Came to steal

Jorghan's mind raced.

He hadn't planned for a direct confrontation—extraction had been his goal. But now, with the sapphire clutched in his hand and escape blocked, battle seemed inevitable.

"She's taught you well, I assume?" Blackhorn circled slowly, his footsteps leaving ripples in the liquid shadow floor.

"But teaching a child to steal?" He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"How desperate she must be."

"I came of my own will," Jorghan replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. "Sigwuarna doesn't know I'm here."

One of the elders of the clan, Sigwuarna, had indeed taught him much during these five years. When she had found him that day, in a state of rage and fury and soaked in blood that wasn't his own, she had recognized something in him—a potential that both frightened and fascinated her.

As the strongest sorcerer of the Nor'vack clan, she adopted him as her son, something she thought was necessary, and taught him to control the chaotic energy that surged through his small body.

Blood magic, she had explained, was rare and dangerous—doubly so in one not born to it.

Yet Jorghan wielded it as naturally as breathing.

Blackhorn's laugh cut through his thoughts. "Lying doesn't suit you, boy. I can smell her magic on you like a stench."

Without warning, the demon moved, crossing the space between them with impossible speed. His massive fist swung toward Jorghan's head, a blow that would have shattered stone.

But Jorghan wasn't there.

The technique Sigwuarna had drilled into him countless times activated instinctively. His body seemed to phase partially out of reality, allowing the demon's fist to pass through the space where he had been. As the attack completed its arc, Jorghan reappeared, his small hand striking out toward Blackhorn's exposed side.

Upon contact, he released a precise burst of mana.

[Blood Needle]

The technique was meant to penetrate the demon's defences, to send a crystallised needle of blood magic directly into his internal organs. It was a killing blow—one that had felled beasts ten times Jorghan's size during hunting expeditions with Sigwuarna.

But Blackhorn's flesh hardened on impact, the red dots on his skin flaring with protective energy. The needle shattered against his ribs, and the demon's smile widened.

"Blood techniques against a demon?" Blackhorn shook his head.

"Did Sigwuarna teach you nothing of your opponent?"

It was his first time facing an individual opponent—not just any warrior, but a highly skilled demon warlord honed through centuries of bloodshed. Unlike the mindless clashes against beasts or lesser foes, this was a battle of skill, instinct, and raw power, and he could already feel the difference.

His movements were still clumsy, his reactions slightly delayed, and though he had been training under her relentless guidance, he had yet to fully unleash the tempest raging within him. Nine hundred and fifteen percent mana capacity—a staggering level of power, enough to bend reality itself—but his body was struggling to contain it. His frame, though resilient, felt like a vessel too small for the storm inside. Every motion carried an unnatural weight; every step felt like treading on unstable ground, as if his own power threatened to tear him apart.

The demon warrior circled him with predatory grace, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and challenge. "Is this all you can muster?" she taunted, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're drowning in your own strength, boy."

And he was right.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to adjust.

My battle just had to be with this fucker!

Talk about luck! Jolthar snickered.

The demon's counterattack came swiftly—a backhand strike that Jorghan barely ducked under. The force of it disturbed the air, creating a pressure wave that slammed Jorghan against the obsidian pedestal.

Pain lanced through his back, but he rolled with the impact, using the momentum to put distance between himself and his adversary. The sapphire remained clutched in his left hand, already beginning to integrate with his mana circulation.

Blackhorn advanced methodically now, his eyes tracking Jorghan's movements. "You move well for a human child. Is it because you are the size of a rat?

But this game grows tiresome."

The demon raised his hand, and the shadows on the floor surged upward, forming tendrils that reached for Jorghan's ankles. The boy leapt, using a short burst of mana to propel himself higher than any normal human could achieve. As he somersaulted through the air, he recalled Sigwuarna's lessons on aerial combat.

Jorghan wasn't one to back down from a fight, even when the odds seemed giant in front of him.

"When facing a larger opponent, use their size against them. The air is your ally—most creatures are tethered to the ground by their own weight."

Landing on one of the high window ledges, Jorghan took a split second to assess the situation. Blackhorn stood below, shadows swirling around him like agitated serpents. The demon's expression had shifted from amusement to irritation.

"Running already?" Blackhorn taunted. "And here I thought Sigwuarna had trained a warrior."