Hunter’s Blade

C39 – Soul Sediments

Shire realized the word ‘difficult’ could no longer be used to describe the cultivation of the holy palace. It was as hard as climbing the heavens.

He possessed a total of 63 gold coins, a significant portion of which had been gifted to him by Rocher. With these funds, he contemplated the possibility of hiring skilled masons to mend and fortify the dilapidated walls, effectively deterring potential trespassers. However, when word spread through the Craftsman Guild that they were to work for the Hunter Palace, their skepticism surpassed all others.

Expressing his apprehensions, a laborer addressed Shire, saying, “Don’t frighten us. Isn’t your Grand Holy Hall a perilous domain? Who would dare venture there for repairs? It would be a recklessness with their lives.”

Shire retorted with unwavering conviction, “I am the Devil Hunter. I can assure your safety.”

The laborer firmly declined, remarking, “You needn’t mention it. Even if you were to offer us three or four times the pay, we would still decline. Money is of no use to us if we lose our lives. We’ve all witnessed demons emanating from the Holy Church, and it was truly terrifying.”

The predicament was clear. If no one undertook the task of reinforcing the Holy Church’s walls, it was only a matter of time before other thieves scaled them and infiltrated the premises. The wall remained exposed and utterly undefended. In the past, there had been hunters guarding it, but Shire couldn’t predict when he’d be available to do so. With such lax security, he couldn’t find peace of mind.

Shire had seen affluent families fortify the tops of their walls with menacing spikes that made climbing impossible, serving as both protection and ornamentation. If decorative copper spikes were added to the Holy Church’s walls, potential intruders would be compelled to exert considerable effort to gain unauthorized entry.

Sighing deeply, Shire lamented, “If we can’t repair the wall, thieves will inevitably breach it.”

A worker suggested, “Why not pay protection fees to the Thieves Guild?”

Shire responded, “They’ve already ransacked the Holy Church. I’ve heard rumors that thieves from various cities collaborate to look out for each other. They’ve plundered all the valuables from the Holy Church, and I’m merely wary of a possible return visit.”

The worker shook his head in sympathy, remarking, “It’s truly a tragic situation. I can only imagine the wealth that once resided within. Is it all gone now?”

Shire felt utterly helpless, uttering, “Everything’s gone. The treasures, collections, and heirlooms passed down through more than ten generations of hunters have all been pilfered.”

The thought of this made Shire’s heart ache intensely each time.

“That’s indeed the case…” The worker hesitated for a moment before adding, “If you can assure the Holy Church’s safety, we might still consider assisting you.”

Expressing gratitude, Shire acknowledged, “You’ve also reminded me that thieves have their own association.”

The worker was somewhat taken aback, asking, “What’s your plan? Don’t provoke them.”

Shire retorted, “They provoked me first.” He had designated the Thieves Guild as his target, and he intended to settle the score with them when the opportunity arose.

Leaving the Maker Association, Shire made his way back to the Holy Church. The Holy Church was now impoverished, and he no longer feared stealing the Winged Devil’s corpse or losing it outside, so he proceeded at a leisurely pace.

In every city in Xiaoman, there were guilds responsible for establishing local regulations. These guilds oversaw and coordinated the work of artisans to ensure product quality and prevent cutthroat competition. Whether they were mud craftsmen, textile workers, blacksmiths, thieves, or Devil Hunters, they all had their own unions with clearly defined hierarchies. These ranged from solitary masters to accomplished assistants and novice disciples.

Shire sighed, reflecting, “It’s just that we’re vastly outnumbered. The Mud Craftsman Association boasts at least a hundred skilled artisans, and the Thieves Guild likely has hundreds of members. In the history of the Hunter Palace, we’ve only ever had twenty members. Just a month ago, we were eight, and now I stand alone. Handling this alone is truly daunting.”

Gradiu muttered, “I, as an Evil Demon, have scores of Devil Hunters in my grip. I’ll sever the heads of countless Evil Demons with my saber!”

Shire responded, “If there truly are thousands of demons in the mortal realm waiting for you to slay them, that would signal the end of the world.”

“There’s no need to rush, as long as there’s a great invasion, the opportunity will come”

“A great invasion?”

“The Opening Demon is our most reliable companion.” Gradiu was eager to give it a try, “The Opening Devil can open all doors, including the doors between worlds. It is opening the entrance from hell to this world. Once it succeeds, our race will pour into this world.”

Shire shivered.

“Really? How long will it take to open the entrance?”

Gradiu recounted the chilling scenario to Shire with deliberate slowness, “We’ve already subjugated numerous worlds, those where the surface is veiled in oceanic expanses. The climate there is splendid, fostering diverse life forms. Sprawling, advanced cities occupy half the continent. The world harboring life within Suspended Cities… we’ve inundated and consumed it, rendering it a lifeless land. We indulge ourselves with inexhaustible feasts, feasts, feasts. Returning through the gateway of demons, we plunge it into the abyss.”

“The Floating City? What is it, and what’s the underlying principle?”

“Your mind is inadequate for me to dissect it,” Gradiu lamented. “I remember encountering this concept, but your brain falls short for me to delve into its essence. Why don’t you strive for greater intellect?”

“No, if you’ve analyzed it before, you should retain its essence now instead of hastily using my cognitive abilities,” Shire pinpointed Gradiu’s oversight.

Gradiu murmured, “When one is impervious to the laws of that world, what relevance does that world’s technology hold? Nonetheless, this world remains remarkably novel. It hasn’t existed for an extended period. We have ample time to contemplate our approach to consuming this place.”

“Indeed,” Shire recalled Alicia’s mention of the sheep collar. “I intend to mend the barrier so you can’t infiltrate this world.”

