"End our lives? You arrogant brat!"

Butcher Kael didn't know what kind of magic Damien was using. But he didn't care.

He was a Peak 3rd Order warrior, known for his brute strength and cruelty. He had crushed skulls with his bare hands.

"Die!"

Kael lunged, swinging his massive, glowing red branding iron like a mace.

He aimed directly for Damien's head, putting every ounce of his mana into the strike.

Damien didn't dodge.

He simply raised his left hand, the one wreathed in the pitch-black smoke of the Midnight Tome.

CLANG!

The branding iron hit an invisible wall of solidified shadow inches from Damien's face.

The force of the blow created a shockwave that kicked up dust, but Damien's feet didn't move a millimeter.

"Is that it?" Damien asked, his voice bored.

He tilted his head. The golden slit in his right eye pulsed.

"Golden Dragon Art: King's Aura."

WHOOSH.

A blinding golden light erupted from Damien's body. It wasn't just light; it was heat. Intense, scorching heat that mimicked a dragon's breath.

The iron weapon in Kael's hand instantly turned white-hot, then liquid.

"ARGHHH!" Kael screamed, dropping the melting metal as it burned the flesh off his palm. He stumbled back, clutching his ruined hand. "My hand! What… what kind of magic is—"

"The kind that judges trash like you."

Damien took a step forward. He didn't run. He didn't rush. He flickered.

Using Shadow Step, he appeared instantly behind the screaming Butcher.

"Shadow Guillotine."

Damien waved his hand horizontally. A thin, razor-sharp blade of darkness manifested and sliced through the air.

The screaming stopped abruptly.

Kael's head slid off his shoulders, a look of pure terror frozen on his face.

His heavy body collapsed into the mud with a wet thud.

Silence descended on the courtyard.

The fifty mercenaries who had been charging froze.

They looked at their strongest lieutenant, beheaded in a single second by a boy who wasn't even breathing hard.

"M-Monster…" one mercenary whispered, backing away. "He's a monster!"

"Hold your ground, you cowards!"

A booming voice echoed from the main keep. The heavy double doors at the top of the stairs burst open.

A man stepped out. He was clad in full plate armor made of enchanted steel, carrying a massive greatsword. His aura was heavy and suffocating, a genuine 4th Order Knight.

Vargus, the Slaver King.

"You dare attack my fortress?" Vargus roared, his aura flaring like a brown storm around him.

"Do you know who backs me? Do you know who I pay tribute to?"

Damien looked up at the Slaver King. He felt the pressure of the 4th Order aura.

In the original novel, Vargus was a mid-boss who gave the protagonist trouble. He had high defense and earth-based attacks. But back then, the protagonist didn't have a Dual-Core.

"I don't care who backs you," Damien said, his voice amplified by mana so every slave and soldier could hear.

"Because tonight, they are losing their investment!"

"Arrogant!" Vargus jumped from the balcony, landing in the courtyard with an earth-shattering crash. "Kill him! All of you, attack at once!"

The mercenaries, emboldened by their leader, roared and charged again.

"Isabelle, Lyra," Damien commanded calmly without looking back. "Clean up the trash. The big one is mine."

"Understood!"

TWANG! TWANG! TWANG!

Three arrows flew from the ridge. Three mercenaries dropped dead, arrows in their throats.

ROAR!

Isabelle stepped forward, unleashed a wave of fire that consumed the left flank of the enemy formation. "Don't touch the Young Master!"

While his team handled the minions, Damien walked toward Vargus.

Vargus swung his greatsword. "Earth Splitter!"

A wave of jagged rocks erupted from the ground, tearing toward Damien.

Damien didn't block. He activated both cores at maximum output.

"Dual-Art: Golden Shadow Flash."

He became a blur of black and gold.

He weaved through the jagged rocks like smoke, moving faster than Vargus's eyes could track.

He appeared directly in front of the Slaver King.

"Too slow."

Damien punched. His fist was coated in the Golden Dragon Aura, concentrating the weight of a mountain into a single point.

