Night fell suddenly, and before they knew it, the sun was already rising in the east. Daylan and the others prepared themselves just as they had discussed earlier—they needed to get stronger.
Unlike the lower-ranked demonic monsters—ranks E to C—which were limited to a single breed, B-rank demons came in various forms.
Imps were the weakest among them, followed by mid-tier demons and then the high-tier ones. A- and S-rank demons also existed in different breeds, but they were considered the rulers of the underworld.
The others waited on Daylan as he accessed his orb, making sure it was intact and not going to leave him half-way dead like it had previously done.
"Honestly, no one truly knows how the demonic monsters came to be. According to history, the Trials were once undertaken by only a select few—until one of my forefathers, Cupid, bargained with the gods to make everyone worthy of their glory. The gods agreed, but it cost him his life. Nearly two centuries after his sacrifice, the demonic monsters began to appear."
"So he's the reason behind all those Cupid statues?" Daylan muttered as he accessed the orb, pressing his hand against his chest.
"Yeah. But not many people actually give him the respect he deserves—it's like he's been completely forgotten."
What they were about to face were real-life imps—far stronger than the ones in the simulation. But if they got the chance to face mid-tier B-ranks, it would be a great opportunity, even if defeating them would come at a high cost.
Before long, Daylan had activated Dark Spiral enough times to notice that his orb never stopped absorbing the surrounding darkness. It gave the impression that the orb was finally growing larger—especially as the dark ink within his body began to lighten, almost fading away.
Without a moment's hesitation, they stepped outside the house at Astara's command, hailed a Courage, and headed deep into the wilderness of the northern district, beyond the walls.
Daylan and Astara had been to a place quite similar to the one before them—only this time, the mist and fog were much denser than where he had first encountered a ghoul.
They stepped down from the carriage and stood before it, gazing up at the monstrous forest—every inch of it warning them not to go any further.
"The atmosphere is meant to make the demonic monsters feel at home, right? But have any of you ever considered that it might actually be created by a higher demonic monster—one that doesn't fall within our ranks? Maybe even a god of their own?" Medora asked curiously.
Astara and Daylan nodded in unison, their gazes still tilted upward.
The fog was too dense for them to enter, and the best they could do was wait and hope the demonic monsters would spot them and attack voluntarily.
Though entering wasn't the worst idea—many adventurers ventured in searching for relics—B-rank and higher demonic monsters had a knack for sensing powerful opponents.
In such cases, they wouldn't attack one by one; they would coordinate to overwhelm them. So, making such a bold move was something only the truly powerful could afford.
Not long after, Astara's eyes widened—she sensed imps closing in. Their bat-like wings flapped rapidly as they hovered overhead. She signaled to the others, alerting them to the approaching threat. They took their stances and braced themselves for the inevitable.
Little did they know, the imps were flying faster than Astara had anticipated. In the blink of an eye—before Daylan and the others could fully prepare—they were already upon them.
They reacted just in time to put some distance between themselves and the imps. Four—there were four of them. Their appearance was fearsome, nothing like the ones portrayed in the illusion hall simulations. Their reddish skin seemed to glow with an eerie, fire-like light.
Without giving them any time, the imps attacked again. Their curved arms slashed through the air as they aimed to shatter Daylan and the others' bones with sheer force.
Daylan stayed on his toes—the imps' attacks were fast and furious, each strike accompanied by a guttural growl. But he refused to use Dark Spiral. This time, he wanted to win without it. That meant staying vigilant; he couldn't afford a single reckless move.
Even with the aid of Spiral Edge, Daylan's attacks barely landed. He couldn't risk using Spiral Time either—it might put Astara and Medora at a disadvantage.
The fight raged on. Though Daylan was sweating and panting from the effort, his limbs remained strong—something he hadn't expected to achieve without relying on Dark Spiral. Suddenly, the imp grew frustrated and began launching fireballs at him.
Daylan dodged the fireballs on the tips of his toes, barely taking a full step before shifting positions. He hadn't landed a single strike yet—and that gnawed at his pride.
He pushed through the onslaught, weaving between the fireballs with precision. Gripping his dagger, he instinctively channeled Spiral Edge to its fullest. His speed became unmatched—the imps could barely track his movements.
The imp soared higher into the sky, rendering Daylan's speed useless—and that infuriated him. His teeth clenched in frustration, but he knew there was little he could do without long-range attacks. Unlike Astara, who held her ground against two imps thanks to her mastery of ranged combat, Daylan was at a disadvantage.
However, Daylan wasn't about to give in just because he couldn't fly or hover. He was determined to make every one of his weapons powerful enough to win him the battle.
Seizing the moment, Daylan waited for the imp to launch an attack. As the fireball came toward him, he slashed through it, using the blast to momentarily shift its focus. The instant he saw his chance, he executed his plan, cutting through the chaos, and launched his dagger directly at the imp's head.
In an instant, the imp appeared behind him, aiming to strike his ribs. It was a move Daylan hadn't expected—he had assumed the imp would teleport elsewhere in the sky. Yet, he seized the small opportunity, ready to make the most of it.
Before the imp's strike could make contact, Daylan's movements became a blur. His dagger appeared in his hand before he even registered it, and with a hair's breadth to spare, he dodged the attack and plunged the dagger into the imp's chest.
The imp dropped to its knees, blood trickling from both its mouth and nose. A shocked expression crossed its face, clearly indicating it hadn't expected this. The look in its eyes told the story—it regretted its own actions.
The moment the imp collapsed to the ground, Daylan fell to his knees—exhausted, yet quietly impressed by his own performance.
However, the pride was short-lived. Barely defeating a single imp, while Captain Stanley had taken down several at the age of ten, only reminded him how weak he truly was.
He turned to the others and saw Medora lying on the ground, gasping for breath. She had burned the imp to a crisp, but it was clear the victory hadn't come easily.
Just as their moment of victory couldn't have been more perfect, Astara defeated both of her imps. Her light blades hadn't been as effective as she'd hoped, so she took the fight to the air, overwhelming them and landing direct blows with her sword.
They all panted heavily, their breaths coming in sharp and steady waves. They had won the battle—but at a cost. Exhausted and drained, none of them said a word, yet they all understood: they needed to rest. And if they truly wanted to become the strongest, it was clear—they would need many more battles like this one.
At that moment, a powerful presence loomed over them. Their heads snapped around instinctively, driven by fear. Daylan broke into a cold sweat without even knowing why—as if his very soul could sense the presence closing in.
What's going on?
Though the questions remained unanswered, he found himself raising his guard—without even knowing why.
In the blink of an eye, something appeared before them. And the closer it came, the more their bodies trembled. Yet, they still couldn't see it clearly—it was emerging from the mist, slow and ominous.
"What is that? I didn't hear a thing." Astara muttered, her voice betraying her fear.
"It looks like a human imp." Medora said, her tone etched with confusion.
The creature took a few more steps forward and then stopped. It was an imp—but far more human-like than the others, and its presence was overwhelmingly powerful, almost unnaturally so.
Daylan's heart sank the moment he got a clearer look at the imp—and judging by the expressions on the others' faces, they felt the same. The imp was cloaked in black, with a bold 'G' etched on its back. The wind tugged at the fabric, making it flutter ominously. It was a Phantom—but the golden hood on its cloak clearly marked it as a higher rank.
The power radiating from the imp was equivalent to that of a high-tier B-rank—or even an A-rank—demonic monster. But what made it truly terrifying was the lustful gleam in its eyes as it fixated on Daylan.
Daylan trembled in his boots, but as he locked eyes with the imp, he realized his mother had sent it to finally get rid of him. He wasn't going to let that happen.