The night pulsed with tension, the scent of blood still lingering on the broken branches and trampled soil.
Noah stood tall, one step forward, aura flickering sharp and cold around his dagger. His movements were crisp, professional, the way only a seasoned killer could carry. His aura pulsed at a level above Daemon's — one star higher, just enough to matter. But Daemon wasn't the same desperate, reckless boy from his past life.
He stood still, calm, analyzing every twitch in Noah's wrist, every shift of his weight, every shallow breath.
Noah sneered.
"What's the matter, Daemon? Scared to attack me?"
Daemon tilted his head lazily, as if the question barely deserved a thought.
"Not really." His voice was calm, even playful. "I was just thinking deeply about something that's been bothering me."
Noah raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the nonchalant reply. His stance tightened slightly, wary of a trick.
"And what could possibly bother a monster like you?"
Daemon let out a slow sigh, brushing his fingers along the blade of his worn, blood-stained sword.
"Four years ago," he mused, "during my dear brother's coronation… I didn't get to dance with a single girl." His tone was light, but his eyes remained sharp, locked on Noah's every move.
"Isn't that a little sad?"
For a split second, Noah faltered. The absurdity of the answer threw him off. Then he scoffed, voice sharp with mockery.
"You? Dance? You'd be lucky if anyone even looked your way — prince or not."
Daemon's lips curved into a slow, cold smile.
"Fair point. But you should stop talking now."
Noah lowered his stance, blade poised to strike.
"Why? Afraid of the truth?"
But Daemon's voice cut through the night like a blade.
"Because I'm tired of listening to a dog barking."
The smile vanished from Noah's face.
"What did you just say?" His voice darkened, aura flaring higher, the shadows around him warping from the sheer pressure.
Daemon tilted his head, crimson eyes glinting under the moonlight.
"You heard me. A dog for the queen. How does it feel, licking her boots for scraps?"
The insult hit its mark.
Noah's control shattered — his aura spiked, wild and volatile. The ground beneath him cracked as his killing intent finally boiled over.
Bingo.
Daemon's mind sharpened. This wasn't just a fight — it was a game. And Noah had just taken the bait.
Veterans always hide their real strength, Daemon thought. But anger makes everyone sloppy.
Noah lunged, aura flooding into his blade, but Daemon was ready.
"AAAAHHH DIE BASTARD!"
Noah's voice cracked the air like a whip as he lunged, aura-infused blade moving so fast it blurred. His years as a veteran assassin sharpened every strike, each one precise and lethal — no wasted motion.
But Daemon smiled.
That same, infuriating, almost childlike smile.
"What is this feeling ?"
This feeling, he thought, side-stepping, blocking, barely dodging. That razor-thin edge where one wrong move means death. I almost missed it.
"The same feeling when I was fighting lilac"
His body ached, his core strained under the clash of their violent aura — but his blood sang.
Noah roared, fury drowning out his tactics.
"You bastard! Are you blushing?! Is this a joke to you?!"
Daemon, panting but still grinning, tilted his head.
"Dunno. Maybe I'm a masochist."
BOOM!
Their auras flared again — dark, demonic flame from Daemon; sharp, cold killing intent from Noah.
The trees around them shivered and snapped under the pressure, and even Daemon's horse jerked at the reins, trying to bolt from the suffocating air.
Noah's attacks grew faster, deadlier, but Daemon didn't fight back. Not yet.
He was studying him. Every angle. Every habit. Every opening.
Veterans are predictable once their emotions take over.
And finally, Daemon's grin flattened into something cold and final.
"Game over. I'm bored."
Noah flinched, caught off-guard by the words.
Before he could react, Daemon moved — a sharp step, a brutal kick to Noah's ribs, sending him flying like a rag doll against a tree. The impact cracked bark and bone alike, and Noah spat blood.
Before he could even suck in air, Daemon was already midair, his foot slamming into Noah's blade, kicking it upward. The sword spun and embedded itself deep into Noah's shoulder — pinning him to the trunk.
"Agh—!" Noah's scream ripped through the silent forest. He thrashed, trying to pry the blade loose, but his strength was bleeding out fast.
Daemon strolled forward, slow, almost casual.
"Noah… Noah… such a beautiful name for my sweet tutor." He crouched, resting an elbow on his knee, studying the man like a curious cat.
"But you vanished, didn't you? Four years ago. Did the queen call you away for another mission? Or was it your family, hm?"
Noah's jaw clenched, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I won't tell you anything, you sick bastard."
Daemon's smile widened. "Shame."
And with one sharp twist, Daemon drove his boot into Noah's leg — a sickening crack echoed as the bone snapped. Noah let out a guttural, broken scream.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
"Aw, come on, Professor," Daemon whispered mockingly. "Crying doesn't suit you."
He grabbed the man's collar, lifting his half-broken body off the tree, and yanked the sword free.
"Let's dance," Daemon said, dragging Noah's broken frame a step, forcing the dying man upright, like a limp marionette. "You know, a waltz for sinners."
Noah's voice came out in a shuddering gasp. "Monster."
Daemon chuckled darkly, leaning in close. "You know the orphanage, four years ago? The one that burned? The screams… the smell of roasting flesh." His smile deepened, cruel and distant. "That was me. I burned them. I stood there and watched the little ones beg the gods for help. Funny, isn't it? The gods didn't show."
Noah's body shook — rage, fear, and despair twisting together — but he couldn't speak.
Daemon twirled him once, as if they stood in a grand ballroom, not a blood-soaked forest.
"Thanks for the dance, Noah." He whispered, voice low and eerily tender. "It's been a pleasure."
When he finally let go, Noah's limp body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. His glazed eyes stared skyward, empty.
Daemon tilted his head, staring down.
"Oh… you're dead." He clicked his tongue. "Well, that's embarrassing. I've been talking to myself."
Stepping away from the corpse, he wandered back toward the cracked trunk where his horse waited, unbothered. He sat beneath the tree, staring up at the moon.
"I guess these sins will weigh on me for a while." He chuckled to himself, voice soft as the night wind. "But at least, Professor Noah, you made one hell of a dance partner."