Cursed Devourer

The rush of power from Malik's level up settled into his core, his body still humming from the sensation of consuming the shaman's heart. He could feel it—the lingering traces of dark magic now flowing through his veins, a foreign yet intoxicating energy merging with his own. His instincts screamed at him to test it, to wield the power he had just claimed.

But first, he needed to understand what had changed.

[System Notification]

[Level Up!]

[Malik - Level 2]

[+5 Stat Points from Soul Devourer]

[+5 Stat Points from Level Up]

[+5 Intelligence from Seeker of Knowledge]

[Dark Magic Acquired]

Malik exhaled slowly, focusing his mind. There was something he still didn't understand.

"System," he thought. "Explain each stat to me."

Immediately, the familiar interface materialized before him, neatly listing the categories of his abilities.

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[Stat Explanation]

Vitality: Determines survivability, overall health pool, and resistance to physical damage.

Strength: Physical power, muscle force, and impact of melee attacks.

Agility: Speed, dexterity, reaction time, and mobility.

Endurance: Stamina, resistance to exhaustion, and overall combat longevity.

Perception: Heightened senses, sixth sense, and detection of hidden presences.

Mana: The total capacity and potency of magic. Governs spell strength and mana regeneration.

Charm: The persuasiveness of one's words and the passive effect of one's presence on others.

Soul: Strength of the soul, governing mental resistance and defenses against soul-based attacks. Stronger soul allows user to bypass weaker soul protections of others.

Intelligence: The speed of thought, processing power, and ability to learn at an accelerated rate.

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Malik's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. The breakdown was straightforward, but the sheer potential it hinted at intrigued him.

He had already decided where his new stat points would go.

If he wanted to bridge the gap between himself and actual casters, then he needed mana—not just a little, but as much as possible.

"System, allocate all 10 points to Mana."

The change was instantaneous. A wave of energy surged through him, his core expanding, his mana veins stretching as they adjusted to the sudden increase in capacity. It wasn't painful, but it was an odd sensation, like breathing deeper than ever before.

"Not bad," Kairo mused in his mind. "You're still nowhere near a proper mage, but at least now you won't burn yourself out casting a single spell."

Malik chuckled. "I'll take what I can get."

While Malik was absorbed in his personal improvements, the mercenaries had finally begun gathering themselves.

Dorian helped a limping Rollo back to his feet, while Arin wiped a trail of blood from her lips, exhaustion creeping into her expression. None of them had gotten away unscathed, but despite their battered state, the realization of victory had begun to settle over them.

Marithia, however, had no time to rest.

She knelt beside the altar, carefully undoing the leather bindings that had restrained the noble's son. The boy was frail, his skin pale from exposure to dark magic, but he was alive.

When his wide, terrified eyes flickered up to meet hers, she softened slightly. "You're going to be okay," she murmured, offering him a firm yet reassuring nod.

The boy didn't respond, just trembled as she lifted him into her arms, his body weak and small against her armor.

Marithia turned, her gaze locking onto Malik.

For a brief moment, she debated whether or not she should say it.

Then, with a slow breath, she forced herself to mutter, "Thank you."

Malik blinked, then grinned, enjoying her reluctance. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

She glared. "Don't push your luck."

He chuckled, but said nothing further.

With the child secured, Marithia addressed the group.

"We're heading to our checkpoint," she announced. "From there, we'll get transport to Vel Ryn."

Malik tilted his head. "That's the nearest city?"

"Yes. It's a trade hub under Solviran control," she replied. "Once we get there, we'll report our success and deliver the boy safely."

Malik considered this for a moment before rolling his shoulders lazily.

"Guess I'll tag along."

Dorian tensed at the words, but Marithia simply sighed. "Try not to cause any more problems than you already have."

Malik just smirked. No promises.

...

They traveled through the Vel'drak Wilds at a steady pace, moving in formation to keep the boy protected. The forest was vast and ancient, its trees stretching high enough to blot out much of the night sky. The only sounds that filled the air were the distant calls of nocturnal beasts and the crunch of leaves beneath their boots.

It was during this quiet journey that Malik finally spoke up again.

"So," he began, his tone casual, "tell me more about this world. The big players, the wars, the politics."

The mercenaries exchanged glances, uncertain whether to give him more information.

