Chapter 6

Despite his weakened state, Astaroth retained his knowledge of all the ancient spells and skills he had learned throughout his life, a testament to his immense power. However, his current body lacked the necessary strength nor sufficient mana to cast these potent incantations. Lost in thought, Astaroth contemplated his situation, realizing that he had believed himself to be dead, yet his soul and broken body had been transported to this strange world. As a demon king born from nothingness, he had never fathomed the existence of a realm where his soul could reside, despite his hundreds of thousands of years of living before death.

Astaroth surveyed his surroundings, something had been pricking his senses since the moment he had appeared in this world. The familiar calling on his senses had brought him to the troll and goblins troops and then to the river, and now it seems to be calling out to him even more. His demon eyes discerned a faint red vapor-like strain floating in the air within the cave.

"This miasma seems to be leading somewhere," he mused, "my pain lessens as I draw in more of it."

Astaroth extended his right palm, and the miasmic strain began to converge at its center. Determined to uncover the origin of the miasma, the demon king ventured deeper into the cave.

As Astaroth went deeper, the miasma thickened, and his pain lessened but did not disappear completely. As he absorbed the raw demonic energy, his decayed flesh started to recover, and his body gradually grew stronger. By the time he reached the source of the object that was giving out a thick cloud of miasma, his physical form had almost restored itself. Astaroth stared at the origin of the miasma, which was no longer a wispy red vapor but a thick, smoke-like fume that twisted and writhed like a snake. It circled Astaroth like a loyal companion finding its owner.

The demon king grinned, saying, "It seems that in this world, there are powers that are drawn to me as well."

His piercing eyes cut through the dense fumes and spotted a sword hilt sticking out from the floor, with the rest of the blade seemingly buried in the ground. Thick miasmas streamed from the hilt, no longer only visible only to his demonic eyes but any ordinary man without any magic would have seen it with their naked eyes.

The sword's hilt was embedded with a large, clear crystal, which appeared to have been cut from a larger piece and skilfully refined to fit into the hilt. The sword guard curved gracefully towards the end. Placing his right hand on the grip, Astaroth was surprised to find no resistance as he pulled the sword up from the ground. It was as if the earth itself relinquished its hold on the weapon. The surrounding miasmas, once shrouding the sword, dissipated into thin air, and the blade of the sword glistened black, with intricate gold and silver inscriptions adorning its fuller.

Despite having lived for many thousands of years, the demon king couldn't decipher the language of these inscriptions. It seems familiar to him, but it appears to make no sense as well. The grip of the sword emitted a peculiar sensation as if it possessed a sentient presence. A flood of memories and emotions surged through Astaroth's mind, evoking a vivid image of a beautiful woman clothed only in ethereal white light. Her presence was enchanting yet fleeting, vanishing as swiftly as it had materialized. Perplexed, Astaroth stared intently at the sword, questioning whether this mystical artifact had conjured the image or merely awakened dormant memories within him.

Annoyed by the sense of manipulation that had haunted him since his awakening, the demon king resolved to carry the sword, its power, and its enigma intertwined with his destiny. He fastened it securely around his waist and emerged from the cave, venturing forth to explore the winding tunnels that lay ahead.

A purple figure slithered along the walls, its vile essence seeping into the very stones, evoking a chilling sense of dread. It maneuvered its way deeper into the labyrinthine tunnel, each cautious step a delicate dance of trepidation. The slightest misstep could trigger a cascade of deadly traps, beckoning forth a ravenous horde of goblins, eager to tear flesh and spill blood. By the dim light of a flickering torch on the wall, one could discern the featureless white mask that melded seamlessly with the figure's purple form. The assassin, dispatched by King Borosik, was nearing its target, shrouded in an air of imminent danger.

This assassin hailed from a cursed lineage, a family infamous for their thieving exploits, their bloodline tainted by the sins of the first King of Yosand. Like a foul contagion, the corruption had seeped through the generations. Driven by insatiable conquest, King Borosik ensnared women of exceptional talent, unwitting vessels for his darkest intentions. These unfortunate souls became his concubines, trapped under his spell. Amidst the countless offspring, one figure rose to prominence, the daughter of the most notorious concubine—the false queen of Yosnad.

Raised under the malevolent tutelage of the king, she consumed his venomous teachings with a voracious appetite. With each passing day, her heart grew darker, and a clandestine cult of murderers blossomed in the shadows, an unseen force aiding her father in the construction of his kingdom.

