"Fuck," Noel muttered through clenched teeth.

"…Deal."

"Heh, that's more like it," Azhriel said, his smirk returning.

And then, he vanished.

Slick.

The sound made Phantom and Noel's heads snap toward the right. Azhriel now stood over a collapsing figure, the knife buried deep into the skull.

As the man hit the ground, his camouflaged form unraveled—revealing serpent-like markings across his skin.

"We have guests," Azhriel said turning his head towards the back as the shadows flickered, his lips curling into a smile.

A cold, terrifying smile.

From the shadows, they emerged—five figures moving with predatory grace, their presence suffocating the air around them.

Each one was cloaked in black, their faces partially obscured, but the serpent marks on their foreheads were clear as day.

Deep, ink-black patterns twisted like living things against their skin.

The sight alone was enough to mark them for what they were—Demons from the Legion of Deceit.

They fanned out slowly, forming a loose semicircle, their gazes fixed on Azhriel, Phantom, and Noel.

From among the five, one man stepped forward. Unlike the others, his serpent mark wasn't completely black.

Instead, it pulsed faintly, glowing with a sickly, pale yellow light that made the surrounding darkness feel heavier.

The aura around him was sharper, colder—commanding the attention of both allies and enemies alike.

In the Legion's hierarchy, his rank was clear- A Sergeant.

The Hierarchy in every Legion was like this.

The True Demon of his Allotted Sin — The absolute ruler of the Legion.

The Grand Marshal — The hand of the Commander, second in authority.

The General — Overseer of divisions, wielding strategic power.

The Vice General / Commander — The bridge between generals and lower officers.

The Colonel — Leaders of specialized units.

The Lieutenants — Field leaders, often the most cunning.

The Sergeants — Small-unit captains, deadly in direct combat.

The Soldiers — The backbone of the Legion, trained to kill without hesitation.

The Sergeant stepped forward, clapping slowly as he removed the mask from his face.

Instead of anger, there was a wide grin stretched across his lips—like seeing one of his own fall had amused him more than upset him.

"Good senses, boy. To think you could see through our camouflage arts... That must mean you're a genius in sensory magic," he said, brown eyes gleaming, his dark hair slicked back.

But Azhriel wasn't a genius in sensory magic. That wasn't how he caught the hidden demon.

The only reason he sensed the man was because the moment the demon stepped within ten meters, Azhriel's spatial senses reacted.

It was his space element.

And he had managed to take the demon down so quickly because of a technique he called Switch—a technique that allows his to switch places with any object with in his range.

Azhriel raised a finger and pointed at Noel. "Are you the one looking for that guy?"

"Yes," the Sergeant replied cheerfully, as if they were discussing a lost item. "You see, that man took something quite rare from us. And without paying. So we're just here to take it back."

"It's the Phoenix Heart, isn't it, Demon Sergeant?" Azhriel said calmly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The Sergeant's expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"So, you do know who we are. That's rare for a child your age," he said.

Azhriel raised a brow. "Are you dumb or just pretending to be? You've got a giant tattoo on your head. And with that hideous face of yours, anyone would think you're a demon even without it."

The Sergeant's smile dropped. His eyes darkened and his jaw clenched.

He wanted to strike. But he didn't. Not yet.

There was a reason—he couldn't sense the boy's rank.

Maybe the kid was wearing some kind of artifact… or maybe he really was ranked higher than him.

So the Sergeant held back. Instead he choose words.

"Heh, you're quite a rude one, ain't you?" the Sergeant said, his grin tight now, forced. "But I'll let this one slide."

His eyes scanned Azhriel once more, taking in his calm posture, the lack of fear in his stance. "So, boy… from the looks of it, you their leader or something?"

"Yep," Azhriel replied without hesitation, hands in his pockets. "I'm their boss."

The Sergeant gave a small nod, as if pleased. "Hm. That makes things a lot easier then. If you hand over the Phoenix Heart now, I swear we'll let you walk away. No more blood, no more trouble."

