The sword plunged into the demon's chest, making its eyes bulge in shock. A heartbeat later, the blade went up, splitting the thing in two. The lifeless body crumpled onto the seal, and I yawned and got up from my cot. Who would've thought killing demons could be this boring.

  Then came the usual routine — dealing with the remains and extracting the soul stone. Well, "extracting"... I'd pulled them out almost every time before, but apparently not today. After rummaging through the remains, I came up empty, and couldn't hold back a scowl.

  That was the third demon with no stone. The situation was basically the same as with humans. We form a focus; demons form a soul stone. And the demon I'd just killed had never managed to rise above its brethren.

  So I'd wasted energy on the summoning for nothing.

  "Damn you, Ekakock," I muttered. I dumped the remains into the same hole I'd discovered earlier. Didn't seem like it would cause any problems — probably an underground river carrying everything away for hundreds of leagues.

  After cleaning the summoning zone, I inscribed a new name and activated the gatekeeper's soul stone. A flash, and there was my old pal — the familiar fat lump.

  "What the hell, Ekakock?" I asked. The demon was about to snap back, but Zirgul shot toward him and froze an inch from his throat.

  "I-is something wrong, m-master?" He squeezed out a sycophantic smile. Completely fake. I honestly preferred the snarling and grumbling, but now wasn't the time.

  "I just summoned Tapaloppa, and you know what? No soul stone. Which means I wasted energy. The next names had better not be duds. Are we clear?"

  "Y-yes, master..."

  "Good." I flicked my finger, and Zirgul returned to the scabbard on my back. "Any news?"

  "Y-y-yes... Yutatos discovered the sword is missing..."

  "Hmm," I feigned interest, though I genuinely didn't care. "But since you're still breathing, I take it you're not a suspect?"

  "They think it was Kvahamir," the demon said with a smug grin.

  "The one I killed?"

  "Yes. I spread a rumor that he'd been talking about the thirteenth ring — that they'd offered him a position as senior executioner, but he needed to prove his commitment."

  "And you said he stole the sword to do it."

  "Naturally."

  "And they believed you?"

  "I didn't disappear. I didn't get richer. I live the same as always, and nobody cares about me. Everyone thinks I'm too much of a coward for something like that."

  "I see. So did you bring me anything?"

  The demon grumbled something under his breath, reached under a fold of fat, and tossed me a ring.

  "Ugh..." Now it was my turn to grimace. "Throw it at me like that again and I'll cut something off. Got it? Lords... That's disgusting."

  I had no idea what to wipe it on, but eventually found a rag and cleaned the sticky gunk off the thing. Then I brought it to the lamp and examined the runes. Good. Very good. Not perfect, but what could I expect from this ugly little wretch.

  "You're dismissed." I waved my hand, and the demon dropped through the portal. I tried the ring on — too big. Sized for a neck more than a finger. But since I hadn't ordered it for combat purposes, that didn't matter.

  I slipped it onto my thumb, pressed it, and pulled three other rings from my pouch — the ones that had belonged to the cultists. When I'd come to at the healers', I'd assumed the trophies were gone, that Crimson Retribution would confiscate them. But after I was discharged, they gave everything back. All the rings and the dagger I'd turned into a spirit sword.

  "Among warriors, trophies are sacred," Mia's teacher had told me at the time. "You fought the cultists and won. These things are rightfully yours."

  Mia had confirmed it was one of the school's rules — trophies from cultists and demonic practitioners go to whoever killed them. Since I'd dealt with three, not counting the Revenant whose only possession was a club, I'd gotten three spatial rings.

  And the ring Ekakock had brought me served two functions. First — it converted demonic energy into spiral energy. With significant losses, but the fact itself was what mattered. Second — it interacted with artifacts and objects that required internal energy. Like spatial rings, which I couldn't activate on my own without a focus.

  Sure, I could've asked Mia to pull out all the contents for me, but I hadn't risked it. What if there was something forbidden inside — demonic techniques, soul stones, who knows what. Unlikely, given the cultists' level, and I wouldn't be surprised if the rings had already been searched. Still.

  So I began methodically extracting items, one by one.

  Provisions. Spare clothes. Potions. Now that was interesting.

  Seven vials in total. None labeled, but the bottles were different shapes, and convention usually dictated you go by that. I'd need to consult someone or find a book on the subject. Shame I couldn't just ask outright — that would raise questions about how I'd managed to activate the spatial rings.

  Fine, potions aside.

  Among the contents, I found something that vaguely resembled beans, only weird. Was this what the cultist had swallowed when I'd whipped his arm off? Very possibly. So it was some kind of medicine? The "beans" varied too — mostly dark blue, with a couple of yellow ones. Which kind had he taken?

  Couldn't remember.

  I also found a bit of money, and that actually lifted my spirits. Not much — just twenty minor spirals — but considering I was a child with no income and parents who rarely gave me cash, it was a valuable discovery. I'd figure out how to spend it.

  Beyond that: a couple more daggers, a sword, a sickle, and several strange tools of unknown purpose. Given what the cultists had been up to, I could guess.

