"So," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "Your master is gone. And I am here." I placed the flat of Draken's blade on the creature's bowed head.

The sword hummed, drinking in the pure, unshielded demonic energy.

"How about a new contract?"

_________

The warehouse was a cathedral of shadows, the only light the dying crimson runes of the ritual circle.

At its center, Gregor's sacrificed body was a broken puppet, his eyes wide with the frozen terror of his final, foolish act.

Before me, the C-Rank Lesser Demon knelt, its massive, shadow-wrought form trembling, not from fear of me, but in submission to the absolute, crushing dominion of my will.

My [Aura Dominion], amplified by the [Mindbreaker] title, had done something I hadn't fully anticipated.

It hadn't just suppressed the demon; it had broken it. It had severed the creature's primal rage, leaving only a cowering, instinctual being waiting for a new command.

Draken, resting on its head, hummed with a dark, predatory hunger. The sword wanted this.

...Master... feed...

The whisper in my mind wasn't the egg this time. It was Draken or perhaps, the ancient, slumbering consciousness within it. Drakerlor.

'A new contract?' I had offered.

I looked at the kneeling creature. It was a liability. I couldn't keep a C-Rank demon as a pet.

I couldn't let it go. And I couldn't risk it being discovered. There was only one logical, efficient solution.

"Your contract..." I said, my voice cold, "is with him."

I pressed Draken's flat blade harder against the demon's bowed head. "Drakerlor... appetizer's served."

"…WISELY CHOSEN, CHILD."

The ancient voice boomed in my mind, layered with a dark, pleased satisfaction. The dark blade ignited. It wasn't a physical flame, but a vortex of pure, abyssal energy. Black-violet light erupted from the sword, forming ethereal tendrils that wrapped around the demon.

The Lesser Demon shrieked, a high, thin sound of pure terror as it was lifted from the ground, its shadowy form unraeling.

It didn't fight back; it was being consumed. Its essence, its power, its very existence, was drawn into the Divine Weapon like water down a drain.

...more...

Draken's hum deepened, a satisfied, draconic purr. The sword's innate aura felt a fraction stronger, its darkness more profound. I had just fed a C-Rank soul to my sword to dispose of the evidence. A cold shiver ran down my spine, but I crushed the flicker of morality that came with it. This was survival.

The warehouse was now truly silent, save for the faint crackle of Gregor's blood still smoldering in the ritual circle. I looked at the ten piles of ash—the former Vipers—and at their leader's corpse. I couldn't leave this.

The demonic runes, the sacrificed body... it was a declaration of cult activity. If the Hunter's Association or, worse, the Holy Church found this, Selorn City would be placed under a brutal inquisition.

I walked to the back of the warehouse, where the Vipers had stored their plundered goods as I'd hoped: barrels of cheap, high-proof ale and oil.

I worked quickly, my movements precise.

I smashed open the barrels, soaking the ritual circle, the corpse, the ash piles, and the wooden supports of the building.

Then, I stood at the doorway, a single spark of my [Lightning] affinity held ready on my fingertip.

"A tragic fire," I muttered, "in a den of criminals. A fitting end."

I flicked the spark. It hit the ale-soaked floor, and the warehouse erupted in a FWOOSH of blue-orange flame.

The demonic runes flared one last time, screaming as the fire purged them, before being consumed.

Ding!

[Hidden Quest Complete: The Serpent's Rot]

[Objective: Dismantle the Iron Vipers Guild before their corruption spreads. (100/100)]

[Bonus Objective: Neutralized Demonic Pact. Eliminated Corrupted Leader.]

[Rewards Issued:]

[+30 Unallocated Stat Points]

[+100,000 SP]

[1x Skill Select Card (Up to Purple Rank)]

_________

The warehouse fire painted the night sky over the docklands in a sick, flickering orange. I didn't look back.

The sounds of distant sirens were a faint, meaningless whine against the roaring in my own ears.

The warehouse wasn't just a building; it was a pyre. A pyre for the Iron Vipers, for Gregor, for the demonic taint he had embraced, and for the life of calculated quiet I had tried, and failed, to maintain.

