A Way

Rocher's reinforcements managed to stabilize the situation, but the mercenaries who had suffered the brunt of the demonic mental onslaught were heavily decimated. Only a handful retained their sanity, though they already bore clear signs of demonic transformation—claws instead of fingernails, swathes of black scales on their skin, and faces significantly altered, barely recognizable as human.

"What do we do with them?" Rocher crouched beside Noah, her metallic armor cumbersome, surprising Noah with her strength. "Can we help them?"

"Let me think..." Noah pondered. He suspected that seasoned demon hunters and experienced wizards might know how to reverse the transformation, but he was out of depth and urgently needed to delve deeper into demonology.

"Gladius, do you know? How can we turn them back into humans?" he inquired inwardly.

"There might be a way, but I've never cared to find out. It seems irreversible to me," Gladius responded hesitantly. "No, do you have a problem? Why not just kill them all? In their current state, they can't live without consuming souls. But where will you get the souls to feed these half-baked demons? You really know how to make trouble for yourself."

Noah fell silent for a moment.

I can't help them—I can't help them.

All he could tell Rocher was, "There's no way to help them."

Rocher pondered, her gaze lingering on the few survivors before she approached them. "Where's your leader?" she asked.

One of the transformed men pointed to Tibert lying on the ground, his body half-eaten, a lung slipping out from his broken ribs.

"We've decided to shelter you until this matter is resolved. Head that way, to the encampment," Rocher instructed.

"Is there a way for us to turn back?" one of the mercenaries despaired.

"There is, but I need time to verify some theories," Rocher replied.

The men sighed, turning away and dragging their twisted bodies out of sight.

Rocher gestured to her personal guards, who quickly readied their bows. Before the mercenaries could react, arrows flew, piercing their bodies and felling the transformed allies.

Rocher then approached and personally split open their chests to ensure they weren't feigning death.

"Take them back to camp and burn them all," she commanded.

Noah watched the scene unfold, feeling a pang of loss. He pulled out a witch's potion from his bag—only a little remained. Scraping out the purple ointment, he attempted to apply it to his back wound but couldn't reach.

"Is that ointment?" Rocher turned back to him.

"Yes," Noah struggled with the motion.

"You need to take off your coat," she said, coming over.

Noah wanted to comply, but the slightest movement sent sharp pain through his back.

"Be gentle." Rocher removed her gauntlets, helping Noah undo his coat and lay it aside before peeling off his shirt.

Kneeling beside him, she examined his wound. "It pierced your back."

"It's alright." Noah gasped, the pain severe though he'd become more tolerant of suffering. "It was bound to happen."

Rocher fetched a bottle of alcohol, and with a handkerchief drawn from inside her armor, she cleaned around the wound, dabbing away the congealed blood with the soft silk, tickling Noah's skin.

"Lord Noah, does it hurt? I regret that my hands are used to holding swords."

"No... not really..." Noah admitted, feeling somewhat bashful.

"Are you truly seventeen? I'd reckon you're thirteen," Gladius muttered. "Tell her you're having a physical reaction. Ask her to help with that too. She'll agree."

Rocher spread the ointment evenly over Noah's wound and wrapped it with bandages, covering it carefully. Noah couldn't help but recall Logan's body, scarred, tattooed, and marked with incantations. Perhaps one day, he would look the same. Scars were trivial for a demon hunter constantly on the front line, but Noah dreaded any injury that could impair his mobility.

Slowly standing up, Noah felt much better. He put on his clothes, feeling nearly fully recovered.

Rocher reattached her gauntlets.

"Lord Noah, any thoughts on what to do with the winged demon's corpse?" she inquired.

"Bring it back. I want to consume it slowly," Gladius was eager.

"Eat?" Noah was confused. "I thought you only feasted on souls."

"Watch and learn; it's made of demon essence, though of inferior quality. But even that can be used for many interesting things. Surely you wouldn't refuse impervious armor," Gladius suggested.

