Tracking the Demon

Noah awoke from a restless slumber, his mind clouded with a muddle of vague images: roaming demons, a world ablaze, the cycle of kings and commoners, and wandering souls. He saw the faces of fallen comrades, the girl who had kissed him, and the relentless taunts from Gladius, the Blade Demon, his head sprouting sharp horns.

Leave my soul be...

"You need me; you need me," a voice repeated insistently. "No matter how much you detest me, you need me. I am the executioner of your companions and the savior who pulled you from death's edge. I am your worst curse and your most reliable ally. Do you wish to be destroyed? To survive, you must accept me—"

Noah jolted awake from the dream.

"What nonsense are you dreaming about?" Gladius's voice echoed from within.

"Nothing." Noah felt groggy.

"Ah, and I still need to teach you. All this talk of noblewomen with perfect figures, and you get taken in by a common whore," Gladius scoffed.

"Don't you find her beautiful?" Noah argued inwardly.

After a pause, Gladius responded reluctantly, "...Yes. But how do you not see she's using you, aiming to rise above her station, to escape her misery, treating you like a stepping stone?"

"Shut up."

"Can't you be a ruthless, powerful man? Ride her till you're bored, then find the next wild mare."

"Why can't you give it a rest?" Noah cursed.

"Why?" Gladius sounded genuinely aggrieved. "Because I am profoundly bored! You have no idea what it's like to be trapped inside this shoddy body of yours. Because you are weak, and your brain is so limited, I'm forced to think like a mortal."

"What's so bad about that? Isn't my mind enough for you?"

"Imagine cramming an adult into a child's clothing, no, a lion, a million swords into a child's clothes... that's the torment I'm enduring. And you even refuse to converse with me!" Gladius roared.

"Tell me what will make you quiet."

"Get me some souls, please," Gladius pleaded. "I'll be quiet if I'm well-fed. There are hundreds of soldiers here; they won't notice if one goes missing."

"What if I say no? The stronger you are, the more danger I'm in."

"I'll be profoundly disappointed in you," Gladius's voice, usually sharp and whimsical, now deepened and hoarse, "Together, we could be the most formidable allies, the world at our feet. If you insist on seeing me as a threat, your pettiness is pitiable."

"That's still not compelling enough," Noah remained unconvinced. "Let's meet halfway. Soon you'll have a soul to enjoy, but it won't be human."

But that of another demon.

The army broke camp and marched westward, searching for signs of the winged demon. Noah followed the troops, and after traveling a few miles, he looked back at the hillside—littered with refuse and dug pits. Though the soldiers had moved on, they left behind an unsightly scar across the landscape. Noah imagined the sight if noble wars were waged, thousands encamped, and how they would ravage the land.

Observing the army's operations, Noah was accustomed to paying attention to detail. The center of the army held the supply wagons and the non-combatants who could quickly rally around the carts in an orderly stop to form a defensive stance should they meet the enemy. The soldiers appeared eager, to them, demons were no different than ordinary beasts, to be dealt with steel and strength.

Rocher divided the troops into centurions, each led by a standard-bearer who communicated orders with flags and shouts. The knights at the forefront controlled the march with mere waves of their flags.

"Quick march!" a distant cry rang out, followed by the forward flags shaking twice.

"Hurry up!"

"Faster!"

The rear standard-bearers mimicked the movements, their flags with the green hyacinth of Greywood Hall clearly visible, deterring any would-be assailants.

Family crests distinguished Loman nobility, with ancient symbols often being classical, traditional, and conservative. Newcomer nobles had to settle for rarer and more peculiar emblems. Six months prior, Noah had seen a knight whose shield bore two naked men in embrace; Logan explained it as a strategy to deter others from looking directly at the shield during duels.

The command given, the sounds of rustling garments and clashing blades grew frequent as the soldiers quickened their pace.

Peasants in the fields paused to watch the approaching army, leaning on their tools with complicated gazes, sighing now and then. But as they recognized Rocher on horseback, heartfelt cheers erupted.

"Bravo!"

"Lady Rocher!"

Noah couldn't see Rocher from his position, but he imagined her expression remained steady, focused on the path ahead. Lomans revered knights; even commoners could rise through the ranks to earn knighthood. Once, Noah had fantasized about finding favor and becoming a knight, securing lands for his descendants, but now, as a demon hunter, worldly power held little allure.