Contemplating Alicia, he contemplated a visit to the brothel to inquire about her whereabouts. Shire and the elderly hunter had frequented nearby brothels and were acquainted with their locations and pricing. Some catered exclusively to dignitaries and aristocrats, while others served the less fortunate. He resolved to liberate Alicia from there.

Gradiu grumbled, “Spare your mental energy. You’re better suited to using your physical faculties for contemplation.”

Upon returning to the Holy Church, Shire attended to the Winged Devil’s remains.

“You said you can turn it into good stuff?”

“It’s more than just good stuff. Do you know what these things are?”

Shire removed the pristine white linen cloth, revealing beneath the expansive blue sky, the grotesque countenance of the Winged Devil. The lance had pierced its head, and its throat had been brutally slashed. While its outer shell remained resilient, its inner core had decayed. Numerous cracks marred its wings, and its limbs were grotesquely oversized. A black, scale-like substance covered its entire body. Strangely, there was no discernible odor; Shire could detect nothing.

“Is this the essence of a devil? A congealed soul?”

Gradiu murmured, “A soul in its corporeal form, so could we say it’s not congealed but rather purified? From soul to coagulation, then to essence sedimentation, and beyond…”

Before Shire’s eyes, one of the Winged Devil’s arms abruptly contorted and reshaped itself. The palm retracted and folded inward. The rigid components interlocked and melded, causing the devil’s body to compress.

“You have the power to influence the external world?”

“Certainly, my strength is steadily returning.”

Shire felt a creeping unease. Perhaps, one day, if he couldn’t control the Blade Devil any longer, he might have to ignite the Yafen Flame and face annihilation together with it.

“You know my vulnerabilities quite well. I’m bound within your soul, fused halfway with it.”

“This is merely your perspective. Maybe you’re contemplating devouring enough souls, regaining your power, and making a run for it.”

“Let’s concentrate on the present moment.” Gradiu didn’t deny it. “Human lives are fleeting. There’s no need for perpetual suspicion. Just be content that you’re still alive.”

“I will lock you up. I promised someone else.”

“You’ve made too many promises. Why not consider letting go of a few?” Gradiu complained. “Shire, I need you, and you need me, at least for the time being.”

Shire folded his arms across his chest, observing in silence as the Winged Devil’s form gradually diminished. The ominous black Devil Substance was slowly compressed, transforming the monster’s grotesque face into cryptic, wrinkled contours.

“Place your hands upon it and engulf it with Yafen flames,” Gradiu instructed.

Shire followed Gradiu’s guidance, uttering an incantation. From his palm emerged a jade-green flame, swiftly enveloping the Devil Substance’s surface. Like fire consuming wood, it cloaked the substance, setting it ablaze. As it burned, the Devil Substance sizzled, growing malleable and acquiring an alluring sheen. In no time, the bodies of all the Winged Devils ascended into the air in a mesmerizing spectacle, forming a dissipating black liquid. Guided by an enigmatic force, the black liquid spiraled like a vortex, leaving the wooden cart completely empty.

“Is this…?” Shire began, struggling to believe his eyes.

“Demons consume souls. Souls are the energy that drives demons, and in return, demons transform souls into something they can utilize. It’s our instinct. We hail from hell, a realm devoid of resources. To survive, we must feed on one another, utilize each other,” Gradiu explained slowly.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before,” Shire muttered as he extended a finger to touch the black vortex.

“After being subjected to the special flames, it has reverted to its original state. It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Can demons appreciate ‘beauty’?”

“I know a Demon Prince who’s obsessed with beauty. He changes outfits seven times a second.”

Gradiu manipulated the black liquid substance, extracting a substantial portion of it and fashioning it with care, much like molding clay.

“Do you prefer heavy armor or light armor?”

This was a challenging decision. Heavy armor offered superior durability and stronger defense, sparing him the agony of wounds. Light armor, on the other hand, allowed for unrestricted movement, permitting him to maneuver freely without hindrance, even during fast-paced actions like running and rolling.

“Of course…” Shire thought for a while. “It provides a very good defense and is very light.”

“Take off your clothes.”

Shire removed his clothing and pants, and the demon extruded a long, slender stream of liquid. He then divided it into multiple layers, carefully stacking them together, forming a delicate and supple buffer layer between each plate. These layers adhered perfectly to Shire’s physique, creating a suit of armor that no artisan could surpass in fit, all while providing ample room for his limbs to move freely and ensuring his breathing remained unaffected.

The flowing black substance rapidly solidified, taking on a metallic texture. Gradiu meticulously engraved a depiction of over thirty blades intersecting on the armor’s surface, each blade exuding a razor-sharp allure. Merely gazing at these etchings invoked the sensation of being sliced.

“Your sense of aesthetics is truly unique,” Shire remarked, running his finger along the sharp carving on the breastplate, only to be quickly pierced, resulting in a small bleed.

“Silly, this design is extraordinary. Behold, an armor capable of cleaving through a person.”

Gradiu paused for a moment and then added.

“You are witnessing history.”

“What?”

“Even after you’ve departed, this armor shall endure through countless generations, spurring individuals to expend any effort to possess it. It will bestow boundless strength and influence upon its wearers. From this world, a divine artifact shall descend, heralding a reign of blood and the birth of endless legends. After all, this is my creation.”

“I don’t plan on meeting my end so soon,” Shire said as he caressed the devil’s armor. It felt both lightweight and impenetrable, giving him a sense of invincibility.

“Have you thought of a name for it?”

“Black Devil Armor.”

At that precise moment, a distinct knocking resounded from beyond the hall’s door.

Shire quickly donned his clothing and proceeded to answer the door, all the while consumed by confusion.