Aiwas was prepared.
He wasn’t truly disabled. At this range, the instinct-driven Distorted Limb Demon would target him first.
Hitting it was nearly impossible—its reflexes could dodge bullets, let alone swings from Aiwas, untrained in swordsmanship.
Immune to curses, the Red Nobility ring’s choking spell was useless; it resisted legal commands, too fast for mages to lock; petrification, like a’s Amber Fire, failed.
But Aiwas had a plan without exposing his Shadow Demon.
As he steeled himself, his eyes glowed gold-red, his left hand resting on the holy sword.
From the corner, Isabel’s pupils shrank.
[It’s really Fox!]
She reached out, about to call out—
But her mind blanked.
The demon’s elongated, narrowed arm pierced Aiwas’s chest!
His wheelchair skidded back, colliding with Lily, who was knocked away. The claw protruding from Aiwas’s back paralyzed her with shock.
Yet Aiwas didn’t die.
Before the attack, he’d used the sword’s flas to activate Fire Offering, healing part of the wound instantly.
a recognized it—a combat priest’s pre-healing technique, preparing treatnt before injury to minimize impact, preventing shock or pain-induced lapses. It looked like he’d endured the hit unscathed.
No special training was needed, just enemy prediction.
Aiwas knew the Distorted Limb Demon intimately, having used its body in his advancent ritual. The demon scholar controlling it was less adept than him.
After severing its proxy arm, Aiwas anticipated a direct attack, using his body as bait to lure it in.
This instinctive act aligned with both Transcendence and Dedication paths, flooding him with path power, enhancing perception, willpower, and vitality.
Surviving the predicted strike with pre-healing, Aiwas knew he’d won.
He pressed his bleeding left hand—cut by the sword—onto the demon’s arm. Untouched by the flas due to Fire Offering, his wound bled freely.
Like others pierced by the demon, he seed to futilely clutch the wound, hoping to stop the claw.
But Aiwas was different.
His bleeding hand on the demon’s arm dulled its aggression.
Using holy fire to ignite his “Herding” aura briefly, though his uneven path depths prevented proper Herding Art, his sanctified blood was irresistible to phantoms.
The low-intellect demon, driven by instinct, mistook him for a benefactor granting power and flesh.
Its hatred for healthy humans clashed with its demonic urge to ascend, freezing it montarily.
Herding couldn’t control a powerful demon like this—it only stalled it briefly.
In that instant, Aiwas swung again, severing its second arm!
The demon wailed in pain and rage, snapping out of its daze, no longer hesitating to attack.
Each limb was part of its essence, a “life.” Beheading wouldn’t stop it—only destroying all six limbs would banish it temporarily.
But Aiwas had bought enough ti.
“Demon!”
As the demon rolled in agony, Gordon, catching his breath, roared and charged, shoulder-checking it away from Aiwas!
Only seconds had passed since a’s warning.
Edward, trusting her, saw Aiwas’s dire state.
From the first floor, he drew his pistol, aiming at the chained-up middle-aged man on the second floor.
“Inspector Edward…” soone nearby panicked.
“Shut up,” Edward snapped coldly, not glancing back.
“The law grants execution rights.”
He fired, a silver beam engulfing the man’s head.
No blood or gore—the beam shattered his soul, ensuring no escape or reincarnation.
Instantly, black runes flowed across the demon’s pale skin, from chest to limbs, dissolving into nothingness.
The arm piercing Aiwas disintegrated. Using Fire Offering, he poured mana to heal his wound.
The demon glared at Aiwas, roaring incoherently.
With desperate strength, despite two rounds of weakening, it attacked Gordon ferociously.
Gordon’s once-shining armor was battered, helt gone, Sword of Honor notched. Yet he stood firm before Aiwas, blocking attacks.
The demon, its limbs half-dissolved, whipped Gordon with whip-like arms, his helt long lost.
“Gordon, move!” Aiwas shouted.
Gordon, blood obscuring his vision, ears ringing from blows, relied on path-enhanced resilience to survive.
Instinctively, he obeyed, recalling army orders despite Aiwas’s informal call.
He parried, raised his damaged sword, and slid sideways.
A scorching fla roared past from behind, evaporating Gordon’s sweat, searing his ear.
A crescent-shaped golden sword aura, radiant with heat-distorted air and faint red flas at its tail, erupted.
A decisive strike, unleashing the sword’s stored mana.
Normally, it couldn’t hit the demon, but with half its limbs gone, unable to morph or dodge, it was pierced through, spraying sparks, not blood.
Its remaining arms burned to ash in holy fire.
The remaining aura struck the tentacle-covered demonic wall.
The holy weapon’s [Exorcism] trait incinerated it like flas on a spiderweb, reducing the grotesque tendrils to ash in a visually stunning instant.
Under the sunset’s glow, Aiwas’s fla-extinguished red-hilted sword faded into a crimson key.
His chest, pierced through, with blood-soaked clerical robes, had mostly healed via Fire Offering.
The new Holy Sword badge, blood-stained, glead in the light, a visible hole in his robes revealing fresh, healed skin.
No one mocked Aiwas. All respected the wheelchair-bound eighteen-year-old.
His voice carried authority:
“The demon is banished! No need to panic—stay put, don’t push!
Let priests treat the wounded—they can be saved!”
The chaotic crowd obeyed instinctively.
Lily, staggering, approached. “Sorry, Aiwas… I couldn’t help…”
The sudden attack made her feel her weakness.
She’d never cared for supernatural power, seeing it as “fighting strength” she didn’t need. But now, she craved it, vowing not to be powerless next ti.
“It’s fine, Lily,” Aiwas said, eyeing her glasses. “You’ll have your chance… Need healing?”
“Save it for those worse off. I’m just bruised, but so were pierced…”
Lily clutched her abdon, wincing.
A belated notification arrived:
[Banished Distorted Limb Demon, gained 210 free experience]
Ten tis Veronica’s yield!
Enough to level a profession from 10 to 19.
Aiwas smirked, satisfied. [Worth getting stabbed.]
Speaking of phantoms…
“How’s that, Shadow Demon?” he asked inwardly. “Satisfied?”
[…Utterly convinced, esteed master,] it replied after a long pause, its calm female voice lighter, less raspy, showing clear deference, like a cat’s softer ow to its owner.
Aiwas smiled, looking at the sunset, relieved.
Coincidentally, Aiwas, Lily, and Gordon stood exactly where they were during the ceremony.
Gordon’s armor was ruined, helt lost, sword damaged. Aiwas’s chest bore a piercing mark, his bloodied badge shining. Lily, battered but loyal, stood behind his warped wheelchair.
The photographer who first spotted the demon, compulsively snapping photos, found his film unused.
He clicked the shutter, capturing this mont forever.
*
(Chapter End)
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