Prox rode over from the vanguard, his nasal helmet secured, beard tied, and a cavalry axe on his back, looking quite dashing compared to his previous untidiness.

"Hey!" He greeted Noah, "How's it going?"

"Good, but I can't ride a horse," Noah admitted.

"That's alright; you're young, you'll learn quick—I'll teach you when I can," Prox said nonchalantly, "Riding a horse is just like riding a woman; looks tough but is simple, and every man loves it."

"Sure," Noah replied, having tried neither.

"Lady Rocher wants you." Prox gestured ahead.

They had probably found something; the entire army halted at the call. Noah and Prox left the path, stepping onto an open field.

A dead cow—or what was left of it—lay in the grass.

Noah saw a bovine head split down the middle as if something had gripped the upper and lower jaws and ripped it apart. The stark white skull contrasted with the dark, clotted gore, its brain sucked out, leaving only hollow eye sockets behind.

"Was this the work of the demon?" Rocher approached, longsword in hand.

"Yes." Noah confirmed, also consulting with Gladius internally.

"I smell it," Gladius whispered, "Likely a winged servant of the Sky Tyrant, a creation of the Sky Magi, or a follower of the Gliding Prince. Not arch-demon level, but no weakling."

"Certainly no match for you."

"Tsk, there are few in all of hell who dare cross blades with the dreadful Blade Demon. But it's too late for flattery now. Think, why is it feasting so wildly and hastily?"

"Because it's starving, it needs food, it needs souls."

"You're beginning to understand demons," Gladius approved.

Rocher surveyed the scene once more.

"We're close," she declared to the mercenaries, "Prepare for a confrontation with the demon at any moment."

"Of course," Tibert signaled his men to bring the ballista, pulled by horses.

But the horses whinnied shrilly, stubbornly refusing to approach the demon's carnage, thrashing and panting, refusing to budge. The mercenaries' faces fell seeing their horses' frenzy.

"This is odd," Tibert muttered, then assured Rocher, "They seem out of sorts today, but it's nothing. My men will calm them."

"It won't work," Noah shook his head, "The horses fear the demon; they need to be taken farther from the site to calm down."

"Oh, the demon hunter is a genius," Tibert sarcastically acknowledged and had the horses led away. Indeed, once distant from the scene, they readily pulled the ballista back to the road.

"No need for sarcasm, just say you're worried I'll claim the bounty," Noah cut to the chase.

"How could I 'worry'? Why would I need to 'worry'?" Tibert shrugged dismissively, "Isn't it obvious who's stronger here?"

"Is it? Lady Rocher, I heard the count has issued a bounty. Whoever kills the winged demon will be rewarded with a hundred gold coins," Noah said calmly.

"A full hundred Loman gold coins, stamped with the image of Lavinus III, not filled out with ancient Godel coins or those thinned by scraping, but counted out from the count's own coffers, prepared for the hero who slays the demon," Rocher stated neutrally.

"Good, Tibert," Noah stood tall, "That money is mine."

"Fool," Tibert cursed, and his Fells mercenaries glared at Noah.

After enduring humiliation, Noah now had to make a stand; he wasn't the type to be trampled upon.

Rocher turned to a scout galloping in from afar.

The scout, clad in light leather armor with feathers on his helmet and a golden beard, seemed of northern barbarian descent, carrying javelins and spears. He spoke to Rocher in a foreign tongue, and she responded in the strange language.

"What are they saying? Can you understand?" Noah asked Gladius.

"They're speaking a northern dialect, 'We've sighted the winged demon flying high over the wilderness,' 'I understand, what's its condition?'... tedious things; your ways of communication are primitive," Gladius listened, "Wait, what are you taking me for?"

"I'll make it up to you," Noah appeased, "Just translate for now."

"It appears lackadaisical, completely unaware of us," the barbarian scout reported.

"Do you suspect a trap?" Rocher frowned.

"I didn't say that. Trap or not, we must be cautious," the scout replied.

Demons were always cunning, Noah thought. An inherent part of their behavior was deception. Could humans ever outwit demons?

"Let's move," Rocher called to the mercenaries and demon hunters, "I don't care who claims the bounty, just bring down that winged demon."