This was a dark place, far from the reaches of civilization—a place meant to test the limits of the human mind.
Kellan knew illusions were one of the demon's deadliest powers.
Etienne had once told him about a demonology manuscript that analyzed how demons manipulate their abilities.
Demons could easily see into a person's soul, and the soul carried their consciousness, thoughts, and mental activities. By subtly influencing a person's soul, a demon could twist their perception—turning day into night, justice into evil, and life into death. The human mind was so fragile, so full of gaps, that to a demon it was nothing but a puppet to be manipulated at will.
But once the false perception was broken, the demon's trick vanished like smoke.
Now Kellan saw the truth. The illusion of the demon's corpse faded quickly, replaced by Dalton—covered in filth and blood, his pale skin long dead, a rotten corpse torn open from chest to pelvis, a disgusting sight.
"So, you see it now," Dalton said, turning to Kellan, lips stiff and moving with difficulty.
"Who's talking?" Frederick, hearing the voice of the dead, sat up warily.
"Danger!" Kellan shuddered and jumped back, his instincts screaming to run far away.
In Dylan's eyes, a demonic emerald flame flickered.
"Shadowstep." His figure blurred into a shadow, sliding over the ground to appear behind Frederick. One hand gripped Frederick's throat while the other drew a sword and drove it through Frederick's heart from behind. Blood dripped endlessly from the blade.
Kellan watched helplessly. Master Frederick?
"Mistake, mistake," Dylan said, pulling out the sword and kicking Frederick's limp corpse aside. "Honestly, you never make things easy."
Kellan turned and fled, diving deeper into the forest.
"You do know I can catch you easily with a teleport spell," Dylan laughed.
A dry, hoarse voice echoed from within Dylan's body—a demon? Was it the demon speaking through him?
"He's gonna piss himself," Dylan laughed loudly. "Poor rookie."
Kellan ran blindly through the dark forest, his feet crushing leaves and dirt. It was pitch black—he couldn't see a thing. The path ahead was nothing but black void, making running fast impossible. But he had no choice but to escape.
He stumbled.
His foot hit a stone, pebbles skittering under his sole. Panic rushed in as he lost balance and fell hard. His arm slammed against the ground, immediately bleeding. The pain burned fiercely where flesh met dirt.
Damn it—damn it—Kellan scrambled up desperately as Dylan's incantation echoed nearby. A deeper shadow sliced across the ground and suddenly appeared beside him.
"Save your strength," Dylan said with a smirk, drawing his sword and slashing toward Kellan.
Clutching his own sword, Kellan strained to see through the darkness. Dylan's blade flickered like a ghostly flame—would the strike come from the left or the right?
The wind howled through the trees, and suddenly Dylan's arm went rigid—a rope shot out and snared his arm, binding it tight.
"You're not dead?" Dylan glanced sideways. "The demon left you four knives."
"When did you sneak inside Dylan's body?" Kellan heard a familiar voice.
Etienne stood there, dust-covered and weary under the moonlight, looking ten years older. His white beard was stained with dried blood, his eyes tired, hair disheveled, and half of his hunter's cloak was shredded.
"I was always half demon," Etienne said. "Now I've chosen to work with my kind. Dalton was the only one among you who saw clearly—why won't you listen to him?" Dylan shrugged.
"Get over here," Etienne ordered, "Be careful not to get hurt."
Kellan hurried away from Dylan, heart pounding. The demon—the Blade Demon—was still alive, hiding inside Dylan's body!
"Oh, I get it now. You think you're in control. You think you're the elder among hunters, so everything's easy. You don't speak up because you know Frederick doesn't trust you. But why won't you work with the others? Why go after Kellan alone? If you'd come with us from the start, you would've seen what was really going on."
Was it because of me that everyone died one after another? Kellan's mind reeled. Master Etienne stayed behind to scold him, causing the delay. If only he'd been resolute from the beginning—if Etienne had gone with the others to hunt the demon together…
"Fight. Don't doubt yourself," Etienne said, gripping his sword and staring down the demon. "Forget everything except taking it down."
Dylan raised his hand, and a buzzing sound rose from the camp. Corrupted blades flew through the air, heading straight for Etienne.
"Say goodnight to the old man."
Etienne frowned and swung his sword with all his might. The two weapons clashed with a deafening crash. The corrupted blade shattered, falling silent as its dark power dissipated.
"Tch. Not good enough," Dylan sneered.
That blade came from Dalton's corpse. The more Kellan thought about it, the angrier he grew—Dalton's body had been desecrated beyond recognition. That's how demons treated hunters' corpses. They'd hung Julius upside down from a tree, killed Denvar… even slaughtered Master Frederick.
