NOVEL WEB Ch. 108
My murmured intent to destroy House Artezia only served to draw a scoff from Enoxia.
“Ambitious dreams you harbor, boy.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed. I’ll be the one to slaughter those bastards, so there won’t be anything left for you to finish.” Enoxia’s grin stretched wide and predatory. She was, without question, a magnificently terrifying grandmother.
Most would have gladly surrendered their burdens to her in that moment.
But I wasn’t most people.
“That’s quite all right,” I replied in polite refusal.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t bear to hand my revenge over to her, or that I felt guilty about the imposition.
The simple truth was that this task remained impossible for her—and therein lay the cruel irony of absolute power.
Enoxia Brahms. The Shadow Queen of the Trading Kingdom, the martial artist who held the continent’s strongest throne. To stop her, armies would need to march and entire continents would need to unite in common cause.
Hence her moniker: The Unchained.
Yet here was the delicious paradox that would have made even Death chuckle—such overwhelming strength made her the least free person in all the world.
The moment she moved beyond her borders, continents would shift in response. Every kingdom would unite to strike her down, like antibodies rushing to eliminate a dangerous infection.
That was precisely why she’d been granted absolute power within the Trading Kingdom alone. The continent—indeed, the entire world—had permitted her that one seat and no other.
A gilded cage for a creature too dangerous to roam free.
For her to march on the Empire and obliterate House Artezia?
The instant she set foot outside her kingdom, the world would descend upon her like starving wolves, and all the rage directed at Artezia would pivot toward her instead.
No. She absolutely could not move.
I met Enoxia’s eyes directly, my voice steady as granite. “I’ll handle this myself. Just help me persuade Martel.”
“Ha! If I make a move, everything will—”
“But you can’t move, can you, Lady Enoxia?”
I cut through her bravado like a sword through silk.
Something flickered across her face—the mask slipping just enough to reveal the caged beast beneath.
“What do you mean I can’t move?! Let me show you exactly what I’m capable of!”
Her voice boomed with false bravado, every word a roar of defiance.
She resembled an aging tiger, still magnificent and deadly, but bellowing at the bars of its cage to prove it remained unconquered.
Perhaps she saw something in my expression—pity, understanding, recognition of her trap.
“Ha ha... ha...”
The forced laughter died in her throat, leaving behind eyes that held all the desolation of winter.
We sat in silence, two souls who understood the weight of impossible burdens.
Moonlight danced on the surface of our drinks.
After what felt like an eternity, Enoxia released the softest of sighs.
“...You know it all, don’t you?”
“Most of it, at least.”
“...Sharp little brat, aren’t you?”
“I’m rather serious about this, you see.”
“...Are you now?”
With that, Enoxia fell silent save for the rhythmic puffing of her pipe.
Tap. Tap.
When the last ember died, she knocked the ash from her pipe.
“...Go on then. Get some rest. It’s late.”
“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“...If you say so.”
Her tone carried all the gruff dismissal of someone trying very hard not to care, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet my eyes.
I rose and offered her a respectful bow. I hadn’t expected solutions tonight—this much was enough.
“Rest well.” I turned to leave.
“...Still, I’ll help as much as I’m able.”
Her voice drifted after me, soft as falling snow.
“Thank you.”
I bowed once more before gathering my men and heading for our lodgings.
The night air hung thick with moisture and unspoken promises.
* * *
After Louis departed, Enoxia remained alone with her bottle, knocking it back.
Glug.
“Hah... where in hell did a kid like that come from?”
She wiped her lips with her sleeve.
When she’d first encountered him, he’d seemed nothing more than a fortunate wastrel who’d caught the Emperor’s eye through sheer luck.
But now? Now he looked like he might actually be the hero everyone proclaimed him to be.
“That old archer bastard… Where’d he find a little beastie like that?”
Enoxia raised her bottle toward the heavens with something approaching envy, the liquor within sloshing and sending droplets flying.
“Ah, what a waste!”
She frantically licked the spilled drops from her hand.
Creak.
The tavern door groaned open.
“Here you were.”
“Hmm?”
She turned to examine the newcomer—a man whose appearance meant nothing to her trained eye, whose Aura suggested he’d never so much as lifted a training sword in his life.
And yet...
“Who are you?”
Enoxia set down her bottle with deliberate care, because her instincts were howling that this man was anything but weak.
“Not going to answer?”
“You hardly gave me time to respond. Rather rude of you.”
The man wore aristocratic finery and carried himself with noble bearing, a walking stick topped with a ruby the size of a child’s fist completing his ensemble.
He smiled with the sort of politeness that made wise people reach for weapons.
Tap.
He struck the floor with his cane as he approached.
“Enoxia Brahms, how do you find Diva’s nights?”
“What?”
“I find them absolutely delightful. This place exists apart from the world, thanks to your unique circumstances.”
The air shifted.
Suddenly Enoxia wasn’t sitting in a tavern anymore—she was on a battlefield, with all the familiar weight of imminent death pressing against her shoulders.
This was war.
Crack.
Enoxia exploded into motion, her target the man’s torso.
