From the darkness, three new silhouettes emerged. Their light armor gleamed with faded runes, and their gait was that of someone who didn't need to hurry—sure indicators of their superiority. Each carried a bow, but they didn't hold it at the ready. They didn't need it. Their confidence in dominating the scene was enough.

A dees, with silver hair braided to his waist, glowed icily.

"Proud," he said in Elvish, looking Ester up and down. "You use the language of our people, but you speak as if you have the right to demand something."

The second moved a step, his amber eyes glittering.

"You stepped on our lands. Humans died as they should die: weak, without honor. And now..." he adjusted his chin, pointing his bow toward Ester, "if you don't kneel and beg for forgiveness, you'll be next."

The third didn't speak immediately. He simply watched Damon. His gaze wasn't one of mere threat; it was one of disgust. As if the incubus's presence were a stain on the fabric of the world. Finally, he spat on the ground.

"And this demon... should die before he opens his mouth."

Damon shuddered. The blood on his hands was still hot from the memory of Caelan and Garrick. His chest ached, his throat burned. But his voice wouldn't come. He felt the words shattering inside him, like fractured bones.

Ester, however, lay still. Her hands still raised, her body erect. Her blue eyes, cold as blades, unblinking.

"You forgot I bow," he said, his voice calm, yet sharp as the ice spreading around the carriage. "But you were the ones who shot first. Not me. Not my men."

One of the three laughed, loudly, derisively.

"Men?" He spat the word as if it were poison. "Humans are vermin. They were shot like game. Game has no name."

Ester didn't move, but the cold didn't intensify. Small crystals fell to form in the corners of the carriage's wood, crackling softly. Damon watched, his eyes wide, but he didn't dare say anything.

The first elf relaxed his chin, his arrogant smile never wavering.

"Bow, witch. Ask for forgiveness in our language. Perhaps we will let you live."

Ester took a deep, slow breath, as if she were within the very will to tear them apart there. Her eyes slid to Damon for a moment—not to ask for help, not to comfort him, but as if ordering him to watch.

Then she turned to the three elves.

"I do not bow to cowards."

The silence that silenced her seemed to sugar the entire forest air. The smiles of the distant elves, replaced by icy expressions of contempt.

Damon felt his heart race. His bloodshot eyes burned, his entire body trembling, but not just from fear—it was something confusing. Hatred. A raw rage that burned beneath the emptiness. He wanted to scream. He wanted to jump. He wanted to rip those smiles apart. But he was paralyzed by the memory: Garrick fallen, Caelan sprawled in the mud. Oh, the sound of the arrows.

The three elves stepped forward in unison, as if they were one body. One of them slowly drew the bowstring, aiming for Ester's heart.

"Then you will die like the dogs you commanded."

Ester looked at them and let out a cold sigh that changed the air. She looked at Damon… "Honestly, I don't like wasting time, but this is good." She spoke and pushed Damon away. "Kill one of the suckers, I'll kill the other three."

[Mission begins! Prove yourself to Ester Deathstriker!]

The three elves chanted in unison, a cold and arrogant chorus.

"She thinks she can kill us..." the silver-haired one said mockingly.

"Humans don't know their place," the amber-eyed one added, tightening his bowstring.

"And a cowardly demon beside you? You're a joke," the third spat, his eyes still fixed on Damon.

Ester didn't move for a moment. She just took a deep breath, and her surroundings distorted. The cold was no longer a sensation—it was a crushing weight. Small snowflakes appeared out of nowhere, crystallizing in the still air.

She was assigned as right-hand man.

The sound was like the shattering of glass. From shoulder to hand, her arm transformed into a translucent blade of ice, long, sharp, pulsing with a bluish light.

The elves didn't laugh anymore.

"Crazy..." the silver-haired one muttered, his bow wavering for a split second.

It was enough time.

Ester lunged forward.

The movement was so fast Damon's eyes barely followed it. She slid across the frozen ground like a shadow, the blade arcing, and the sound it struck was the ripping of flesh and bone.

The first elf—the one with amber eyes—didn't even have time to scream. The blade pierced his torso from top to bottom, cleaving him in two. Blood gushed in a grotesque arc, splattering Ester's face and hair.

She didn't blink.

Her blue hair was now dyed scarlet and purple, strands stuck together by the hot, dripping mixture. Her flawless face was streaked with fresh blood.

She looked at him naturally, and her voice was deep, containing a fury that chilled her to the bone.

"I'm going to kill you."

The silence lasted a second, and then the two elves screamed in fury, raising their bows.

Damon was pushed forward by Ester's brutal strength. His body staggered, his heart racing, his mind still in chaos.

"Kill one of them," her words echoed in his head like a finished order. "Prove yourself."

The second elf fired an arrow at Ester, but she reached for the ice blade, deflecting it with a metallic snap.

The third, however, was aiming for Damon.

The sound of the bow snapping made the world slow down again.

Damon felt the air tear near his ear. Instinctively, you grabbed his fallen, advancing shot. He didn't think, didn't plan—he just ran, with a guttural scream that mixed hatred and despair.

The elf still sneered, confident in his superiority, raising his bow to fire another.

But Damon didn't stop.

[Emperor's Impaling Strike (Lv. 1)]

The spear pierced the archer's abdomen with brutal force. The sound was wet, horrible. The elf's eyes widened in surprise, the sneer gone.

Damon felt his body tremble, his breath hitching, but he thrust deeper, until the shaft slammed into his enemy's chest.

"You took them from me!" he said, his voice broken, his red eyes shining with tears and fury. "Now I take you!"

The elf coughed up blood, his mouth twisting in shock. Then he fell to his knees, the spear still piercing his body, until he collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

"I... killed someone." Damon spoke… his eyes began to turn red and a strange laughter began to consume his being…

[Crimson Night Eater (Level 1)]

[You stole the vitality of an Elf, you gained a level bonus.]

[+5 Levels for killing a different race!]

[You reached level 15.]

[Name: Damon]

[Age: 19]

[Cultivation: Apprentice]

[Race: Incubus]

[Talent: Low]

[Level: 10]

[HP: 750/750]

[PARA: 46]

[AGL: 42]

[VIT: 46]

[STM: 40]

[INT: 42]

[DEF: 42]

[Blank Points: 5]

[Skills: Asmodeus' Touch, Emperor's Impaling Strike (Lv. 1)]

[Traits: Battle Focus]

[Martial Skill (Swords): Novice]

[Martial Skill (Spears): Novice]

[Cultivation Technique: Crimson Night Devourer (Lv. 1)]

"Haha... hahaha... Killing... is so easy..." Damon said as his body felt the new strength invading his being...

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