  "Once I create a new focus, I'm selling all of this," I decided. "But for now... eh."

  I put everything back in the rings. Easier to store. And I really did need to look into those potions.

  Nothing suggested trouble when I was heading home. Evening was settling in, everything felt normal. But as I approached the house, I noticed an unusual commotion outside it. What was going on?

  "There he is, the little bastard!" came a vicious voice.

  "Don't you dare talk about my son like that!" Dad growled, but his voice couldn't compete with the butcher's. And sure enough — that was exactly who was standing in front of our house. Not alone, either. He'd brought two of his drinking buddies. No mystery anymore where Happong got it from. Father walked around with lackeys for backup too.

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  Speaking of the spawn — there he was. Clinging to his father like a beaten puppy. Which, frankly, he was.

  "I'll talk however I damn well please. Last time, you and your little freak got off easy. I was merciful. But that's over! Just look at him! Look! Huh?! You're going to tell me this was an accident?!"

  He grabbed Happong by the shoulder and shook him so hard the kid's knees nearly buckled.

  I moved closer but couldn't figure out what the fuss was about. I'd deliberately struck Happong's meridian in a way that wouldn't leave marks. My hit couldn't have caused serious damage.

  Frowning, I looked at the boy. He looked back.

  "Holy Lords..." I whispered, now understanding why the butcher was so furious. Happong's left eye had gone almost normal — only faint flickers of the light color remained.

  "And you! How dare you ruin my boy's Ascension!" the butcher roared, lunging at me. He tried to grab me, but I was on guard and stepped back just in time. His fingers caught air.

  Fast — even with the limp. Well, second stage and all. He probably knew techniques too.

  "Get over here, you little—"

  He tried again, but Dad stepped between us.

  "Enough, Walter!" he snarled. "He's a child!"

  "A child who destroyed my son's life! This isn't a broken leg or a few knocked-out teeth! These are meridians, Crane! MERIDIANS! His Mountain Stream meridian is completely destroyed! It can't be restored, do you understand?!"

  "And how could my son have done that?! He doesn't practice martial arts!"

  "How should I know? But he did it! And I'm sure it's his name the Eternal's been calling two years running!"

  "You're delusional! It's a coincidence!"

  "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Your little freak is dangerous! Just look at the arrogance in his eyes, the contempt! Didn't anyone teach you respect for your elders?! You should be on your knees begging my son's forgiveness for what you did!"

  "None of this is my fault," I said.

  "See? My son is innocent."

  "Oh yeah, and my son burned out his own meridian, did he?!"

  "No. You did. You wanted your son to be stronger so badly that you burned his meridians out yourself."

  "WHAT?! HOW DARE YOU?!" The butcher roared, ready to lunge at Dad and me both.

  "Did I hit his meridian? Yes," I said. No point denying it — there were witnesses, and if Happong described what happened, anyone knowledgeable would identify a meridian strike. "But I am physically incapable of what you're describing. I have no internal energy. The damage was purely physical, and that's not enough to burn it out."

  "And how would a brat like you know what's enough and what isn't?!"

  "You broke the Law of the Spiral."

  "What?!"

  The butcher's friends exchanged frightened glances. Happong himself went white as chalk. Looked like I was dead right.

  "You gave your son the Elixir of Indomitable Spirit!" I declared.

  The Elixir of Indomitable Spirit is typically used by powerful warriors to rapidly replenish depleted energy. It's expensive, and it's forbidden for anyone below the third stage. If someone who'd only just opened their focus drank it, they'd experience something very similar to what happened to me when I'd swallowed the soul stone — just less explosive. A first-stage warrior could force open a couple of power nodes on their meridians, but there was always a risk of burning them out.

  "If Happong had been ascending properly, nothing would have happened. But you wanted your son to look like a genius, so you gambled and gave him that elixir. Now you're reaping the consequences. A small meridian injury, and his body couldn't handle it. Father's a cripple, son's a cripple — you deserve each other."

  That last part was too far, but I was angry. This man was threatening my family for the second time. And while I'd genuinely overdone it last time, this tragedy was entirely his fault. Happong's body could have failed even without my strike. He should've understood the risk when he gave his son that elixir.

  "What... did you just say?"

  "The truth. Nothing more."

  "Nate! That's enough," Dad cut in, but it was too late. The butcher stepped back, his gaze burning with hatred — directed at both me and Dad. "Forgive him, he's a child. He has no idea what he's saying."

  "Oh no, he knows exactly what he's saying," the man said with a dangerous smirk. "And that's exactly why he needs a lesson."

  "What? No, Walter, he—"

  The butcher used a technique. I'm not sure which one, but my reaction time simply wasn't enough. He just appeared in front of Dad, closing the distance in less than a heartbeat, and struck.

  The crack of breaking bones. A scream of pure agony.

  Dad dropped, clutching what had become a bloody ruin of a leg. The butcher had shattered it with a single kick, snapping it like a twig. That's the difference between an ordinary man and a second-stage warrior. Mom rushed to Dad's side, and he kept screaming...