Her palm struck out, flat and precise, aimed at his chest with enough force to shatter stone.
BOOM—!
Wooooooosh—!
The air itself rippled outward like disturbed water.
“Gah!”
The man doubled over, blood spraying from his lips as the impact crushed inward.
Enoxia didn’t waste the opening. Her fists became a blur of violence.
First strike.
Second strike.
Third strike.
Bones snapped with sounds like breaking branches. Blood painted the tavern walls.
“Hah.”
Enoxia released a long breath, studying the man who hung limp in her grip like a broken doll.
He appeared thoroughly dead.
“...Something’s wrong.”
She’d won, clearly, but victory tasted wrong.
He’d been pathetically weak—so what had triggered her battle instincts?
“...Was I imagining things?”
If so, she’d used far more force than necessary.
A good beating would have sufficed; she didn’t need to paint the walls with him.
“Tch... getting old makes controlling your temper a real pain.”
She sighed, moved to apologize to the tavern keeper, and gathered her belongings.
Time to leave this mess behind.
But as she turned toward the door...
Chill.
“Ah, you really are strong.”
The voice came from directly behind her.
Enoxia instantly put distance between herself and the man, Aura flaring to life around her. The alcohol in her system evaporated instantly.
How long had it been since she’d felt this particular thrill?
“What... what are you?”
“My nature...”
Crack. Crackle.
The man casually snapped his bones back into place. “Surely you can guess what I am.”
“...Demonkin.”
“Correct! As expected from a former vanguard captain of the old war.”
He applauded with exaggerated enthusiasm, curling his lips.
“What’s a Demonkin doing here?”
“Ah yes, I was getting to that before you so rudely interrupted. Would you mind listening to what I have to say?”
“Talk.”
“How gracious.”
He bowed with the fluid precision of practiced nobility.
“I am Maon, Fear Marquis of the Twelve Nobles of the Demonic Realm.”
“...Maon? And what do you mean by Twelve Nobles?”
“Ah, in the terminology of your era, ‘Legion Commander’ would be more accurate.”
Legion Commander!
The words sent ice through Enoxia’s veins, her Aura flaring brighter as memories of old battles clawed their way to the surface.
Every Legion Commander had been an unreal monster. Each one a Grand Master-class nightmare.
Back then, with six Grand Masters on humanity’s side, victory had been possible.
But now? The odds were unpleasant. Even more so as she was alone.
Enoxia’s fist clenched tight enough to crush steel, ready to launch herself at him the instant an opening appeared.
“...What’s a Legion Commander doing here?”
“Not a Legion Commander—a Noble. We’re not at war anymore, you see.”
“Enough with the games before I kill you.”
“Tsk... still the same short temper, I see. Listen, I’m trying to explain why I’m here.”
Snap.
He flicked his fingers.
Every patron in the tavern simply ceased.
Not killed, not destroyed—they became nothing, as if they’d never existed at all.
SPLASH—!
Thud thud thud...
Blood began falling from the ceiling like crimson rain.
“Ah, much better. Now we can talk properly.”
“You sick bastard!”
Enoxia launched herself at him in fury. Her strike carried the full weight of a Grand Master’s Aura.
CRASH!
The Demonkin went flying, his body shredding apart... only to reform moments later, looking mildly inconvenienced.
“Shouldn’t you have learned to control that temper by now?”
“Shut up!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have a message to deliver.”
Even as Enoxia’s fists blurred toward him, the Demonkin raised his hand again.
Snap!
From thin air, a figure materialized—bound in chains, unconscious, and utterly familiar.
Martel. The Educator. The man Enoxia loved.
Her fist stopped inches from his vulnerable form.
“...You son of a bitch.”
Her teeth ground together. Another inch and she would have killed Martel with her own hands.
“Much more civilized now.”
The Demonkin’s words barely registered. All her attention focused on his hand, now resting casually against Martel’s throat.
“Let him go. Now.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“...I’m going to kill you. However long it takes, whatever it costs—I’ll find a way to end you.”
Enoxia’s Aura erupted outward like a hurricane given form, raw killing intent made manifest.
She resembled a rabid war hound, foam flecking her lips as madness danced in her eyes.
The Demonkin felt a genuine chill. This woman could indeed kill him, given time and opportunity.
The wise move would be to retreat, regroup, plan a better approach.
But wisdom had never been a luxury he could afford.
Can’t run now.
His master’s orders were absolute. Better to die here than return empty-handed.
“In any case, I have my message to deliver.”
“Take your filthy hands off him!”
“Enoxia Brahms, thanks to your presence, Diva has remained isolated from the world. But that isolation is about to become its doom.”
Whoosh!
Ignoring her scream, he spread his cloak wide. From its folds poured countless cockroaches, a chittering tide of pestilence.
Skitter skitter skitter—
“I am Fear Marquis Maon, observer of your deepest terrors. Your death shall be the first signal fire announcing demonkind’s ascension.”
He watched with satisfaction as his servants scattered into the streets, carrying plague and panic in their wake.
“Just as my lord commands.”
And so it began.
The rise of Demonkin in the Trading Kingdom of Diva.