Footsteps resounded through the town as a hooded figure walked through it.
A bloodied lip and a mangled face adorned him tightly, blood dripping with every movement—his golden hair stained with blood-red liquid. When people saw him walk past, they gasped, shifting and skittering to get away from him.
Red and gray demons alike feared him, not for what he had done, but for who he was…
The grandson of the devil, the demon king, Benimaru Ryota.
"That's him, isn't it? Lord Zeldris' grandson?"
"Yes, it is. I heard he is being trained by Lord Meliodas."
"By Lord Meliodas? Why would Lord Zeldris order such a thing?"
"Who knows. It's beyond us anyway."
Murmurs preceded through the crowd as rumors spread like wildfire.
A tired sigh escaped Benimaru's lips—people feared him too much. It was annoying.
As the sole of his foot touched the ground once more, a gray demon trembled violently—horns shaking and convulsing.
Setting his worries aside, the door to his destination sprung open as his feet touched the ground inside.
Once his sight reached the people inside, they scattered and ran out. Another sigh escaped him as his left brow furrowed slightly, but he refused to give chase.
Within the room, only a single customer remained at the counter—being attended to by the bartender.
The bartender was a roughed-up red demon with broken horns and an appearance resembling that of an old man.
Seeing that neither of them ran, his eyebrow raised, his look of annoyance switched to confusion in an instant—then to intrigue.
Striking his foot against the ground, his shoes clacked against the floorboard, creaking a creaking sound.
As he sat down beside the customer, a large man covered by a brown hood—body almost invisible but aura clear as day.
Paying the man no mind, but signaling to the barkeep—the demon, on the other hand, formed a look of confusion.
"Ain't you a bit too young to be drinking?"
His voice was rigid and stony, like no words had left his mouth in a long time.
"Old enough to kill, old enough to drink,"
The young boy said, glass already in hand—simply waiting for a refill.
Choosing not to argue, the fingers of the bartender deftly grasped the cup, seizing it from Benimaru as he filled it.
Sliding it across the counter, it fit perfectly into the Ryota's hands.
As the glass filled his grip, he raised it to his lips, savoring the taste before downing it in a single gulp.
CRACK CRACK CRACK
The cup shattered beneath his hold, glass piercing his fingers with a lack of resistance.
A look of shock plastered the red demon's face as his mouth lay agape; he quickly rushed to clean the mess—the drink trickled onto the table, drop by drop.
The man on the other side leisurely sipped from his cup without a care in the world, though his expression remained unchanged—he grew slightly entertained by the ordeal.
The look on Benimaru's face was perfectly calm, but in a mere instant he grew enraged.
"Do you take me for a fool?"
His voice, although perfectly level, held a dark undertone. The vein protruding from his face told both the bartender and the man—that a problem was arising.
"I ordered a drink, yet you give me milk."
Benimaru's words lay true as a pure white substance leaked from the shattered cup, undeniable proof of the demon's trickery.
The barkeep stumbled back in fear as the aura rising from Benimaru's body terrified him. It even caused the ground beneath them to rumble.
The fist of the bartender clenched tightly. "I won't give beer to a guy who can barely grow a mustache."
His voice lacked any obvious traces of fear despite his trembling form, which only seemed to fuel the boy's anger as he looked almost ready to attack.
But before his feet could even touch the ground, a cup hit the counter in front of him—the sound breaking him away from his thoughts.
"Keep your rage in check, child. Or I'll do it for you."
The man by the side, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, suddenly spoke.
His words carried an aura of power and will, something none would dare to argue against.
The bartender rushed to the man's side, eyes filled with remorse. "Please, Lord Escanor, the boy doesn't know what he is doing."
But begging was futile in the face of these titans.
A look of surprise then curiosity could be visibly seen on Benimaru's face. The barkeep, a mere red demon, was begging for him?
"Who are you?" Benimaru asked.
"Who am I?" Escanor responded. His muscles flexed against his will, tearing apart the fabric of his cloak and his shirt—revealing the tattoo of a lion plastered on his back.
"I am the one who stands at the pinnacle of all races, I am the light that no demon can eclipse."
His voice deepened—calm, absolute, undeniable.
"I am the sun that all kingdoms bow before." As his feet touched the ground, a warm aura enveloped him—radiating a heat like no other.
"I am…Escanor."
A look of awe—or fear—was expected. Instead, an expression of pure unadulterated excitement was visible.
The look on Benimaru's face was euphoric, an expression of pure happiness as his lips curved with an otherworldly width.
An evil smile with a dark glint in his eyes as he gazed upon the large, imposing figure of Escanor, who towered over him.
The colossal demon, although human in appearance, was forced into hunching his back in order not to break the ceiling.
In contrast to Benimaru's excited look, Escanor simply looked bored. Like this was beneath him—which it was.
"You claim to be the pinnacle of all races, huh?" said Benimaru. His fingers flexed their grip on the handle of his sword, cocky grin on his face—prepared to strike at any moment.
"I don't claim anything; I speak nothing but the truth."
CLANG CLANG CLANG
The sword attached to Benimaru's waist left its scabbard before the bartender could even register the situation.
A clean slice was its aim, striking nothing but air, as the final claim.
To Escanor's perception, the blade almost looked suspended in midair. A single finger raised itself ever so slightly—the sword stopped in its tracks, unable to move.
"I'm not done." With his grip still attached to the sword, Benimaru made an attempt to set himself loose, but the god before him refused to allow it.
His second finger pressed itself against the tip of the blade, applying only the slightest pressure—the entire blade shattered on mere contact.
The boy's eyes seemed ready to fly out of their sockets, but he refused to relent. His fist raised in a striking motion, but within a mere inch of Escanor's face…
SIZZLE SIZZLE SIZZLE
"Ahhhhhhhh!" It was an involuntary movement. Once his hand had trespassed into the domain of Escanor's aura, it burned like it had been punished by the force of the sun itself.
As he jumped back to gain distance, his second hand gripped the burnt one almost instinctively.
A pained hiss left his lips as the power of darkness flowed freely from his body, encompassing his hand and healing it—within a minute, it was as good as new.
As the boy gazed upwards, a sound reached his eardrums.
"Divine Sword: Escanor."
Without warning, the feeling of flesh being pierced resounded within him. Escanor's hand, which burned as hot as the sun itself, pierced his chest with a force that threatened to shatter mountains.
Blood slipped out of his mouth uncontrollably as he felt the area right next to his heart, his left lung—get punctured and destroyed.
If he was human, he would have died on the spot.
His pupils turned white as a safety mechanism, as his body prepared to enter the stage of unconsciousness. But he refused to fade away, choosing rather to stay awake and endure the pain—even as blood leaked from his side.
"There are rules guiding demonic battles," Escanor said, wiping the blood which stained his fist in a clean and swift motion.
"When two demons fight, the losing demon is subjected to whatever price the winner desires," he clarified.
"And the price of fighting me…is death." Escanor's fist raised one last time, prepared to end this, which was perceived as a mere folly and a waste of his precious time.
"Divine Spear—" he was abruptly interrupted.
"Wait! Please, sir Escanor, spare the boy! I beg you!" The barkeep jumped in between the two titans. He went on his knees, preparing to beg for the boy's life.
The nearly unconscious form of Benimaru was shocked. This was the man he had nearly killed mere moments prior, yet he had begged for him not once—but twice.
Who the hell was he?
"Why do you care about me so much?" Benimaru's voice was wheezy, almost inaudible—but the message got through.
The bartender turned his head slightly to face him, a smile on his face. "Because your mother…was one heck of a woman."
CHAPTER END