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The crunch of stone and dirt echoed as his body collided with the jagged surface, sending a dull vibration reverberating through his bones. Dust and small fragments of rock rained down around him, pooling at his feet as cracks spidered out from the impact point.

It was clear he couldn’t withstand the momentum of the clash, forcing him backward.

As the dust settled, Sera stood firm, though she too had been pushed back. Her once-pristine stance was now slightly unbalanced, her boots sinking into the muddy ground. Her hands were raised defensively, her hair disheveled—half in front of her face, half behind. Droplets of sweat clung to her forehead as she heaved lightly, her heels digging deeper into the earth to steady herself.

Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, though the faint tremor in her hands betrayed the strain she had felt from the exchange.

The sight of her slight disarray—the untidy hair, the barely perceptible shake in her hands—seemed surreal to the demons watching. She was their captain, their unshakable leader, and even the smallest sign of vulnerability felt like a crack in the foundation of their beliefs.

"As expected of the captain…" Vasoth grinned. He had been cautious while they cornered the strange human, staying on high alert to ensure he didn’t slip away.

Still, doubt had lingered in his mind—what if the human was stronger than expected? What if he could overpower their captain?

Such a scenario would have spelled disaster. But now, seeing Sera hold her ground, he felt relief and satisfaction.

He let out a slow breath, the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned against the nearest tree, smug confidence returning to his soft features.

’As expected, our captain is above all others. She can’t be defeated by any no-name. With her here, we’ll capture him smoothly, and then I’ll interrogate him properly.’

His lips curled into a sinister grin, his mind already conjuring up images of the methods he would use to break the human.

But just as he relished the thought, whispers arose among the demons.

The murmurs spread like ripples through the crowd, faint at first, then growing louder as more of them noticed something strange.

Vasoth’s smile faded as irritation flickered in his eyes. Turning to the murmuring soldiers, he frowned.

"What’s the matt—"

His words froze as he looked ahead. His pupils shrank at the sight before him.

A thin stream of blood trickled from Sera’s nose. Continue reading at

The crimson droplet trailed down her pale skin, stark against the otherwise unmarred perfection of her face. It glistened under the faint moonlight before falling silently to the ground. ȓáɴоʙËṥ

’Captain was injured!?’ He looked at her in disbelief, as if his worldview had been twisted.

Not only him, but the majority of the soldiers present at the scene, who had been admiring their captain’s display of strength, were now stunned and shocked by the sight of her nose bleeding from blocking Oliver’s rapier.

The silence was thick, like the air before a storm. Some demons exchanged glances, their eyes wide with disbelief, while others simply stared, their jaws slightly slack.

It was probably the first time they had seen Sera injured. Whenever she fought, it was with unprecedented grace and power. No opponent had ever managed to lay a single scratch on her. She always overwhelmed everyone.

Of course, it was normal to be injured in duels or battles, and Sera receiving an injury wasn’t extraordinary, but it was still quite shocking for these demons, who had followed her for a long time.

In a way, it was a blow to their morale, no matter how small.

"Pfft—" Oliver spat out the dust that had entered his mouth. The metallic tang of blood lingered on his tongue as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He examined himself, feeling his bones ache in pain. Although he had managed to harm her, he had also taken significant damage.

His fingers twitched as he flexed his hand experimentally, testing the limits of his numb grip on the rapier. Pain radiated up his arm, sharp and numbing, but he forced himself to maintain his stance.

The hand clutching his rapier was completely numb. The impact had been immense, and if he hadn’t parried it, he might have lost his arm entirely to her sword strike.

Yet, as he looked at her, she had only been pushed back. This made him question whether the difference in their strength was truly that great.

He gritted his teeth and flexed his body in a certain way to minimize the pain in his aching bones. A cracking sound followed.

"You…" Sera whispered, clearly surprised by what had just happened.

Her voice was low, almost inaudible, but there was a sharp edge to it—like a knife dragged slowly across stone.

When she was about to strike his arm with her sword, he had thrust his rapier forward. At that moment, she felt a dangerous force gathering at the tip of the rapier—tremendous and highly focused at a single point.

She had to adjust her trajectory in that split second and use her hand to block the incoming impact. She knew that if she took the full hit, she wouldn’t leave unscathed.

Her mind replayed the moment, dissecting it with obsessive precision. The way the energy had coiled around his blade, sharp and deliberate, sent a faint chill down her spine. That wasn’t ordinary human technique.

She glanced at Oliver with narrowed eyes. She had already concluded that Oliver was at a level below her own—from the way he handled his weapons to his overall fighting style. Everything screamed amateur.

But upon closer inspection, she was surprised to find that she couldn’t see through his exact level. It was as if a thick wall blocked her senses whenever she tried to probe deeper, hiding all his secrets.

It was maddening, like staring into a void that refused to give anything back. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as her frustration grew.

If he were weaker than her in overall level and skill, he shouldn’t have techniques she couldn’t break through with her power.

She concluded two possibilities for her inability to see through him. The first was that he might be using a high-grade artifact, likely an epic-rank one, that concealed his abilities.

The second was that he possessed a special bloodline or an inherent skill that blocked enemy perception.

Her gaze lingered on his eyes—sharp, cold, unyielding. There was something ancient about them, as if they belonged to someone who had seen far too much.

A human with an epic-rank artifact wouldn’t venture into this place alone, so she leaned toward the second possibility.

Even without extensive knowledge of human customs, an epic-rank artifact was worth more than a single human life.

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