Behind him, the other four demons shifted, lifting their weapons just enough to make the threat clear.

Azhriel tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Hmmm… now I see why you're stuck as a low-rank Sergeant," he said, voice flat and mocking. "You can't even hide the killing intent in your eyes while pretending to be all kind and forgiving."

That was the last straw.

"Attack!" the Sergeant barked.

The air cracked as the demons lunged forward.

However, it wasn't the demons who reached first—

It was Azhriel.

He vanished from his spot in a blink, reappearing right in front of the Sergeant with a gust of cold air trailing behind him.

The Sergeant's instincts flared. His body ducked before his brain even processed the danger.

"Fuck—!"

A frosty scythe sliced through the air, missing his skull by a hair's breadth—literally. A few strands of dark hair fluttered down, cut clean by the freezing blade.

The other four demons snapped out of their shock instantly, reacting on pure training.

Clang!

Their weapons came down on Azhriel all at once. Sparks flew as blades collided—not with skin, but with something invisible and firm, pushing their strikes back.

Azhriel's foot slid backward across the ground from the force, but his posture never broke. His icy scythe shimmered in his hand, steam rising off its edge in the night air.

The Sergeant had already retreated to the back, his mind racing.

He needed to see what the boy could really do.

Azhriel didn't wait for another strike. His figure blurred again, and in the next breath, he was already behind one of the demons.

Slice.

The scythe swept clean across the back of the man's knees, cutting through muscle and bone in one graceful motion.

The demon collapsed with a pained grunt, unable to even scream before Azhriel's boot crashed into his head, knocking him out cold.

The second came at him from the left, blade aiming for his ribs. Azhriel didn't even dodge. He twisted his scythe backward—its frosted edge catching the weapon mid-swing—then yanked forward.

The demon stumbled into him, and with a simple palm strike laced with freezing mana, Azhriel sent him flying into the stall wall with a crack.

"Two down," he said calmly.

The third tried to jump over him, blade spinning in the air, but Azhriel pointed a finger upward. A frozen spike appeared mid air as it peirced straight through the man stomach.

The man fell hard, blood spraying across the stone.

The fourth came from behind, aiming for Azhriel's blind spot.

But Phantom was already there.

Boom.

His fist glowed as he struck the demon in the side, sending him sprawling into the ground with a heavy thud.

In barely ten seconds, four of the five were either unconscious or twitching on the ground.

Azhriel turned his eyes back to the Sergeant. "Your turn."

But the Sergeant didn't move. Instead, he raised his voice, calm and sharp.

"Take the pill."

The fallen demons—those still conscious—reached into their robes and pulled out small black spheres. Even the one Phantom struck was still able to jam the pill into his mouth.

Azhriel's eyes narrowed. "Tch—"

One by one, they swallowed.

The change was instant.

Their veins turned dark, spreading like black lightning under their skin. Their eyes glowed faintly red, and their bodies twitched before settling unnaturally still.

A sinister aura radiated from all of them, stronger than before—twice, maybe three times stronger.

"The Regas Pills, huh… how disgusting," Azhriel muttered, his voice laced with clear contempt.

The air around them darkened. The corrupted energy leaking from the now-enhanced demons made even the ground feel heavier.

Regas pills, it was a forbidden creation by the Myriads.

The pills are made from the bodies of humans and other races, they acted as containers for condensed demonic energy.

Each pill turned a weak demon into something far stronger, for a short while. But the price was steep.

As Death followed soon after.

These pills only worked on low-ranked demons. That's why the Legion gave them freely to their pawns—disposable soldiers meant to die for the cause.

The four demons, now twisted and far more monstrous, snarled as their muscles bulged and their skin hardened with black scales. Their blades were gone, tossed aside. Now they fought like beasts.

"Noel, go hide at the back. Phantom protect him and yourself, i will take it from here." Azhriel said as his scythe radiated cold far stronger than before.

The demons also didn't wait, as they lunged at Azhriel with the grace of beasts.