Chapter 159: The Disgraced Shurahat
Serie walked over to him and looked at the pool of purple-black blood and the broken horn on the ground, a frown on her face. "His attacks were strange. It was as if he could see my next move."
"A kind of precognitive magic," Rhodes said, his own expression grim. He now suspected that the demon he had just fought was the All-Knowing Shurahat. But if it was, then they should have been able to see through each other's every move. And it had felt more like he was the only one who could see. So he wasn't sure. If only the demon had just told him his name.
"Precognitive magic? For real?" she said, her voice filled with disbelief.
She knew that the innate magic of the demons was a strange and varied thing. In the Age of Myth, there had been a demon with a talent for a wide-area illusion magic, a magic they had used to disguise themselves as the Sky-Winged and destroy the Great Elven Forest. But foresight... it was beyond her comprehension.
"It might have been a weaker version. I'm not sure. But it's possible."
She wanted to ask more, but seeing the look on his face, she changed the subject. "But why were you only using Org? What about your own magic?" He had fought the entire battle with just the sword, not casting a single spell. In the demon's eyes, he must have looked like a powerful warrior.
"Because it's a good sword. And I'm trying to become a close-combat mage."
"A close-combat mage?" She looked at Org, a complicated expression on her face. "That sounds a little... heretical. But if it's you... I suppose it's not so bad."
Every time she saw the true power of that sword, she was in awe. And if he was the one wielding it... that was alright.
"Come on," he said, and looked at the ruined cavern. "We can't stay here." He waved his hand, and Ela appeared. "Ela, clean this place up."
"Yes, my lord."
And with a spell of her own, the demon's lair was completely destroyed.
Shurahat was huddled in a hidden underground cave, his demonic aura in a chaotic flux. The holy power that was corroding his wound sent waves of an agonizing pain through him. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the storm in his own mind.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Who was that man!?
He frantically replayed the short, but terrifying, battle in his mind. To stand shoulder to shoulder with the great elven mage, Serie, and even to be the one to take the lead... his power was not to be underestimated.
In all of history, the only human who had ever had the right to stand by her side was the one who had, a thousand years ago, slain the god of the demons, the god-slayer... Rhodes.
"Impossible!" he said, the word a desperate denial. "Rhodes was a human! A human cannot live for a thousand years! He should be long dead!" A thousand years... it was an unimaginable span of time for a human, a time long enough to turn a hero into a legend, and then a legend into dust.
"Was he her new apprentice? No, impossible!" The power he possessed, the power that had been completely invisible to his own foresight... no mere apprentice could have achieved that. And the way she had looked at him...
But if not an apprentice... then what? The most likely possibility... he did not dare to think about it.
"That sword..." He remembered the terrifying holy sword. "Such power... it truly is a holy sword of the elves. But to think that it would be in the hands of an outsider again..."
The more he thought about it, the more he feared.
Rhodes... the name itself was a taboo, a symbol of the end of the last golden age of the demons. If it really was him... if the god-slayer was still alive... a shiver ran down his spine, and the pain in his wound intensified. "No! It can't be!"
He forced himself to calm down, to think rationally. "Humans are not immortal! It must be... a new human genius, trained by Serie!"
The thought brought a small measure of relief, but was quickly replaced by a new, deeper anxiety. Even if it wasn't him... this young human was still too dangerous. His very existence had thrown all of his own plans into disarray.
He had originally intended to deal with the legendary elven saint, the strongest of their mages, and then the warrior-monk, Kraft, depriving the elves of their two most prestigious heroes. But this man had ruined everything. And Serie herself... she was stronger than he had expected. He had sent a specially-trained force to deal with her, and she had wiped them all out without even a scratch, and had then found him and had launched her own attack.
"The plan must be changed," he decided.
"Serie and that mysterious human are too strong. Now is not the time for a direct confrontation," he said, the memory of the holy power that still corroded his own body making him shudder. "I need time. I need more time."
A new, long-term plan began to form in his mind. "I will go into hiding," he said through gritted teeth, making the only rational choice. "I will cease all attacks on Serie and the elves, and I will disappear."
"A hundred years... no, two hundred!" he said, a new resolve in his voice. "The lifespan of a human is a finite thing. No matter how powerful he is, he will grow old, and he will die. In two hundred years, that terrifying human will be gone, and then I will only have to deal with Serie."
"And in the meantime..." he began to use his own magic to heal his wounds, "...I will find a new king for the demons. A king so powerful that he can even surpass the great works of the first Demon King's castle."
As long as that god-slayer, the wielder of Org, was gone from this world, the age of the demons would come. And this time, there would be no one to stop them.
He then melted into the shadows and disappeared. All that was left was his resolve: to wait. To let time take its toll on that human, and to await the coming of the age of the demons.
(End of chapter)
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