Devil.
That was the only word Amy could use to describe Daemon in that moment. His cold purple eyes glowed faintly, their eerie light cutting through the darkness of the forest. Blood smeared his face, a stark contrast against his pale skin. He stood there, motionless yet menacing
Ren and Amy stared, stunned beyond words. They had bullied plenty of students before—mocked them, beaten them—but never had they taken a life. Watching Dylan's lifeless body lying in a pool of blood, the brutal reality of the situation hit them harder than any blow they had ever dealt. They had never imagined Daemon would go this far.
Amy's heart pounded in her chest, fear gripping her tightly. The sheer cruelty of what she had just witnessed left her shaken. That was when, the aura of dread that had weighed on her moments ago finally began to fade, and she could feel her strength returning. Yet, despite regaining her strength, the fear did not leave. It lingered, sinking deep into her mind.
Trembling, she dared to look into Daemon's eyes again. What she saw made her stomach twist. Those eyes... cold and devoid of mercy. They didn't seem human. She had never seen such lifeless, predatory eyes before, and the chill they carried left her feeling small and powerless.
Suddenly, Daemon's words echoed in her mind.
"I'll have to kill if I want to survive." She thought to herself.
Amy's breath hitched as she slowly turned her gaze toward Ren. Fear gnawed at her insides, but she couldn't ignore the truth. If she hesitated now, her life might end here just as Dylan's had. Her mind raced as she realized what needed to be done. It was kill... or be killed.
Amy's trembling hands slowly pulled the dagger from her bag, her eyes fixed on Ren. He, too, was shaking, his body still haunted by the image of Dylan's death. The terror had paralyzed both of them.
Her mind raced as she prepared for the only way out. With a quick, practiced movement, she activated her skill—Mind Haze. The world around Ren seemed to blur, and the fog crept into his mind, clouding his thoughts. His eyes glazed over, a dazed, vacant look overtaking him. Amy saw her chance and lunged forward, jumping at him with all her desperation.
The dagger found its mark, but Ren's tough physical nature, due to him being a physical type hunter, resisted the blade. The dagger didn't pierce deeply enough, only grazing his skin. She could feel the strain in her own arms as she tried to push the dagger deeper into him, but her strength was not enough.
Panicking, Amy pulled the dagger out and stabbed again. Blood sprayed from Ren's chest, splattering across her face, but she didn't stop. The frantic fear and desperation surged within her, forcing her to stab again and again. Each strike was a release, pouring her panic, her terror, into every thrust of the dagger.
She knew her skill would only last for so long—she could feel it slipping away, the haze in Ren's mind beginning to dissipate. In that moment, her desperation reached its peak. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't stop. She kept stabbing, her dagger sinking deeper with each blow. She felt his blood coat her hands and arms, the warmth of it mingling with the cold fear inside her.
It was as if she were in a trance, her mind numb, focused only on the task at hand. She could barely hear her own ragged breathing over the frantic pounding of her heart. In that single, chaotic moment, she poured every ounce of fear and desperation into her strikes.
What felt like an eternity to Amy finally came to an end. Her trembling hands froze midair, and she slowly looked down. Ren's lifeless body lay beneath her, his chest covered in deep, jagged wounds. Blood soaked his clothes and pooled around him, a gruesome scene that made Amy's stomach twist violently.
For a brief moment, she could only stare in shock, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. The reality hit her like a crashing wave—this was her first kill. The realization brought a sickening feeling that rose rapidly from her stomach to her throat. She stumbled back from Ren's body, dropping the blood-stained dagger as if it had suddenly burned her fingers.
"Bleurgh…" She collapsed to her knees and vomited onto the ground, her entire body shuddering uncontrollably. The metallic stench of blood mixed with the bile in her mouth, making it worse.
Amy couldn't keep her mind steady. Her thoughts were a swirling storm of confusion, fear, and regret. She felt hollow and lost, as if something inside her had shattered. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and she clutched her chest, trying to calm the chaos within her.