Marithia hesitated for only a moment before she answered carefully. "The world is divided into seven dominant territories, each controlled by either an empire or a kingdom. Solviran, where we are now, is one of the most militarized."

She continued, detailing the conflicts between the Xethis Dominion and the Holy Kingdom of Valtor, the warring factions that threatened to destabilize the current balance of power.

Malik listened, taking in every word, his mind piecing together the puzzle of this world.

But then, Arin—curious as ever—finally asked the question that had been weighing on them.

"You really don't know any of this?" she asked, skeptical. "How does someone as strong as you not know about the world they live in?"

Malik smirked, but didn't answer immediately.

Dorian narrowed his eyes and asked a question that had been bothering him since the start. "Where exactly did you come from?"

That was one question too many.

The air shifted.

And suddenly—the world itself seemed to collapse under a weight none of them could comprehend.

A wave of killing intent poured off Malik's body, thick, heavy, and all-consuming. The forest groaned under the sheer pressure, the trees swaying as if caught in a storm with no wind.

The mercenaries froze, their bodies locking up as the suffocating aura crushed them to the ground.

Dorian dropped to one knee, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Arin staggered, her hands shaking as she clutched at her chest, eyes wide in fear.

Marithia, though more resilient, felt her lungs tighten, her instincts screaming at her to draw her sword—but she knew it would be pointless.

Because this wasn't normal.

This wasn't something a human could produce.

The sheer density of the killing intent—thick enough to drown in—could only mean one thing.

Malik had killed billions.

Not thousands. Not tens of thousands.

Billions.

And in that moment, they finally understood.

He wasn't human.

He wasn't normal.

He was something else entirely.

The dense aura he emitted was formless, just a gigantic pair of swirling cosmic eyes gazing down at them— like they were nothing but insects in the face of an emperor.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pressure vanished.

Malik's smirk returned, lazy, amused.

"I've been asleep for a long time," he said, his voice smooth, casual. A lie.

He walked forward, as if nothing had happened.

The mercenaries—still struggling to steady their breathing—didn't question him again.

Instead, Marithia slowly exhaled and continued explaining the world's conflicts.

And Malik?

Malik listened.

And he smiled.

Because this world?

It was going to be fun.

...

The forest stretched endlessly as the group traveled toward the checkpoint, the thick canopy above filtering soft golden light through the morning mist. The air was cool, filled with the distant calls of hidden creatures, and yet despite the tranquility, Malik was only interested in one thing.

Information.

"So," he drawled, arms lazily behind his head as he walked beside the carriages, "seven dominant powers, each fighting for control. Sounds like a constant war zone."

Marithia, still leading the way, nodded. "It is. Some territories maintain cold wars, with subtle espionage, trade blockades, and proxy battles. Others prefer direct conquest. The Solviran Empire, where we are now, is one of the strongest because of its military expansion and control of key trade routes."

Malik smirked. "Conquering through force? I can respect that."

Dorian gave him a hard look. "You say that like you've done it before."

Malik only smiled, but said nothing.

Arin, always curious, nudged closer. "And what exactly is your goal, Malik? You don't strike me as the 'join an empire and fight for glory' type."

Malik glanced at her. "I just woke up. Still figuring things out."

The mercenaries didn't quite believe him, but after the killing intent he had released earlier, they were smart enough not to push.

Instead, Marithia shifted the conversation. "Solviran is currently engaged in a border conflict with Xethis Dominion, a nation ruled by war mages and beastkin clans. They've been at war for years, but recently, the fighting has escalated."

Malik raised a brow. "Beastkin?"

"Humanoid creatures with animal traits," she explained. "Some are born of magic, others have ancestral ties to ancient bloodlines. They tend to be excellent warriors, but Solviran sees them as a threat because of their raw power."

Malik hummed in thought. "And the Holy Kingdom of Valtor? You said they're religious fanatics?"

"They believe in a divine monarchy," Marithia confirmed. "They're ruled by a chosen bloodline, a king or queen who is said to carry the will of the gods. Unlike Solviran, they govern through strict laws and rigid hierarchy, and they despise magic that does not come from their 'divine sources.'"

"Sounds annoying," Malik muttered.