"Dylan… I swear I'll kill you!" Kellan gritted his teeth.
"Stay calm," Etienne stood shoulder to shoulder with Kellan in the perilous forest. "Always be cautious and humble. Don't rush in or seek a quick victory."
"In this situation, you still have time to lecture your apprentice?" Dylan mocked. "Kellan, be smart and surrender. I've told you before—life comes first."
"Generation after generation of demon hunters have passed down their legacy. What do you know?" Etienne shouted. "Enough with your attempts to divide us, to break our morale or shake our confidence. Demon, show yourself and fight me fairly."
"As you wish."
An ethereal voice echoed from within Dylan. His eyes darkened, and the wide cloak wrapped around him seemed to defy gravity—no wings, no visible support, yet he floated effortlessly. All signs showed he had fully embraced the demon's corrupt power.
Etienne spat on the ground and pointed his sword at Dylan.
"Nuin's Edge!"
The spell surged forward as a blade of pure light, shooting straight at the demon Dylan.
"Trying to fight me with a mere blade? So this is the legacy passed down among demon hunters," Dylan sneered. His right hand moved as if gripping something invisible.
Etienne's sword suddenly screamed—a harsh, grinding sound—as the blade bent and rusted, its edge dulling beyond use in an instant. The spell that had formed a sharp crescent moon twisted into a scattering ripple, its power fading, leaving only faint wrinkles on Dylan's cloak.
Etienne dropped the ruined sword to the ground. "If Frederick had cast that, you'd have been shattered by now."
"Frederick was great! Frederick was strong! So impressive, Frederick! Then how did he die?" Dylan laughed hoarsely, the sound bitter and hollow. Kellan felt a chill in his chest.
"The most threatening among you now lies just as a corpse... and you? You know nothing of sharpness."
He gestured faintly, and the stone walls around the ruins groaned sharply. The rocks twisted and stretched unnaturally, turning into spikes—like the jagged points of a crown's edge.
"Run, Etienne! Run like the animal you are!" Dylan pointed at the old hunter. One stone spike shot toward Etienne with fierce speed. The wind whistled as Etienne barely dodged.
Dylan smirked, pleased to see the hunter falter.
"And you," Dylan glanced at Kellan. "Hmm..."
He noticed Kellan's unwavering gaze.
"Little hunter, could it be that you—"
"Phantom Force!"
Bang!
A massive force tore through the air, crashing down on Dylan from above. His body slammed into the earth with a thunderous impact, armor grinding against the soil. Etienne turned, stunned by the sudden attack.
"Kellan, you—"
"This is a spell Jevnie taught me today," Kellan said, surprised by its strength. He quickly loaded a bolt onto his wooden crossbow.
"...A pity, a pity..." Etienne's voice carried deep regret.
A pity what? Kellan wondered.
Dylan's body rose strangely, as if an invisible force pulled him up by the back. His movements were stiff and unnatural—not his own.
"Disgusting," Dylan said, his black eyes slowly clearing. Above his head, a towering black phantom began to take shape.
"Exile Beyond the Heavens!" Etienne seized the moment, unleashing his spell at the demon's phantom.
"I'll be blunt—those so-called spells you've inherited are all trash," the demon phantom sneered, rippling like disturbed water, barely affected.
It darted swiftly toward the campfire. From a distance, Kellan saw a shapeless soul drifting up from Frederick's corpse—twisted in agony, worn down by torment.
The demon pointed at the soul, which quickly collapsed—darkening, falling, solidifying into a tangible demonic mass. It clung to the phantom's form, forging a new demonic body. The soul of the master hunter was desecrated, twisted into the demon's new vessel.
"I still have business to attend to."
The Blade Demon was now fully revived.
A blade of light sliced through the air, and Etienne crumpled to the ground. The mighty old hunter was no match before a true demon lord.
A wave of overwhelming terror crashed into Kellan's chest. This was a genuine, powerful, and utterly unstoppable demon. Their entire hunting plan was falling apart—hunters were dying one after another, slaughtered quickly, destined to be buried within the Twilight Forest.
"Hah, finally out of that," Dylan said, standing still and pressing his temple. "The old hunter died in one strike. That Blade Demon really is a savage bastard. Heh, now it's my turn to take the Silver Key—"
Seizing Dylan's moment of carelessness, Kellan raised his crossbow and pulled the trigger swiftly.
The bolt struck Dylan's face dead center—between his eyes, piercing his nasal bone, plunging straight into his brain.
He had wondered which was faster: spellcasting or crossbow bolts. Now, he knew the answer.