Amid the turmoil, she suddenly felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder. The unexpected touch made her flinch, but when she turned her head, she met Daemon's calm, cold gaze. His face was still splattered with blood, but his expression held an eerie calmness, as if what had just happened was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Good job," he said quietly, his tone unsettlingly neutral. The simple words carried a strange weight, making Amy's chaotic emotions even harder to bear.
"I trust I don't need to explain why you shouldn't mention tonight's events to anyone," Daemon said, his voice calm yet carrying a weight that made Amy's heart race even faster.
Before she could gather her thoughts, Daemon extended his hand toward her. "Give me your dagger."
Amy hesitated for a brief moment, her trembling fingers tightly gripping the bloodied weapon. But the cold look in Daemon's eyes left no room for refusal. Swallowing her fear, she handed over the dagger, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She didn't know what Daemon intended to do, and the uncertainty gnawed at her nerves.
Daemon took the dagger without a word and turned toward the forest's exit. His footsteps were steady, echoing faintly in the stillness of the night. Just when Amy thought he was gone, he suddenly stopped and looked back over his shoulder, his gaze piercing through the darkness.
"Get rid of the bodies," he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if it were a simple task like tidying up a room.
Amy flinched at his words, her body stiffening in fear. For a moment, she couldn't move, but when Daemon's gaze lingered on her, she forced herself to nod, unable to find her voice.
Without waiting for a response, Daemon turned away and disappeared into the shadows of the forest, leaving Amy alone amidst the blood and death.
*******************
Ring!
The shrill sound of the alarm echoed through the quiet room, dragging Daemon out of his sleep.
"Ugh…" he groaned, his voice heavy with fatigue.
Since his body was covered in blood of Dylan when he returned, Daemon had no choice but to activate his 'Stealth' skill just to sneak back into his dorm without being noticed.
Glancing at the clock, he saw the glowing numbers—6:00 AM.
"Six already, huh?" he muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Guess I've got enough time to deal with the weapon change."
As per the academy's rules, any change in a student's primary weapon had to be officially registered. Daemon didn't particularly care for the rules, but he had no intention of drawing unnecessary attention to himself either. Skipping the process wasn't an option.
If it weren't for this annoying formality, he wouldn't have bothered waking up so early. He was never a morning person—not in this life, nor in his previous one.
With a sigh, he dragged himself out of bed, preparing for the day ahead.
"Let's get this over with," Daemon thought as he stepped out of his room.
The cold air nipped at his skin, and the sky was still a deep shade of blue. The sun hadn't yet risen, and with winter fast approaching, the campus remained mostly empty at this early hour. Only a few distant shadows of early risers moved around the grounds.
Daemon made his way toward the student administration building. Upon entering, he saw a lone secretary sitting behind a desk, her posture calm and composed. In this world, work hours began much earlier than what he was used to in his past life—another thing he wasn't particularly fond of.
"I want to change my weapon," Daemon said without wasting time.
The secretary gave a polite nod, her expression remaining neutral. "Sure, we can arrange that for you. Which weapon are you planning to switch to?"
"Sword," Daemon replied simply, his voice steady.
Following the secretary's instructions, Daemon made his way to the testing area. Upon arrival, he was handed a basic sword—simple in design but balanced enough for proper evaluation.
Gripping the sword, he tested its weight, giving it a few practice swings. The cold metal felt solid in his hand, and though the weapon was nothing special, it was enough to warm up with. He moved into the empty training area, performing fluid strikes and quick footwork, getting a feel for the sword's balance and his own movements.
As Daemon continued, a figure entered the room, catching his attention. It was an instructor—stern, broad-shouldered, and carrying an air of authority. He wore a formal instructor's uniform, the badge on his chest marking him as the Coordinator of the Swordsmanship Course.
He had seen this character countless times in the game.
'Leymar, if I'm not wrong,' Daemon thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the man.
The testing area was a vast, open field designed specifically for weapon trials. Different target ranges stretched across the field, each set at varying distances. The targets came in all shapes and sizes, crafted from sturdy materials that could endure repeated strikes from swords and other weapons.
"All right, let's begin," Instructor Leymar said, his voice steady and commanding.