Dorian grunted. "They're strong, though. Their paladins and holy mages are some of the most powerful warriors in the world. A direct war with them would be… difficult."

Malik smiled. "Everyone has weaknesses."

The group fell into quiet discussion as they continued toward the checkpoint.

Two carriages awaited them, already stationed along the dirt road. A bored-looking man in Solviran uniform stepped forward, eyeing the returning mercenaries with mild disinterest—until his gaze fell on Malik.

His expression twisted in confusion. "Who's the new guy?"

The mercenaries hesitated, then Marithia simply waved a hand. "Don't think about it."

The soldier frowned but decided it wasn't worth the effort to ask further.

Malik could have flown to the city if he wanted to, but he found himself curious about the journey. He climbed into one of the carriages, arms crossed, while Marithia sat across from him with the noble's son, who had since fallen into an exhausted sleep.

The next three days passed in relative peace, though Malik continued to press for details about the world whenever possible.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited in Vel Ryn.

…

The moment the carriages entered the gates of Vel Ryn, Malik's eyes widened slightly.

The city was massive, stretching far beyond what he had imagined. Towering stone walls lined with magically enhanced defenses stood tall, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that flickered with protective enchantments. The streets were alive with tens-of-thousands of people, traders shouting about their wares, armored knights patrolling alongside mages who floated on spellcrafted platforms.

Buildings were made of marble and enchanted wood, towering spires piercing the sky, their designs woven with arcane sigils that pulsed with stored energy. In the distance, he could see a colossal structure, likely the city's central palace or ruling body.

This was a world shaped by magic in ways which his old one could have never dreamed of.

Kairo, watching through his eyes, let out a hum of appreciation. "Now this is more like it."

Malik nodded internally. "Indeed."

The carriages came to a halt in the city's central square, where a group of elven guards approached, their armor glistening in the sunlight, their uniforms emblazoned with golden insignias.

At the front of the group stood a tall, regal-looking elf, his silver hair neatly tied back, his features elegant but sharp, carrying the unmistakable presence of nobility.

The moment he saw Marithia, his expression darkened.

"Lady Marithia," he said coldly. "You're back."

Malik's brows lifted slightly. The way the elf spoke wasn't just familiarity—it was personal.

Before Marithia could respond, he stepped forward, his expression tightening in irritation.

"How much longer are you going to keep up this mercenary life?" the elf demanded. "Your place is in the court, not running with sellswords like some common adventurer."

Malik grinned. This was already entertaining.

The mercenaries shifted uncomfortably, while Marithia let out a slow breath, her posture stiffening.

"I see nothing has changed, Laenor," she said flatly.

Malik's smirk widened slightly as he realised something interesting from the brief interaction. 'So, she's a princess?'

Laenor's eyes narrowed, frustration clear in his gaze. "You know how much your absence has unsettled the court. You are—"

Then, his gaze shifted—landing directly on Malik.

The change was immediate.

His shoulders tensed slightly, his stance shifting, his golden eyes narrowing as he took in Malik's relaxed smirk, unreadable expression and otherworldly eyes.

"Who is this?" Laenor asked sharply.

Marithia hesitated. "He helped with the mission."

Laenor's expression darkened. "And you trust him?"

Malik let out a low chuckle, finally stepping forward, his hands tucked lazily behind his back. "Relax, princeling. I'm just passing through."

The insult was subtle, but Laenor felt it.

His eyes flickered toward Marithia, catching the slight tension in her stance, the way she had reacted to Malik more than she should have.

Jealousy flashed in his gaze, but he masked it quickly.

Malik, seeing the entire exchange, judged Laenor more carefully. 'He's strong. Stronger than the shaman.'

That alone made him want to fight, to test himself.

But now was not the time.

With a stretch, he turned toward Marithia. "Well, this has been fun. But I think I'll be on my way."

Marithia hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—but then quickly masked it. "How long will you be in Vel Ryn?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and neutral.

Malik shrugged. "Who knows?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't press further.

Laenor, sensing the unspoken tension, watched Malik carefully, as if trying to gauge whether he was a threat or just an annoyance.

Malik simply smirked, already stepping away.

"Enjoy your royal squabbles," he called back over his shoulder.

Then, with a quick goodbye to the others—he vanished into the city.