"Ugh... my head is splitting..."
The world was a blur of throbbing pain and soft fabric. Damien groaned, fighting against the heavy fog of unconsciousness.
He forced his eyelids open, greeted by the rhythmic creaking of wood and the faint scent of lavender.
The carriage?
His memories crashed back in a wave of vertigo. The Shadow Armor. The searing heat. Isabelle losing control.
The last thing he recalled was the terrifying, beautiful sight of a demoness weeping while cradling him, her tears sizzling against his burns.
Damien shot up, his hands flying to his face.
Smooth skin. No blisters. No pain.
"I'm... healed?" he muttered, patting his cheeks. "Wait, Isabelle! Where is she?"
"Young Master! You're finally awake!"
Before he could process his surroundings, a soft weight collided with him, pinning him back against the carriage cushions.
"Thank you... thank you for believing in me," a trembling voice sobbed into his chest.
"I'm so sorry. I couldn't control it. I hurt you, and yet... you still called me family. You didn't run away."
Isabelle hovered over him, her eyes red and puffy, her face a mess of relief and lingering fear.
It seemed she had been watching his sleeping face for hours, waiting for the slightest movement.
"Thank goodness," she sniffled, wiping her eyes.
"The medicine Madam gave me worked. No scars. Not even a mark."
Suddenly, her weeping stopped. Her expression shifted from tearful relief to intense scrutiny. She leaned in closer, her nose inches from his.
"But why are you staring blankly? Did the demonic energy fry your brain? Is there permanent damage?"
"I'm fine, Isa—"
"Head check! Arm check! Torso check!"
With a teary laugh, Isabelle's mood swung violently as she began patting him down with frantic energy. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down his ribs, and towards his waist.
"Wait, Isabelle—"
Her hand slipped lower.
"Whoa!" Damien's face flushed crimson as he slapped her hand away. "Stop it! That area is fine! I'm fully intact!"
"I can see that now. Good," she giggled, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
"But instead of playing around, young master, why don't you look at me properly?"
Damien blinked, his embarrassment fading as he truly looked at her.
"Your eyes... and the horns. They're gone."
She looked completely human. The terrifying, oppressive aura from earlier had vanished, replaced by the familiar, gentle maid he knew.
"Did you... manage to control it?" Damien asked, his voice trembling with suppressed excitement.
As a reader of the original novel, he knew the implications. A half-demon capable of voluntary transformation was a calamitous existence.
In the book, uncontrolled half-demons were cannon fodder. Controlled ones? They were calamities.
He had just fought a Third Order dual practitioner to a standstill. If she had this power under control...
Is she the protagonist or am I? Damien thought, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.
Is this what they mean when they say talent triumphs over hard work? Her bloodline is practically a cheat code.
"About that, Young Master," Isabelle said, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. She held out her hand.
"After you passed out, the transformation receded. But look."
Fwoosh.
A pair of obsidian horns materialized on her forehead, and a small, controlled fireball danced on her palm.
"I can draw out the power now," she said, her smile faltering. The flame flickered.
"But... it's not perfect. Whenever I push past a certain threshold, I hear it again. The whispers. The desire for destruction."
She clenched her fist, extinguishing the flame. The horns retracted into her skull with a sickening crunch that she didn't seem to feel.
"If I go past that limit, the 'other' me will take over. And next time... I have a feeling I won't be able to come back."
Damien fell silent. The air in the carriage grew heavy. Isabelle, the girl who had been hunted for twelve years, looked at her hands with a mixture of awe and terror.
She looked at Damien, the boy who awakened this power with a new light in her eyes. He wasn't just a spoiled noble; he was mysterious. Dangerous, even.
Damien didn't offer empty comforts. Instead, he closed his eyes and issued a command in his mind.
'System. Analyze Isabelle.'
[Consuming 50 DP to analyze target condition...]
[Target: Isabelle]
[Condition: Demon Blood Awakening (Stage 1)]
[Current State: Stable]
[Note: The target's consciousness is stable, but a Residual Demon Will remains dormant. Excessive emotional stimulation or mana overexertion will destabilize the seal.]
Short, concise, and expensive, Damien thought, grimacing at the loss of Destiny Points. But at least she's safe for now.
He looked at Isabelle, a plan forming in his mind. Her strength was a double-edged sword, but it gave them a fighting chance.
"We need to get stronger," Damien murmured, a smile creeping onto his face. "Both of us."
He recalled a specific arc from the original novel. The protagonist hadn't just relied on luck; he had raided specific locations.
The Elf Forest is the main goal for my physique, but before that... Gravestone Town.
In the original timeline, the protagonist visited a hidden dungeon near Gravestone Town.
Inside lay the Golden Dragon Aura Technique, the pinnacle of body-tempering arts. Combined with his unique mana breathing method,
it would allow Damien to bridge the gap between his meager cultivation and the monsters of this world.
I was afraid to go there before because I was only a Second Order weakling, Damien mused, clenching his fist.
The protagonist's party was Third Order when they cleared it. But now? With Isabelle's half-demon form and my knowledge of the traps... we can take it.
His eyes shone with the greed of a gamer eyeing legendary loot.
"Young Master? You're doing that creepy smile again."
"Isabelle," Damien said, ignoring her jab. "We're going to make a detour."
"Actually, we might not need to detour," Isabelle said, leaning toward the carriage window.
"Look."
She pulled back the curtains.
"We're here."
Damien leaned forward. The carriage crested a hill, revealing a sprawling settlement nestled in the valley below.
It was majestic yet rugged, surrounded by high stone walls scarred by claw marks and time.
A long line of merchant carriages and armored adventurers snaked toward the gates.
The air was thick with the scent of spices, iron, and beast manure.
Knights in battered armor inspected entry passes, while mercenaries laughed loudly, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight.
[Location Detected: Gravestone Town]
Damien grinned. The fantasy world was finally opening its doors.
"Welcome to the starting line, Isabelle."