Noah nodded to Rocher. "Could you help me transport it back to the Hall? Cover its body so others can't see."

"Understood," Rocher saluted.

The journey back to the camp took effort, but the sight of Noah, blood-stained yet victorious, brought respect from the soldiers, for Rocher and her guards bore no marks of battle. Their reverence grew upon seeing the demon's body dragged back by a horse.

"The demon hunter."

"A true hunter."

"What would we have done against such a creature?"

"Does anyone know his name?"

"Noah. His name is Noah. But where he comes from, nobody knows."

They discussed excitedly, the camp's mood shifting from somber to lively with the light of fire pits, cheers, clinking cups, and card games. Life held hope again.

The camp jovially loaded the demon's corpse onto a cart, pointing and laughing at its grotesque remains, having forgotten the fear it once inspired.

Hope trumps fear. With such a good start, the hardest part was behind them. Noah was pleased; knowing the demon could be defeated would eventually coalesce into a belief—demons were not invincible. With this mindset, people would have confidence in combatting demons, improving their odds in future encounters.

Now, Noah just wanted to rest. No, he couldn't rest yet. He wandered the camp, following a scent of roses to the courtesans' quarters. He spotted a tall woman with sharp features, her hair pinned high.

"Looking for Elysia?"

"Yes," Noah said assertively, surprised by his own decisiveness as if he'd grown bold overnight. "I want her."

The woman's expression turned curious.

"Are you serious?" she asked. "Don't joke about such things."

"What's the problem?" Noah was perplexed.

"You didn't 'ride' her yesterday; why come back today?"

"What difference does it make? I want her company," Noah insisted, "I can pay."

"I don't want your money," Elysia emerged from her tent, her tone defiant.

Noah smiled at the sight of Elysia, entering the brightly lit tent.

"You're hurt," she observed.

"We're always hurt; it's inevitable," Noah explained.

"Then you might die, die in battle?" Elysia seemed scared. "When will you die?"

"How should I know when I'll die? I'm not going to die," Noah assured her.

After all, he had Gladius as a safeguard, even grave injuries would be no trouble.

"When will your family die?" Gladius probed.

Elysia glanced at Noah with concern.

"Take off your coat; let me wash it for you."

"Alright."

She soaked the blood-stained wool coat in a copper basin, swirling into a pool of blood, but she washed it nonchalantly.

"Did you win?"

"If we'd lost, everything would be over," Noah admitted, the fear lingering. "It was a terrifying foe—immense strength, able to fly, and unleash mental attacks."

But wait, Noah's realization dawned. In the dark, they'd seen a massive demon's shadow, leading the Fells Crossbow Unit to miss their first arrow. But the battle had been fierce, and in the urgency to leave, they hadn't checked what that shadow was! Noah's worry resurfaced.

"Why do you still look so worried? You've already killed it," Elysia didn't understand.

"Demons are endless. They're addicted to souls, needing to devour them constantly to survive and grow stronger. We're just resources and food to them, and they'll keep entering this world," Noah murmured.

"Demons come from another world?"

"Yes, demons are creatures from other worlds. There are countless demons in their realm. As a demon hunter, it's impossible to keep fighting them alone."

"Oh, that's amazing!" Elysia replied, somewhat comprehending.

Noah felt compelled to keep talking.

"Do you know what I think? Armies are powerful. While an army of mortals can't stand against demons, succumbing easily to their magic and mental assaults, an army of trained hunters is different. Thousands of demon hunters together would mean the demons are the ones outnumbered, not the hunters. No matter how many hunters fall, there will always be seasoned warriors ready to protect the world."

"Ah..." Elysia pondered, "Is that like the story of stealing goats?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's that fable, right? There was a man who had many goats. Wolves kept coming in because his pen was broken. He fought the wolves, but they kept coming."

"What did he do?" Noah's interest piqued.

"He fixed the pen, and the wolves couldn't get in anymore. Instead of fighting and battling demons constantly, why don't you find a way to keep demons from entering this world?" Elysia finished wiping the coat clean.