Chapter 51
It was late into the night. Xain lay fast asleep in his room at the inn, his limbs tangled awkwardly in the sheets, a dumb, happy smile still plastered on his face—remnants of his first, disastrous brush with alcohol.
*That was one hell of a first drinking experience, ape,* came Ercale's voice in his mind. Not that Xain could hear him right now. He was far too deep in his stupor to be aware of anything beyond his dreams.
*It made my job a lot easier, so I thank your poor tolerance,* Ercale continued, his tone dry and amused.
Beneath the bed, Xain's shadow began to tremble. It wavered unnaturally along the floor, twisting, shivering, morphing. Then, like oil separating from water, another shadow peeled itself free from Xain's. It surged upward silently, stretching and reshaping into a humanoid form—Ercale's form.
"You won't notice me leaving for a bit," he muttered with a faint smirk, idly flicking a hand through his platinum blond hair to settle it neatly.
He padded over to the chest at the foot of the bed with casual, silent steps. Kneeling, he unlatched it and raised the lid slowly to avoid even the slightest creak. Inside were a handful of travel items and personal effects, but his eyes locked immediately onto the one thing he wanted. He plucked it from its resting place, the small object glinting faintly in the dim light.
Ercale stood there for a long moment, staring down at it in his hand. His expression was unreadable—detached, thoughtful, something in between. Then, wordlessly, he slipped it into his pocket and closed the chest without a sound.
He crossed the room to the window next, drawing it open in a single smooth motion. Cool night air spilled in, brushing against his skin. He paused, eyes half-lidded, inhaling the quiet stillness of the sleeping city.
"Hope you don't mind the breeze, ape," he said softly, glancing over his shoulder at Xain's sleeping form.
And then he vaulted effortlessly through the frame.
He landed in the street below with all the grace of a falling leaf, weightless and soundless. Rising to his full height, he turned toward the distant silhouette of the coliseum in the moonlight.
"Now," he said, tone sharper, more focused, "let's see if this 'Healing Spring' is what I think it is."
He began to walk.
Not teleport. Not vanish into lightning. Not ride the clouds or bend space.
He simply walked.
"Am I feeling nostalgic?" he muttered, glancing around as he moved through the hushed city.
The streets were quiet, save for the occasional echo of footfalls from a patrol or a group of drunkards laughing in the distance. Most of the city had long since gone to sleep. He kept to the edges of alleys and shadows, slipping past guards with little effort.
His eyes wandered over the buildings, the roads, the places rebuilt and repaved since the last time he'd walked these streets.
"It's been over five hundred years since I passed through here," he said under his breath. "So much has changed…"
He reached into his pocket again, fingers curling around the small round object he'd taken from the chest. Feeling its smooth surface against his palm, he exhaled slowly.
"I wonder how everyone else would feel seeing this again," he said quietly. Then, more to himself: "I guess… I'll find out eventually."
His pace picked up—not quite a run, but with purpose now. Not magic-fueled, not enhanced, just quick. Sharp. Silent. It didn't take long to reach the coliseum. In the daytime, it was overflowing with noise and bodies, but now it stood as a hollow monolith—only a few lights flickering at the gates where the night staff were stationed.
Ercale stopped short of the perimeter, watching them from the shadows. He would have to avoid them. Not because they could match up to him in any possible way. But because it would create too many issues if he went on a killing spree.
He brought a hand to his chest, eyes narrowing as he exhaled slowly. "Spectral Steps," he muttered. A thin shimmer passed over his body as the spell took hold—his already ethereal form growing even more insubstantial. His skin turned translucent, nearly invisible in the dark, and a faint outline of pale light clung to the contours of his shape, barely distinguishable from the shadows.
Then, with a whisper of movement, he dashed forward—straight into, no, through the coliseum wall. The stone offered no resistance; he passed through it like smoke slipping through a crack, leaving not even a flicker behind. Outside, the guards remained unaware, their gazes fixed elsewhere, their senses dulled by routine.
Inside, the air was still. Ercale reformed at the base floor, emerging in one of the narrow corridors deep beneath the stands. His body solidified in an instant, the glow vanishing as he resumed his full physical presence.
"Easy enough," he murmured, brushing a hand through his hair as he took in his surroundings.
The hallways were dark, lit only by the faintest glimmers of moonlight spilling through the higher slats and grates. For a normal human, the interior would've been pitch black. But for a Demon Lord, the darkness posed no obstacle. His eyes adjusted immediately, picking out every detail in crisp clarity—the dust on the floor, the slight cracks on the walls, the faint footprints from staff who'd passed through earlier.
"Now… where to find this spring," he said quietly, scanning upward.
If it was used regularly by staff and fighters alike, it wouldn't be hidden too deep, nor too far above. "Probably somewhere upstairs," he reasoned aloud, "middle floor, so anyone could reach it in a decent amount of time."
He let his focus narrow, eyes slipping shut as he tuned himself to the resonance he sought—not mana, but Divine Energy. It tugged faintly at the edge of his awareness like a distant heartbeat. And then, just a moment later, he felt it.
"Bingo."
The energy was faint, but unmistakable—pure, unwavering, and far too clean to be anything but divine. He raised his hand again. "Spectral Steps."
Once more, his body shimmered and faded, the world around him phasing like glass under water. In a single weightless leap, he vanished upward—passing through several floors and emerging silently into a chamber, drawn by the presence he'd sensed.
The moment he entered, he knew he was in the right place.
The air carried a cool serenity, unnaturally calm, tinged with a subtle warmth that brushed the skin like silk. At the center of the stone chamber was a small hot spring—not wide, but deep, its edges framed with carefully placed rock. The water within was perfectly clear, so pristine it looked like cut glass, with a faint, soft-blue glow emanating from its depths. The glow pulsed slowly, like the rhythm of a sleeping heart. It cast gentle light across the walls, dancing over the damp stone in ripples.
Ercale's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Like I suspected. If I'd nabbed that elf's necklace, I might've managed a little chat with Leon…" He exhaled through his nose, reaching into his pocket. "But whatever. This'll do."
He withdrew the item from earlier, holding it delicately between his fingers. He whispered a short incantation under his breath, casting a spell onto it. Then, with no ceremony, he flicked it into the water.
It sank instantly, not with a splash but a soft shimmer, vanishing between the cracks of the rocks below. Within seconds, it was gone—melded into the stone, masked by glamour, indistinguishable from its surroundings. No one would find it with sight alone.
"Now, time to—"
The door creaked.
Ercale's head snapped up, his body tensing as the door to the chamber swung inward.
"Time to get a bit of energy bac—" a voice began, before cutting off sharply.
A staff member stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide as they locked onto Ercale. His expression twisted in shock, then alarm.
"Who are you and what are you doing here!?" the man barked, hands already rising to use magic.
Ercale cursed under his breath,