The Return

With the demon vanquished, the Rocher's contingent made their way back to Greytree Hall.

Noah sat alone in an open carriage, the late autumn chill biting through his short coat, prompting him to huddle closer into its meager warmth. His legs stretched out before him, he leaned against the side of the carriage. Out of respect, he was given a carriage to himself, but that left him with only Gladius for company.

"I've been pondering what Elysia said, about 'sealing the sheepfold,'" Noah mused, the wheels of thought turning. "Do that, and the wolves could never breach it."

"Pining over her words? Impossible. I saw it clear as day, Noah. You crave her lips, her scent, you're mad with desire to have her, and would've had her writhing beneath you last night if she'd consented. You'd have taken what you wanted with your brutish urges, heedless of her pain, then strutted with your masculinity," Gladius's voice cackled with mocking laughter.

"I did nothing of the sort."

"That makes you more frightening. You're kidnapping her fate. Should you harm her, disgrace her, break her heart, she'll emerge stronger, colder, more astute. She'll guard herself against all comers, and you? You sowed your seeds in fertile soil and moved to your next conquest. But now, everything's changed! You'll seek her out, and she you, becoming burdens to one another," Gladius's words twisted the air with chilling reason.

"And you? Do demons know love?"

"We are beyond gender."

"How primitive," Noah thought with disdain.

"Pah, try this on for size." Gladius's voice softened, sweet and charming, "How's that? Does it bring us closer?"

A shiver ran down Noah's spine, nausea washing over him as he heaved over the side of the carriage.

"Are you alright?" asked a soldier riding alongside. "We can stop."

"No, keep going," Noah slumped into the carriage.

"You didn't seem to enjoy that," Gladius reverted to his usual timbre, "Yet your subconscious revealed quite the opposite."

"A woman's voice, not a demon's. You know what? Every time you speak, I remember how you once looked—scorched face, massive horns—a monster trying to use a little girl's voice. And you expect me to react?"

"You dare to insult me? I'm the one meant to do the insulting."

"Why so?"

"Because I am superior. I am a demon, an advanced being, traversing worlds."

"Living in borrowed shells, now thinking with my brain."

"You don't understand."

"I do. You're testing me, corrupting me, believing one day I'll let my guard down for you to take complete control."

"Such thoughts are a sign of your own corruption."

"Just know this." Noah tired of internal banter, resorting to thought alone, letting the demon read for himself.

No matter what I become, I will always be a demon hunter.

Noah didn't wish to engage with the demon any longer. His gaze drifted to a field so lush it captivated his attention.

The vast, grayish expanse stretched before him, a patchwork forest in the distance clung to its withered leaves, stubbornly refusing to fall—perhaps plants had their resolve too.

The entourage proceeded along a well-paved road, hooves clattering rhythmically against the stone, a communal effort marked by donor stones every hundred meters.

As they neared a hamlet, neat hedgerows segmented the fields into precise blocks, each further divided into three, the tri-field system in full swing. Noah remembered his youth, hauling buckets between manure pits and fallow land, an endless cycle of rural toil.

Farmers planted hardy wheat and rye seeds, enduring through winter's chill. He knew snow would blanket them, not killing the sprouts but nurturing them to burgeon in spring's thaw, eventually transforming into summer bread.

A broad-snouted ox huffed by the road, bellowing at each passing carriage. Yet, when the wagon carrying the demon's body approached, it bolted into the fields, inciting commotion.

"Animals fear demons," Noah observed. "Why? How do they sense you?"

"An 'alienness,' perhaps," Gladius suggested.

"You know what I mean."

"You want an explanation. Fine. We hail from another realm, so creatures of this world naturally find us odd, an intrinsic repulsion they can see, smell, hear. But humans are different. You're changing yourselves, severing the bond with your primordial state. Your bodies belong to this world, but your minds evolve, accepting the 'supernatural' as normal, rationalizing your own changes. Eventually, you grow numb to our presence. It's an exchange—your intellect for similarity to this world. The question is, do you deem it worthwhile?"

"Of course, it's worth it." Intelligence is the sharpest tool.

"Impossible," Gladius protested, "It can't be sharper than the blade you wield."

"Speaking of which, you consumed that demon's soul. Are you stronger?"

Gladius hesitated, something concealed in his silence.

"Out with it," Noah pressed.

"Eating a troll is like consuming three human souls; that winged demon, a hundred."

"You could heal me thrice over with one troll's soul."

"If you squander my power on your errors, you forfeit a vital aid," Gladius murmured. "My growing strength means, I could take you to hell."

"Hell? Why would we go there?"

"To hunt demons, your favored pastime. You can mend your fences or hunt wolves with a bow. Demons often venture to your realm, fleeing with treasures they find here. I'll guide you through hell, culling the weak. I feast on souls; you claim the treasures. Isn't that perfect?"

"Empty promises. How do I know what lies there? For all I know, you're leading me to my destruction," Noah frowned.

"Our partnership is well established. Aren't we the closest of allies? We've faced challenges together; this is but another," Gladius coaxed seductively.

Never trust a demon. Never forgive a demon.

"Fine," Noah conceded, "It sounds appealing."

"You're agreeable," Gladius sounded pleased.

The army meandered through market towns bustling with activity—open storefronts, ornate homes, chatter of goat herders and cabbage vendors creating a vibrant cacophony. This was the Outskirts—unwalled, teeming with all walks of life, a melange of the good, the bad, the opportunistic.

Passing through the Outskirts, the Iron Gates rose to admit them. Looking up, Noah saw chutes for pouring boiling oil, thinking how attackers could be scorched into a new barrier.

Inside Greytree Hall, a grand fortress loomed—an earl's residence, flanked by towers and walls, its position the highest in town, a wall connecting it to the city's ramparts.

City streets were broader than the market towns, yet still constrained. Noah saw dark sewage flowing through drains, and where there were none, waste littered the streets.

"What a charming city," Gladius mused. "I see tens of thousands of fresh human souls, as delightful to me as the sight of as many undressed women rushing towards you."

"Drop the bizarre analogies."

At the city's central square, the procession halted. Camp followers disembarked, disappearing into their world. Elysia looked back, catching Noah's eye. He stood, waving to her, and she laughed before being whisked away by the other women.

Noah wondered where they were headed.

Townfolk pointed and murmured, intrigued by Rocher's demon-hunting convoy. The wagon with the hidden demon drew eyes; curiosity piqued to unveil the draped cloth and glimpse the true face of a demon.

As the carriage wove up the hillside towards the earl's stone bastion, Rocher rode back to Noah. Her demeanor, as always, pale and detached.

"We're about to meet Lord René," Rocher informed him.

"Anything I should be wary of?"

"Yes, and it needs your immediate attention," she said with a gravity that weighted the air.