Chapter Fifty-Two: The Realm of Blood

Amidst a chorus of startled cries, Artis turned to look behind him. There, more and more beasts tainted with traces of demonic energy continued to pour forth. Frowning, he muttered, “Just how long has this degree of corruption been brewing?” Through his senses, deep within a canyon, as one beast after another was slain, their presence did not wane; on the contrary, the profound abyssal aura there only grew stronger. Faintly, he could sense powerful presences beginning to emerge.

Upon returning to the encampment, he was greeted by the respectful and admiring gazes of many lords. Save for a few, none dared meet his eyes. Some lords, those from houses long friendly with the Nalba family, nodded at him with a smile.

Such was the way of power—in this world where the supernatural reigned, strength was paramount. With enough might, even a commoner could become an honored guest among the nobility. The prowess of an Earth Knight was already among the finest in the city-state, and when one considered Artis’s youth, he became a figure both respected and feared.

This did not concern Artis. He strode forward, the scent of blood still lingering on him.

Within the tent, a tall man stood wearily, his body also marked by the aftershocks of battle and a few fresh wounds—Bagel. “You’re back!” Bagel regarded Artis, sensing the aura of battle that clung to his son, his eyes filled with pride. “So fast! When I reached your level, I was already thirty. Even then, Father called me the greatest genius of our family!” He looked at Artis, unable to hide his admiration.

Artis only smiled faintly, declining to pursue the topic. Instead, with some hesitation, he said, “Father, something is very wrong with the current situation.”

Bagel paused, his expression darkening. “You sense it too?” His face grew somber. “Listen to me—over the next few days, be cautious. If things become truly dire…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “If the worst should come to pass, take the letter from me and your grandfather and return to the estate. Should anything befall us, you must immediately claim all the Nalba family lands!”

This was as close to a last request as one could come. Seeing Bagel so solemn, Artis nodded silently.

After a while, a messenger arrived, summoning Artis to an audience with the king.

When he arrived, the king greeted him with warmth and encouragement. Compared to a few days prior, the king’s face was ruddy and his spirits seemed greatly improved. Seizing a moment when the king turned away, Artis studied him, seeking to discern his fortune.

What he saw was a brilliant cloud of crimson and gold fortune, still stable; yet the faint aura of death that had once shrouded the king was now completely gone. In its place, a bloodthirsty, sinister presence slowly emerged.

Artis smirked inwardly, his outward expression unchanged as he continued to sense more deeply. Beneath the king’s benign exterior, a new power was welling up within his once withered frame, gradually restoring his body—there were even signs of a return to his former prime. Through the divine perception granted by his own essence, Artis could clearly feel an avaricious gaze fixed upon him from behind that amiable facade.

“A time of troubles indeed,” he thought, feeling a subtle tremor from the star above his head, his mind stirring with unease.

As the days passed, the situation swiftly deteriorated. The number of first-tier demon beasts increased, and faint shadows of second-tier beasts began to emerge. As the fighting grew more desperate and the lords’ complaints mounted, the city-state’s main forces finally responded.

Outside the canyon, knights rampaged across the ground in a storm of motion, while before them, the demon beasts charged with frenzied eyes and gaping jaws.

“What an army!” Bagel exclaimed from a cliff, gazing in awe at the knights below.

Artis too studied the army. Among them were conscripted peasants, but both their proportion and absolute number were far greater than those of other lords. Out of an army of some three thousand, there were five hundred knights. Most were mere knight-retainers, but the number was nonetheless astounding.

After all, unlike peasants with crude spears and little fighting prowess, each knight-retainer was a member of the nobility—perhaps fallen, but still armored, and trained from youth in martial skills and battle aura. Their collective might was not to be underestimated.

In Artis’s eyes, a keen martial presence was taking shape, pressing hard against the enemy.

Under the onslaught of this formidable host, the great mass of demon beasts was torn apart—only sheer numbers kept the battle in the balance.

Artis nodded approvingly. This was the bedrock of noble power in this world. Only a city-state with centuries of lineage could muster such a force of knights. The charge of five hundred knights was a force even a tier-three High Priest would hesitate to face head-on.

But his gaze soon shifted to the depths of the battlefield, where an even deeper, more ominous aura was stirring. With each bestial roar, more first-tier demon beasts began to emerge.

“Hm?” Suddenly, Artis paused.

On the field, a sinister aura rose, blood and demonic energy weaving together to form a strange domain that subtly affected all living things nearby.

Looking around, Artis saw the lords below had been driven to a killing frenzy; under the influence of this domain, they began to lose all reason. Black and red flesh flew across the blood-soaked earth, further feeding the domain’s power.

At that moment, a messenger approached. “Viscount Bagel, Sir Artis—the king commands you to lead your men into battle.”

Artis glanced in the direction of the king’s position, saying nothing. Yet his supernatural senses made it clear: a gaze thick with malice watched from behind.

After a moment, Artis led his men into the fray, fighting fiercely, appearing no different from the other lords.

Then, all at once, a shadow flashed ahead—a jet-black, one-horned demon tiger leaped at him, eyes wild, its body wreathed in demonic energy. By its aura, it was at the very peak of the first tier.

In response, Artis thrust his sword, aura blazing with sharp, deadly power.

With a crack, the demon tiger, sensing danger, dodged aside, his sword’s energy missing its mark and stabbing into a large tree behind.

With a roar, the beast unleashed a soul-shaking howl. Around them, several soldiers’ heads burst apart, destroyed by the sudden sonic assault.

Artis turned to face the tiger, red light flashing along his greatsword as he swung down with force.

“Wrathful Sword Slash!”

A red arc split the earth at his feet, carving deep scars, followed by several more sword shadows shrieking through the air.

Another roar—the demon tiger, though struck several times, remained standing, snarling as it charged Artis.

“Its body is too strong!” Artis thought. Then, as if guided by fate, divine power gathered into a spear and drove fiercely into the beast’s flesh.

With a piteous roar, an overwhelming divine force crushed downward, the spear of pure power exploding and grievously wounding the monster.

Artis stepped in to finish it, then surveyed the field.

All around, soldiers stood bloodied, exhausted or wounded, barely holding their ground as the earth ran red. The demon beasts, however, were growing fewer.

Above the king’s encampment, a plume of demonic energy slowly rose, resonating with the blood-soaked domain, its presence pulsing through the air.