CHAPTER 40: FIGHT WITHOUT PRIDE

Liam, at the other end of the battlefield, had followed the entire trajectory. His heart clenched.

That shot... it was calculated.

Leo lowered his bow, looking calm.

"My apologies. I aimed for the Wyvern’s heart. It moved at the last moment."

Leonard stepped in immediately.

"It was a shot under pressure. The mana distorted the trajectory. Leo would never have done it on purpose."

Liam didn’t believe it.

He knew that look.

The cold, distant, controlled look. Leo never shot randomly. He always calculated, always adjusted. Even in critical situations. Even in the midst of a storm.

Liam approached slowly.

"Strange. You aimed for the heart? While the beast was turning its flank? And the arrow passes exactly where Élisabeth had just been?"

Leo raised an eyebrow.

"What are you implying, Dawnflare?"

"Who were you aiming for?" he replied, his voice low. "The Wyvern’s heart or Élisabeth’s head?"

Leonard stepped between them.

"Stop. Now’s not the time. The beast is still standing."

Liam looked away, but his anger hadn’t subsided.

He wouldn’t let anyone touch his little Élisabeth.

"Take care, Leo Von Arcadia..."

"Are you threatening me, Prince?" Leo stepped forward, his aura thickening.

"Hey, some of us need help here!" Helena shouted from the air.

*Incandescent Crown!*

A circle of fire appeared above the Wyvern, its edges etched with swirling runes. In the same instant, Liam drew his bow, three emerald arrows crackling between his fingers.

*Dawnflare Arrow – Multiple!*

The projectiles spiraled forth, their trails carving a vortex of slicing wind. On contact with Helena’s flames, the elements merged in an explosion—fire twisted, wind fueled it, and the storm that erupted crashed down on the Wyvern.

The creature didn’t have time to scream.

The inferno engulfed it, compressing, crushing it under its infernal weight.

The Wyvern’s charred carcass collapsed, reduced to a heap of blackened scales and calcined bones. Unlike adult Wyverns, the young weren’t immune to fire.

Leonard sheathed his sword.

"That wasn’t a monster listed in the dungeon’s map."

Liam, without taking his eyes off Leo, murmured:

"It seems this isn’t really a B-rank dungeon."

...

Daemon crouched on a rocky ledge, one hand shielding his eyes. From this height, he could see everything: columns of smoke rising from craters, the tiny silhouettes of factions battling mutated beasts, and most importantly, the movements of two specific groups.

The Dominus Faction and the Arrow Faction.

They had just slain a Wyvern, but the real tensions weren’t born from the beast. No, they stemmed from exchanged glances, restrained gestures, silences oozing with suspicion.

Daemon narrowed his eyes.

"Just as I thought..." he murmured.

Leo von Arcadia is always calculating. It was never random with someone like him. Daemon had crossed paths with others like him, and each one eventually cracked. Not from weakness, no. From impatience.

"He’s waiting for the right moment to strike... to seize the throne that should be his. And Leonard... is too busy playing warlord to see the knife at his throat. All means were good, even starting a war."

"Except Liam is smart, he won’t confront him directly but he’ll definitely seek revenge."

A thin smile spread across Daemon’s lips.

"If I can intensify the tensions... slowly, without anyone noticing..." He stood silently.

Below, in a gorge veined with reddish vapors, fire wolves haunted the terrain. Smaller than those faced by Dominus, but more numerous.

Daemon wasn’t here for resources. There was no better place to observe a faction’s weaknesses and strengths than in a dungeon. And to gain real experience.

And for that, you had to live the battles, not just survive them.

He descended slowly, using the rock formations as cover. He knew this terrain well now. He’d spent three days exploring it alone, while the other factions strutted around in formation.

A goblin burst from a corner, its eyes mad with mana. It didn’t even have time to scream. Daemon threw a poison-coated dagger that lodged in its throat. The body fell into the lava below.

"Poison always works better on those who don’t expect it."

Daemon advanced. Two more goblins emerged from a crevice, their skin bloated from mutation. They growled, their claws vibrating with unstable mana.

Daemon drew his bow, loosed a poisoned arrow into the first one’s leg, stepped back to dodge the second’s attack, then counterattacked with a thrust of his sword, burying it between the goblin’s ribs. Hot, thick blood gushed. He stepped back just in time to avoid the bite of a third goblin crawling out.

"Three? Not bad."

He pulled a smoke grenade from his bag, threw it, then slid to the ground to slash the crawler’s throat in the toxic fog.

When the smoke cleared, Daemon stood alone amid the corpses, his face barely smudged, his breath steady.

"I’m weaker, so I have to fight smarter than the others."

He searched the bodies, recovered a few faintly glowing mana stones.

A deeper animal cry echoed.

A beta fire wolf appeared. Its fur was constantly aflame, its eyes two furious red pits.

Daemon stepped back, took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

The wolf charged. Daemon rolled to the side, jumped onto a rock, then loosed an arrow directly into the beast’s left eye. It howled, shook its head, but didn’t stop. He fired a second arrow, but this time the creature’s fireproof skin deflected the shot.

The wolf leaped. Daemon lured it into a narrow corridor formed between two walls of burnt rock. Perfect. The space was too tight for the beast to deploy its full strength.

He drew two daggers. Coated with a new paralyzing poison.

The monster leaped again.

Daemon plunged the first dagger into its right shoulder, the second into its left flank. The wolf bit his arm, tearing a chunk of flesh, but Daemon didn’t cry out. He clenched his teeth.

And struck the wolf in the muzzle.

Quickly gaining space, he threw a dagger.

The explosive charge on one of the daggers detonated, hurling the creature against the wall. It whined, stumbled, slowly collapsed into a pool of red-orange blood.

Daemon leaned against the wall. Panting.

He looked at his arm: a deep, bloody wound, but not fatal. He pulled out a small healing flask, downed it in one gulp.

He could buy expensive armor, but he wouldn’t gain enough experience if his life wasn’t at stake.

A smile spread across his lips. He was supposed to be talentless, but he noticed that when he applied himself, his body learned quickly. Especially with his less-than-honorable methods.

He stood, gathered his things, and continued on his way.

The sky glowed red slowly. Night was falling over the mountain. But here, it was never the cold that killed.

Daemon paused for a moment to observe a figure in the distance. Too far to identify, but walking alone, slow, hesitant.

"Scarlett?" he murmured.