Much like his ancestor before him, Ezio the assassin served King Borosik, forever bound by a cursed lineage. From the very moment of his first breath, his life belonged to the king—a cursed existence from which there was no escape. Like a puppet manipulated by blood-soaked strings, Ezio danced to the sadistic whims of his master, his soul tainted by the unspeakable atrocities he committed in the name of loyalty.

Unbeknownst to Ezio, a pair of eyes, aglow with a crimson animosity, followed its every move with sinister delight ever since he entered the cavern. The watcher, perched silently in the shadows, relishing in the impending torment about to befall its hapless victim.

The air thickened with a suffocating sense of dread as the hands of this malevolent being, adorned with wickedly gleaming rings, emerged from the darkness. They lunged towards the unsuspecting assassin with a vice-like grip, clutching Ezio's shoulder from behind. The rings on the fingers bit into his flesh as they exerted their cruel hold. Panic surged through Ezio's veins as he fought desperately to escape the deathly grasp, his limbs thrashing in futile defiance. In that moment of struggle, he managed to pull free from the attacker, but not without sustaining damage. The sharp claws had torn open his back.

An animal-like cry emanated from the attacker, followed by another attack. Jaws opened wide, ready to chomp down on Ezio's neck. This time, however, Ezio was prepared. He quickly rolled across the floor, evading the attack. As he regained his footing, he managed to catch a glimpse of the assailant. It was a goblin warrior that had ambushed him from the shadows. Ezio cursed under his breath, feeling deep shame filling his chest. An assassin from a long line of killers, skilled in the art of hiding in the dark, had fallen victim to a goblin ambush.

The goblin warrior then draws out a dagger from under his belt, shifting his weight on his right foot ready to lunge forward. Ezio, his hand instinctively reaching for the hidden blade concealed beneath his cloak. He must make this filthy animal pay for ambushing him, there will be no chance for this goblin to leave this place alive.

As the battle ensued, the clash of steel against steel echoed through the dark chamber. The goblin warrior proved to be a formidable adversary, utilizing its strength and agility to match Ezio's every move. It became evident that this goblin was not just a mere warrior but a skilled assassin in its own right hence it was able to ambush the seasoned assassin without being noticed.

Ezio's hidden skills and mastery of the blade were put to the test. With each swing, parry, and dodge, he danced with death, determined to prevail over his monstrous foe. The atmosphere grew increasingly tense as the fight dragged on, with neither combatant gaining the upper hand easily.

Blood dripped from their wounds, painting the floor in a gruesome display. Shadows flickered and danced around the chamber, mirroring the intensity of the battle. Both Ezio and the goblin warrior were locked in a deadly dance of survival.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ezio seized an opportunity. With a swift and calculated strike, he disarmed the goblin warrior, leaving it defenseless. The room fell silent as Ezio's blade found its mark, severing the goblin's head from its body.

"I can smell the archaic curse that taints your very soul," the goblin whispered as its head rolled on the floor.

Ezio, a seasoned killer who had danced with death countless times, recoiled in horror as the words escaped the goblin warrior's mouth in perfect human language. The revelation shook him to his core, shattering his preconceived notions of these creatures. Suspense coiled tightly around him, urging him to flee from this nightmarish encounter. Yet, Ezio fought to steady his racing heart, pressing his back against the cold stone wall, desperately trying to comprehend the unfathomable. The gravity of the situation dawned upon him – his presence had been exposed, and the goblin king would surely be alerted, unleashing a relentless onslaught of goblin forces upon him. Time was slipping away, and a decision needed to be made swiftly. Should Ezio push forward, risking it all in a daring attempt to assassinate the goblin king, or should he retreat, seeking refuge and concealment until the opportune moment presented itself?

"Damn it, to think the goblins here are on a different level. It seems like the information about this goblin nest was lacking," Ezio muttered, feeling a sense of mounting danger. "I need to hide. Trying to kill the goblin king would surely be a suicide mission."

With that thought in mind, Ezio quickly made his decision to retreat. He reached into his inner pocket and swallowed a pill. Its power took effect almost immediately, infusing him with immense mana and helping him recover from his sustained injuries.

"Shadow manipulation," he whispered, casting his skill. Ezio's figure started to fade from sight as he concealed his physical body within the surrounding shadows. Sensing the direction he had come from, Ezio hastened to flee from this place, a sense of urgency driving him forward.

As he vanished into the darkness, the air thickened with anticipation, leaving behind an eerie silence that echoed with the unknown. The suspenseful chase had begun, and Ezio knew that every step he took would determine his fate.