Stand Between
The demon's blow landed like a battering ram. Anwir felt the world tilt, pain blooming along his ribs as he was hurled across the marble floor. For a heartbeat, his vision blurred-then snapped back into focus just in time to see the demon ignore him, its many-eyed gaze locking onto Selvaria.
"Price must be paid," it rumbled, the words echoing with a resonance that made the chandeliers tremble.
Anwir forced himself upright, every muscle screaming. Not yet. Not while she's still in its sights. He gritted his teeth, drawing on the only advantage he had: mana. He channeled it into his blade-a crude, low-class mimicry of the aura techniques real masters used, but it was enough to make the steel shimmer faintly, the edge humming with borrowed power.
He tried to push mana into his legs too, but his control was shaky-he could only enhance one part at a time, a limitation inherited from the original Anwir's imperfect training. Still, it was enough to steady his grip.
The demon lunged for Selvaria. Anwir's mind raced. If I use Position Swap now, split focus… He could feel his mana fraying at the edges, concentration slipping as he tried to keep the blade charged and cast at the same time.
But there was no other choice.
He locked eyes on Selvaria, then on the demon's path. The world warped-space folding, his body lurching sideways through reality. The swap was clumsy, a jolt of nausea clawing at his gut, but he managed it.
He reappeared between Selvaria and the demon, blade raised, knees buckling under the strain. The demon's claws slammed down, meeting steel and mana instead of flesh.
Selvaria gasped behind him, her red eyes wide with shock and something else-something dangerously close to fear.
Anwir planted his feet, forcing his voice steady. "You want a price? Try taking it from me."
The demon's many eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the ballroom's chaos faded to a single, frozen tableau: a butler, battered and burning with borrowed power, standing between the villainess and the jaws of fate.
I'm not a hero, Anwir thought, muscles trembling, but I'll be damned if I let this be her last chapter.
The demon's claws descended, blackened talons gleaming with cursed mana. Anwir raised his blade in a desperate parry-Etiquette Blade flaring to life as violet mana surged around the steel. The clash sent sparks flying, the impact reverberating through Anwir's arms like a hammer strike.
Too strong.
Grimacing, his boots skidded backward across the marble as the demon pressed its advantage. Its mouth broke into an ugly grin, rows of serrated teeth glistening with venom that hissed when striking the floor.
"Rosenthal… dies tonight," it growled, voice echoing from multiple throats.
"Not while I stand," Anwir snarled, twisting his blade to redirect the demon's force. The creature's claw grazed his shoulder, shredding fabric and drawing blood. He hissed but didn't falter-Steelblood Butler dampened the pain, but the wound burned like poisoned ice.
Dance of Blades and Shadows
The demon struck again, a whirlwind of obsidian claws and snapping jaws. Anwir danced backward, each parry precise but strained:
A horizontal slash aimed at his throat-deflected with a shower of violet sparks.
A follow-up swipe at his ribs-dodged by a hair's breadth, the claws tearing through a marble pillar instead.
A stomp that cracked the floor-Anwir rolled aside, lunging to stab at the demon's knee. His blade screeched against hardened scales, leaving only a shallow gash.
"No good. Can't pierce its hide."
'Damn it unlike the game I cant chip away at its health as my attacks cant do any damage.'
Selvaria stood behind him, her crimson eyes narrowed but unwavering. "Anwir-its core! The glowing fissure on its chest!"
He risked a glance. A pulsating red light throbbed beneath the demon's ribcage, protected by overlapping plates of armor.
There.
The demon lunged, claws aimed at Selvaria. Anwir triggered Position Swap-
-and reappeared mid-air above the creature, driving his blade downward. The demon twisted unnaturally, its tail whipping up to slam him into a banquet table. Plates shattered, wine soaking his coat as he gasped for breath.
Ribs… definitely cracked.
The demon loomed, raising a claw for the killing strike-
Selvaria's voice cut through the chaos, cold and commanding: "Freeze."
Frost erupted from her outstretched hand, encasing the demon's leg in jagged ice. It roared, slowed, but not stopped.
The demon's claws raked the air where Anwir's throat had been seconds earlier. He'd Position Swapped with a shattered vase behind the creature, but the strain of repeated spatial jumps made his vision blur. Blood dripped from a gash on his temple, and his mana pool screamed in protest-down to 10%, the system's warnings flickering at the edge of his consciousness.
Core. It's all about the core.
He remembered the game's bestiary entries: "Low-tier to Mid-Tier demons store their essence in a mana-dense core, often shielded by overlapping armor plates. Strike true, and the rest crumbles."
Selvaria's voice cut through the chaos, cold and commanding: "Anwir-the fissure beneath its third rib!"
He didn't question her. Even battered, even bleeding, he lunged-but the demon anticipated, tail whipping around to smash him into a pillar. Stone cracked. Anwir gasped, ribs protesting, but forced himself upright.
One shot. That's all I've got left.
The demon loomed, its core pulsating crimson through gaps in its obsidian carapace. Anwir's mind raced-Position Swap's cooldown: 5 seconds. Mana infusion requires direct contact. If I miss…
"Anwir!" Selene's scream echoed across the ballroom as the demon reared for a killing strike on Selvaria.
Anwir's body moved before his mind could protest.
"Designation: Chair."
The world warped. Space folded. He reappeared mid-air above the demon, blade already descending-not toward its head, but the glowing fissure Selvaria had named. Violet mana flared around his sword as he channeled every drop left, the steel humming with borrowed power.
"Etiquette Blade: Final Protocol."
The strike was perfect-a vertical plunge straight into the core. The blade sank deep, mana surging through the demon's essence like poison. For a heartbeat, the creature froze, its many eyes widening in shock.
Then it shattered.
Black ichor and shards of corrupted mana exploded outward. Anwir landed in a crouch, breath ragged, his gloves slick with demon blood and his own. Only the drip of demon blood off the chandeliers broke the silence.
Selvaria remained untouched, her crimson eyes glinting with cool approval—like a queen watching her knight perform.
"Efficient," she remarked, as if commenting on a well-set table.
Anwir straightened, wincing. "Efficiency, not chivalry"-my old design notes. He'd coded this move himself, never imagining he'd one day feel bones creak from its recoil.
Across the room, Kael stared, grip tightening on Lira's wrist. The future Sword Saint's gaze burned with recognition-and rivalry. He knows, Anwir realized. He sees the threat I could become.
But the true cost struck as the adrenaline faded. Anwir's vision swam, Status Screen flashing crimson:
[Mana Exhaustion Detected]
[HP: 23/100]
[Warning: Mana Overload Risk]
Selene caught him as his knees buckled. "Show-off," she hissed, but her hands trembled. "You look like death warmed over."
He managed a smirk. "Still… prettier than… Kallenhart's heir."
The crowd erupted-some cheering, others whispering of Rosenthal's "hidden blade." But Anwir's attention snagged on Duke Valen watching from the shadows after breaking the barrier, his icy blue eyes calculating.
He knows I shouldn't have that skill, Anwir thought, dread pooling in his gut. The real Anwir never mastered Position Swap.
As nobles swarmed Selvaria with false congratulations, Anwir leaned heavily on Selene. The battle was won, but the war-for survival, for secrets-had only just begun.
This ties Anwir's game knowledge into tactical combat, shows the physical/mental toll of his powers, and sets up future conflicts with both Kael and Duke Valen. The demon's core mechanic directly references his developer background.