The bloody boy

Zatiel surveyed the camp, preparing for his assault. It had been two days since he had poisoned the water, and by now, everyone should have been affected. He noticed that the number of lookouts had increased since his last scouting of the camp, most likely in response to the disappearance of two of their men. However, the poison should have already taken effect on every bandit.

As night fell, Zatiel initiated his attack. Swiftly moving from tree to tree, he incapacitated the lookouts without giving them a chance to react.

"Now let the real show begin," Zatiel muttered, drawing a sword from his waist—a gift from the first group of bandits he encountered.

Despite facing a hundred men, Zatiel's face revealed a mix of excitement and determination. As a demon, battle was ingrained in his nature, and fighting came as naturally as breathing. He had spent his first and third lives as a human, but his longest existence was as a demon—a being bred for combat. Fighting was second nature to him.

Zatiel charged towards the camp entrance without hesitation. After days of rigorous training, his physique and agility had improved, reaching nearly three points in physique and two points in agility. This allowed him to cover almost 100 meters in ten seconds.

"Enemy!"

"Attack him!"

The two guards at the entrance barely had time to react before Zatiel appeared before them. The guards, skilled killers in their own right, attacked with ferocity.

The first guard thrust his sword directly at Zatiel's head, while the second aimed for his waist. Zatiel shifted his head to the right, narrowly avoiding the sword, and deflected the second guard's attack with his own sword. In one swift motion, Zatiel delivered a powerful punch to the chest of the first guard with his free hand.

The guard was sent flying two meters before crashing to the ground, the sound of bones breaking accompanying his fall. The second guard attempted to launch another attack, but Zatiel's kick struck him square in the face, propelling him into the air.

Without pausing, Zatiel advanced further into the camp, attracting the attention of the remaining bandits.

Zatiel swiftly dispatched any bandit that crossed his path, dodging attacks and finding opportune moments to counter. Each bandit found themselves thrown to the ground, with broken bones or missing limbs.

"The poison should be taking effect by now."

As if on cue, the bandits began dropping to the ground like flies, succumbing to the effects of the poison Zatiel had mixed into the water two days prior. The poison, derived from the Fighter Doom plant, was tasteless and activated when the individual experienced a surge in blood flow, such as during combat.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, with most of the bandits engaged in battle or chasing after Zatiel, their heart rates increased, exacerbating the effects of the poison.

As Zatiel surveyed the defeated bandits, a sense of danger crept over him. Reacting swiftly, he stepped back and positioned his sword defensively.

A heavy sword swung down towards Zatiel, crashing against his own sword and pushing him back nearly a meter before he regained his balance.

A burly man, standing nearly two meters tall, with a square scarred face and short hair, appeared before Zatiel, clad in full armor.

"So, you're the bastard who thinks he can barge into my camp and kill my men."

"You could say that. And who might you be?" Zatiel replied, ordering his AI chip to scan his opponent.

"Heh, you're a brave little brat. You can tell the devil that Captain Robert sent you to hell."

Zatiel couldn't help but smile at the remark. Imagining a demon, a denizen of the Abyss, going to hell, the realm of devils, after death was quite amusing.

"Die, you little shit!"

The Captain charged at Zatiel, attacking with all his strength, slashing his sword towards Zatiel's head in an attempt to cleave him in two.

Zatiel swiftly sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the sword by a few centimeters.

The sword crashed into the ground, sending debris flying in its wake, a testament to the strength behind the blow.

Infuriated by his missed attack, the Captain continued with a barrage of slashes from all directions. Yet, no matter how he attacked, Zatiel found a way to dodge each strike at the last possible moment.

The fight continued in this manner for over ten minutes. The Captain relentlessly attacked, and Zatiel skillfully evaded.

Zatiel expertly dodged each attack, exerting only the necessary force, and when the opportunity presented itself, he countered with his sword, leaving small wounds wherever the Captain's armor failed to protect him.

"You coward! Stop dodging and fight like a man!" the Captain yelled in anger, launching an even more ferocious assault, causing rocks to be sent flying with the force of his sword strikes.

Zatiel did not respond to the provocation, instead focusing on finding an opening. He knew that when an opponent was consumed by anger, they were more prone to making mistakes.

After a series of relentless attacks, the Captain's sword became temporarily lodged in the ground, leaving him momentarily vulnerable. Seizing the opportunity, Zatiel swiftly threw his sword towards the Captain's neck like lightning.

Blinded by rage, the Captain managed to move at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a fatal strike. Although his neck was severely cut, and blood poured from the wound, he had escaped with his life.

Though he failed to kill his opponent, Zatiel showed no disappointment on his face. Rather than continuing the assault, he distanced himself from the Captain and lowered his guard.

"Where do you think you're going? The fight isn't over. This little cut means nothing," the Captain sneered, though his head began to feel foggy, his consciousness fading.

"Your physique may have protected you from the poisoned food and water, but when it's delivered directly into your bloodstream, it still takes effect, especially when the wound is on your neck."

The Captain stared at the bleeding sword, realization dawning on him.

"You poisoned your sword. This was meant to be a one-on-one fight. You have no honor!"

Zatiel smirked at the accusation.

"If you refuse to use every available tool just because of what others might think, then you deserve to die because of your arrogance and foolishness."

No longer paying attention to the incapacitated Captain, Zatiel continued to explore the rest of the camp. As he walked, he stumbled upon what appeared to be a mass grave. Bodies of all ages and races lay within.

But as Zatiel assessed the pit, he was surprised to detect signs of life. Without hesitation, he descended into the pit and pulled out a barely breathing young boy, around ten years old, with one hand severed and his left eye missing. It was clear the boy had endured days of torture based on his injuries.

"So, what am I going to do with you?" Zatiel pondered aloud as he looked at the boy, barely clinging to life.