As the guild arrived at the ruins of Bagon City, they were struck silent by the devastation. The once-thriving trade hub was now a ghostly expanse of charred buildings, streets littered with lifeless demon corpses, and the faint acrid scent of burnt wood hanging in the air. The eerie stillness gnawed at their confidence.
"What the hell happened here?" one guild member asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might awaken the horrors that had caused such destruction.
"My money! All that gold for holding the city... gone!" wailed another, falling to his knees. The lucrative contract they had eagerly sought was now void—Bagon was no longer a city to capture.
Among the adventurers, a figure stood apart, his presence commanding attention despite his unassuming attire. Draped in a black cloak, his long blond hair peeked through, gleaming faintly in the early sunlight. Piercing golden eyes scanned the ruins, his lips curving into a faint smile as he muttered under his breath, "You escaped, Asuma. Well done." Without another word, he disappeared into the throng of adventurers, melting into the chaos like a shadow.
Miles away, Asuma, Leon, Amira, and Rona trudged along a dusty road, their bodies battered and weary from the harrowing battle with Manola and her demon horde. They had chosen to head to the nearby village of Avon rather than risk the longer journey back to Nale City. With their horses lost amidst the chaos, the trek was grueling.
"I'm so exhausted..." Leon muttered, his legs dragging as his eyelids grew heavier. He looked as though he might fall asleep mid-step.
"We're almost there," Rona assured him, his tone calm yet tinged with concern. His sharp gaze shifted to Asuma, who had been unnervingly quiet since they left Bagon. Asuma's face was clouded with thought, his tired eyes distant as if staring into some unseen abyss.
"Hey, kid," Rona called gently. "When we get to Avon, let's talk."
Asuma nodded absently. "Okay," he murmured, his mind still consumed by a storm of unanswered questions. What am I? Who am I? The words echoed relentlessly in his mind, a torment he couldn't escape.
Amira walked silently beside him, her worried gaze flicking toward his troubled expression. She hadn't asked what the demon Lanola had told him during their confrontation at the oak tree, but the haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes. She clenched her fists. What did that demon reveal to him?
As they neared Avon, signs of life began to dot the landscape. Small groups of villagers trudged along the dirt road, carrying tools and sacks of supplies. The village itself came into view, a modest settlement nestled by the calm expanse of the Great Glotic Ocean. Unlike Bagon, Avon lacked the bustling trade ports or towering architecture. Its small wooden pier extended humbly into the shimmering waters, serving primarily as a fishing dock for the locals.
When the group entered the village, their tattered clothes and bruised bodies drew the wary eyes of the townsfolk. Whispers followed them as they made their way to the village inn. Inside, the warm, earthy tones of the modest establishment were a stark contrast to the harrowing scenes they had just left behind.
They rented rooms, each retreating to rest. Asuma chose the farthest room at the end of the hall, a quiet space with a small window overlooking the ocean. The sight of the steady waves, glinting under the soft glow of the rising sun, offered him a fleeting sense of calm amidst the turmoil in his heart.
Sitting by the window, he stared out at the tranquil horizon. The faint scent of salt in the air contrasted with the blood and ash that had clung to him earlier. His thoughts churned. What did Lanola mean? What is the truth I'm missing?
A quiet knock at the door broke his reverie. "It's me, kid," Rona's voice called.
Asuma opened the door, finding Rona standing there with a serious expression. "Where's everyone?" Asuma asked.
"Leon's asleep. Amira's writing a letter to the Balar estate in Anor," Rona replied, stepping inside. "She probably wants to let her family know she's okay. You should think about writing your aunt too."
"Yeah... I probably should," Asuma admitted, though his voice lacked conviction. His gaze returned to the waves, distant again.
"Come on, let's talk," Rona said, gesturing for Asuma to follow him. His tone was firmer this time. There was something he wanted to say—something important.
Asuma hesitated, his heart sinking. Does Rona know? Did Amira or Leon tell him about the "Prince of Mercy"? He nodded and followed Rona out, a mix of dread and hope swirling in his chest.
Following Rona's lead, Asuma found himself outside the village, far from the comforting noise of Avon's humble life. They walked in silence until Rona stopped in a field blanketed with dandelions swaying gently in the breeze. Despite its peaceful appearance, Asuma couldn't fully relax. After the chaos of the past days, even the serenity of nature seemed like a prelude to disaster.