My rage had cooled, burned away by the act of destruction, leaving behind a cold, sharp, and unsettling clarity.

The [Hidden Quest] completion log in my mind felt less like a victory and more like a grim receipt for services rendered.

The SP and the Skill Card were valuable, yes, but the cost had been my family's safety. My father's arm. My brother's injury.

[+30 Unallocated Stat Points.]

[+100,000 SP.]

[1x Skill Select Card (Up to Purple Rank)]

I allocated the points as I walked, the familiar surge of power a cold comfort.

[+15 AGI -> 169]

[+15 INT -> 162]

My senses sharpened, the night air feeling crisper, the distant sounds of the city clearer. My mind, which had been a storm of fury, settled into a cold, analytical calm. I had been reactive, not proactive. I had waited for the Vipers to strike, and my family had paid the price. It would not happen again.

When I reached the Willson Guild Hall, the main doors were barred. A junior hunter I recognized, his face pale, stood guard.

He fumbled with his spear when he saw me, then visibly relaxed.

"Chief Michael! You're... you're back."

"Report," I said, my voice flat.

"The Guild Master and Master Marcus are in the infirmary. Master Thorne and Lady Elina are with them. Your mother... she's in the common hall. Waiting for you."

I nodded, pushing past him. The common hall was dark, the festive trappings of the earlier celebration looking like grotesque, mocking decorations. The smell of stale ale and fear hung in the air.

A single mana-lamp burned on the main table, casting a pool of weak, lonely light.

And sitting in that light, perfectly still, was Marcus.

He was waiting for me.

He wasn't in his training gear. He was in a simple nightshirt, his own sword, a blade far finer than his guild-issue weapon, leaning against the table. A cup of long-cold tea was untouched in his hand. He looked up as I entered, my boots echoing on the silent floorboards.

His face was calm, but his eyes... his eyes were ancient, sharp, and held no trace of the eighteen-year-old boy he was supposed to be. This was the cultivator. This was the warrior who had tasted my father's blood on the air and had been waiting for the source of the conflict to return.

"You're back," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"I am." I didn't move from the doorway, letting the shadows cling to me.

"The docks are on fire," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "The entire warehouse district is in chaos. The city guard is mobilized. And the... presence... that corrupted the Vipers is gone. Annihilated. Purged."

He stood up slowly, his presence filling the small, dark room. He wasn't radiating an aura. He didn't need to.

His very stillness was a form of pressure, a containment of power that was infinitely more threatening than a simple flare of mana.

"I stabilized Father's arm and Garth's," he continued, his voice a low, steady rumble.

"The demonic energy was a potent toxin. "

."..Master Thorne is working on a purification rune as we speak, but... Father's sword arm will likely never be the same. The curse was embedded in the bone."

A spike of cold, sharp guilt pierced through my calculated calm. I had been so focused on my revenge, I hadn't... "I should have been there," I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

"Yes, you should have," Marcus agreed, his gaze unyielding. "But you were... busy."

He took a step towards me. "After I ensured they were stable, I followed your trail, Michael. I felt your aura... that power... flare at the docks. I felt the demonic energy spike, and then... I felt it vanish. Erased."

He stopped, barely two meters away, his cultivator's senses analyzing me, dissecting me. "That wasn't an Academy skill, Michael. That wasn't 'Judgment Chain.' That wasn't 'Aura Dominion.' The power that just leveled the Viper's base... it felt divine. And it felt dark."

He looked at me, not as a brother, but as an inquisitor. "I've been patient. I've watched you, this 'new' version of my little brother. I saw your tactics in Grizzly Pass. I saw your impossible skills. I accepted your lie about the 'fall' down the hill. But this..."

His voice dropped, becoming colder. "This is not the power of a hunter. It's not the power of a student. Your aura, the one you hide behind your Ice and Lightning, it feels like... like an ancient, slumbering void. "

"My own senses are screaming that you are a fundamental threat."

He stood before me, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I will ask you one last time, 'little brother,' and I will not accept another lie. What... are... you?"

(To be continued)

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