BOOM!

He hit Vargus directly in the chest plate.

The enchanted steel armor, worth a fortune, shattered like glass.

Vargus was launched backward, smashing through the stone wall of the barracks and burying himself in the rubble.

"Ugh…" Vargus coughed blood, struggling to stand. His chest was caved in. Fear, real and primal fear, filled his eyes.

"Wait… wait! I surrender! I have gold! I have connections! I can give you—!"

Unfortunately, Damien didn't care for his pleas.

Walking through the hole in the wall. The golden aura had faded, leaving only an ominous, swirling shadow around him.

"Surrender?" Damien tilted his head.

He looked past Vargus, toward the cages where the slaves were huddled in terror. He saw the burns on their skin. He saw the hunger in their eyes.

"You didn't let them surrender," Damien said softly.

He raised his hand. The shadows in the room converged, forming a massive, executioner's spike above Vargus.

"I am Damien Voss. And I don't make deals with the dead."

"No! Wait! The Twilight Association will—"

SQUELCH.

The shadow spike dropped. Vargus was silenced forever.

[System Alert!] [Enemy Defeated: Slaver King Vargus (4th Order).] [Plot Change Detected: Destroyed a major supply line for the Twilight Association.] [Reward: 600 DP.]

Damien exhaled, letting the adrenaline fade. He checked his balance. 600 DP. He was back in business.

He walked back out into the courtyard.

It was over. Isabelle and Lyra stood amidst a field of bodies. The remaining mercenaries had thrown down their weapons, begging for mercy on their knees.

"Young Master," Isabelle asked, her clothes slightly stained but her eyes clear. "What do we do with the survivors?"

Damien looked at the mercenaries, Men who had profited from misery for years.

"They saw our faces," Damien said coldly. "And they chose this life. Lyra?"

Lyra looked at him. Her expression was hard. She remembered her squad.

"No mercy," the elf said.

"You heard her," Damien said, turning away. "Isabelle, burn them. Lyra, free the captives."

...

[One Hour Later]

The fortress was silent. The fires had been put out, and the cages were open.

In the center of the yard, over a hundred freed slaves gathered. Elves, Beast-men, Humans. They looked at Damien with a mixture of fear and awe.

To them, he was a terrifying saviour, a boy who wielded darkness and light and commanded a demon.

Damien stood on a crate, looking down at them.

"You are free," he announced. "Take the gold from the treasury. Go home. Hide. Do whatever you want."

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on three specific individuals.

First, Lyra's Elven Squad. They were injured but alive, hugging Lyra and crying.

Second, a girl with lion ears and a tail, nursing a broken arm but standing tall. Leona.

Third, an unassuming old man with sharp eyes, and a chubby merchant who was already calculating the value of the dead mercenaries' gear. The Spy and The Manager.

"However," Damien continued, his voice dropping an octave. "If you have nowhere to go… If you want revenge on the world that put you in those cages…"

He held up his hand. The Contract Gem glowed faintly, not to enslave, but to signal power.

"Then join me. I am building something new. A force that strikes from the shadows. A force that ensures no one puts chains on us again."

The crowd murmured. Most were too broken to fight. They took the gold and ran.

But a few stayed.

Leona limped forward. She looked Damien in the eye. "You killed the Butcher. You killed the King. You are strong." She knelt on one knee. "My life is yours."

The Old Man and the Merchant exchanged a look, then stepped forward too. "Better to serve a dragon than be eaten by wolves," the Merchant muttered.

Damien smiled. It was a terrifying, ambitious smile.

"Good. Leona, you are my sword. You will travel with me."

He turned to the Old Man and the Merchant.

"You two. I have a different task. You will take this gold. You will stay here, in Gravestone. You will take over Vargus's network."

"I want eyes and ears in every market, every guild, and every noble house."

"We are the Black Thread," Damien declared, looking at his new, small army. "And tonight, we begin to weave a new destiny."

He turned to look North, toward the distant mountains.

"Now… Lyra. Get your squad ready. We're going to the Elven Empire."

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