Rona turned to face him, his expression serious. "Now we can talk without anyone eavesdropping," he said, folding his arms. "Asuma, I need to ask—what are you?"
The question struck Asuma like a lightning bolt. It was the same question he had been asking himself, the question that had haunted him since the day he met Camellia.
Growing up in the quiet Lyon Village with his father and grandfather, there was never any indication that his life would become anything but ordinary. But everything had changed. The attack on his village, the whispers of being a "prince," the cryptic words from demons, and the mysterious power coursing through him—all of it led to one inescapable truth: he wasn't who he thought he was.
But what was he?
He hesitated before speaking, then decided to reveal everything—his battle with Camellia, the cryptic woman in the void, and the demons who referred to him as a prince. Rona listened in silence, his face unreadable as he went to lay among the dandelions, staring up at the endless sky.
When Asuma finished, a heavy silence hung between them. Asuma's heart pounded in his chest. He feared what Rona might say. Would he label him a demon? Would he see him as a threat?
After what felt like an eternity, Rona sighed and spoke, "A demon prince, a witch living in your mind... It's hard to believe. But after what I sensed from you in Bagon, it all feels possible."
Asuma's hands trembled. "Am I a demon or human? That question replays in my mind every single day."
Rona sat up, brushing a dandelion from his shoulder. "You know, kid, even back in Bagon, when your aura shifted and became... chaotic, Amira and Leon never treated you differently. They didn't fear you, didn't see you as a monster. They acted like nothing had changed because, to them, nothing did. If they don't see you as a demon, why should you? Sometimes, what makes us human isn't what we are but how the people closest to us see us."
Asuma was struck by Rona's words. He hadn't even realized Leon and Amira had sensed his aura back in Bagon. Yet, despite everything, they'd embraced him, never wavering in their friendship.
"Those two..." Asuma muttered, his gaze softening as he looked to the horizon.
Before the moment could grow too sentimental, Rona's voice turned sharp again. "Alright, enough heart-to-heart. I need to know something important. Did Camellia bite you?"
"Bite me?" Asuma repeated, confused. "No—" The denial froze in his throat as a memory surged to the forefront. A sharp, searing pain on his neck during his fight with Camellia. His hand instinctively reached for the spot, dread pooling in his stomach.
"So she did bite you," Rona said, his tone grim. "Kid, you're cursed."
"Cursed?!" Asuma's voice cracked. "What do you mean I'm cursed?"
Rona leaned forward, his expression deadly serious. "Didn't they teach you about curses in the academy? Demons, especially high-ranking ones, have the ability to mark their victims with curses. These are categorized into three types: minor curses, immediate curses, and greater curses. What you've got is rare, Asuma. It's a greater curse, the mark of a primordial demon—one of the Seven Lords. This isn't just a curse; it's practically a contract of suffering. It grants immense power, sure, but the cost is your humanity. If left unchecked, you'll lose yourself entirely."
Asuma's breath quickened. "My humanity... lost? You're saying this curse will turn me into a demon?"
"Exactly," Rona confirmed. "If you're not already one, this curse will ensure you become one. And not just any demon—a servant bound to Camellia's will."
The words hit Asuma like a physical blow. He clenched his fists, the memory of using blood magic during his fight with Lanola surfacing. That power... it wasn't the witch's magic. It felt like something else, something darker. Did it come from the curse?
"How do I break it?" he asked, his voice shaking.
Rona exhaled. "There are three ways. First, convince Camellia to release you. Good luck with that. Second, obtain a sample of her blood and use it to create a potion to lift the curse. Third... kill her. But let me tell you something—only one primordial demon has been killed in all of Anorak's history, and it took an army of elite magic users to do it. Hundreds died for that single victory."
All three options sounded impossible. Asuma felt the weight of despair pressing down on him. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
"You're not entirely powerless," Rona said, leaning closer. "The witch—whoever or whatever she is—gives you strength. If she's as strong as a primordial demon, you might stand a chance at getting a sample of Camellia's blood. Killing her, though? That's still beyond your reach."
Asuma's mind raced. Before Manola died, she'd mentioned the "Witch of Death." "The Witch of Death," he said aloud. "Does that mean anything to you?"
Rona's eyes widened slightly. "The Witch of Death? That's the title of the Witch Queen."
Asuma froze. The realization hit him like a thunderclap. "Wait... the witch inside me... is she the Witch Queen?!"