
Noir smirked inwardly. "Both of you, be quiet. I need to think." His eyes swept the perimeter again, taking in the layout of the house, the positions of the guards, the possible points of entry.
He knew that charging in recklessly would lead to disaster. The Duke would be ready for him, and the guards would be alert. No, he needed to find another way—perhaps a way to infiltrate the house and gather information from within.
I need someone inside, someone who knows this place, Noir thought. He began considering his options, thinking back to the elves he had saved. Perhaps one of them could help him—someone with a reason to fight, to bring down the Duke and his operations from the inside.
He needed to find an ally, someone who knew the lay of the land, who could navigate the intricate web of the Duke's network. An insider, or a desperate soul looking for justice. Noir's mind raced with possibilities.
"An ally... or a traitor," he murmured under his breath, feeling the weight of his thoughts. "Someone with the knowledge, the skills... and the motive."
His eyes darted back to the guarded house. He needed to move carefully, find a way to get closer without being seen. He began to inch forward, keeping to the shadows, his aura suppressed by the Veil of Shadows skill. Every step was silent, deliberate, as he made his way to a better vantage point.
The guards remained unaware, their focus on the perimeter of the house. Noir continued his approach, feeling the pulse of The Grimreaper at his side, ready to strike if necessary.
"This isn't over, Duke," Noir whispered to himself, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I'll find out everything... and then, I'll bring you down."
Noir crouched behind a cluster of dense bushes, his senses heightened, waiting for the right moment to make his move. He knew that patience would be his greatest weapon tonight, that every second spent waiting brought him closer to understanding the enemy he faced.
For now, he would wait, hidden in the darkness, watching, planning, and preparing. The Duke's operation was vast, but Noir was determined to dismantle it, piece by piece, shadow by shadow.
And when the moment was right, he would strike... with all the fury of the darkness he now commanded.