  The butcher stood smiling, looking down at me.

  "There's your lesson, boy. Now your daddy's a cripple too. He won't be able to work and provide for you anymore. Happy you told the truth? In this world, only strength matters."

  He wanted to say more, but I wasn't going to listen. I pulled a small utility knife from inside my shirt — the one I used for chores — and threw it with practiced precision. The blade buried itself right in the butcher's eye, making him reel back and scream.

  "NATE!" Mom shrieked, seeing what I'd done.

  But I didn't even glance at her. I was in combat meditation, already planning the fight ahead. The butcher, screaming and cursing through the pain, carefully touched the handle of the knife protruding from his eye socket.

  "Dad!" Happong cried, and the butcher's cronies stood frozen, completely unprepared for this turn of events.

  "You touched my family, and you'll pay for it," I said in an almost calm voice. "You will fully compensate every loss you've caused mine. You will hire the best healers to restore my father's leg."

  "You little shit! How dare you—" The man snarled and ripped the knife from his eye in one motion. I was almost impressed. Not everyone can do that. I'd know. "Die!"

  Another stepping technique, but in combat meditation it was less impressive. I could see every movement and the knife in his hand, around which a swirl of air was already forming. This bastard was actually going to use a warrior technique against a child?

  But I didn't move. Hands behind my back. I just waited.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  A clang, sparks. A blast of hot air washed over me. The butcher was knocked backward, and I still stood there with my hands behind my back, watching the utter disbelief on his face as he stared at the sword hovering between us.

  "You crippled my father," I said, taking unhurried steps toward the one-eyed butcher lying on the ground. "I took your eye. But that's not enough for me. 'In this world, only strength matters' — those were your words, right? Well, here's my strength."

  Zirgul made a circle around me, then shot forward and stopped dead — right in front of the butcher's remaining eye.

  "Should I blind you? Or..." Zirgul drifted down to his legs. "Cut off your legs? Or maybe I'll take a leg from your son instead?"

  "Monster!" the butcher hissed, terrified.

  "In the name of the Lords, stop this!" A commanding voice rang out, and I clicked my tongue in annoyance. "What in the name of the Spiral is happening here?!"

  I turned to the newcomers. Mr. Dinrim, the town magistrate, accompanied by eight watchmen — every one of them at least first stage.

  Hard to miss him, like any man of his position in a town like ours. Any traveler passing through would instantly tag him as the local boss. Dressed in expensive crimson hanfu, characteristic of the Airvans — the original inhabitants of the ninth ring who'd resettled in our lands after the catastrophe that destroyed the eighth through eleventh rings. Unlike the Garvans who'd lived here originally, Airvans typically had narrow eyes and jet-black hair. Over the centuries, they'd transformed from refugees into the true masters of this world, spreading their culture and authority everywhere.

  Zirgul took position behind my back. I wasn't going to hide it — too many people had already seen it.

  "Good evening, Mr. Dinrim," I put on a smile, though in truth I wanted to kill this man far more than the butcher. He might be the very reason I'd ended up in hell. In a couple of years, once we reached Tenris where Mia was working, and once I'd created a new focus, I'd planned to pay him a quiet visit and get answers. But only after the Cranes had been forgotten. Was I going to have to accelerate my plans? "As you can see, Mr. Hodas and I have had a bit of a... misunderstanding."

  "What?!"

  "Dinrim, seize this little rat! He took my eye!"

  "And you took my father's leg," I said dryly. "You got off easy."

  But I'd correct that oversight. In time. You've bought yourself a little time, butcher. Nothing more.

  "What is that sword, boy?"

  "Am I obligated to answer?"

  "Of course! Where did you get it?!"

  "It's mine by right. That's all you need to know."

  Dinrim scanned all of us with a heavy frown, then fixed his gaze on the sword again. For emphasis, I had Zirgul make a lazy circle around me. The magistrate shook his head and softened slightly. Smart move. Apparently the old man had enough experience to understand that even if they managed to kill me, Zirgul would cut down most of his men first.

  "In this world, only strength matters."

  Exactly. And in this small town, they had to reckon with mine. If there'd been a master here, or even a couple of fourth-stage warriors, I'd have been in trouble. But I had no doubt that with Zirgul, I could handle Dinrim and his people.

  "Dinrim, what are you waiting for?! Arrest him!"

  "Shut up. I have no idea what you started here today, but I'm not covering for you. Enough."

  "A healer!" I called out.

  "What?"

  "My father needs a healer. Now. The butcher pays."

  "WHAT?!" The man's face contorted.

  "Or I collect both his legs as payment."

  "We will resolve this matter. Let's all calm down," Dinrim said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "First we tend to the wounded, then we sort out what happened and decide the best way to settle it. Agreed?"

  I held the old man's gaze for several seconds, then gave a reluctant nod. I turned and walked unhurriedly away from the house.

  "Nate! Wait — where are you going?" Mom called out, stunned.

  "Stop!" Dinrim ordered.

  "I'll be back in the morning," I told them all. "And it'll be better for everyone if my family receives proper care and is treated well."