The battle ended before it ever truly began.
The four demons-two Cait Sith, one Obariyon, and a single Daemon-crumbled under my blade. Their bodies unraveled into shimmering streams of Magatsuhi, flowing into me like ink into water.
No resistance.
No glory.
No skill reward, either.
Tch.
Disappointing.
I slide my katana back into Burroughs' inventory with a flick of thought. The system hums silently, swallowing the weapon into digital space. Then I feed Magatsuhi into my suit-the black threads begin to stir, reweaving and repairing, like silk knitting itself together across my skin.
Practical elegance. That's what Rion had called it when she gifted it to me.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the black mask. The moment it covers my face, I channel Magatsuhi into it.
And the world dies again.
No color.
No sound.
No weight.
Only Magatsuhi. The endless river beneath reality.
But just as I'm about to move, something pulses across that river-an echo of thought, sharp and deliberate. Like a fingertip tapping water and sending ripples to me across the void.
"So? Do you like my gift?"
That voice.
Akao?
Impossible.
The mask should have cut me off from everything, especially sound. How is she-
Ah.
The ripple.
A Magatsuhi wave.
Mental transmission?
I immediately cancel the mask's enchantment, pulling myself back into the world of light, of wind and distant noise.
And there she is.
Leaning lazily against a railing like she owns the sky.
Rion Akao.
Vice-captain of the Tenth Division.
Her yellow eyes gleam like they're hiding every answer I'll never get. Her cigarette glows faintly in the moonlight.
I keep my voice even. "What are you doing here?"
She gives me a thumbs-up. "Just checking how a freshman does his job. And hey-you're doing great."
I narrow my eyes, sliding the mask off. "Tell me. That thing you did with the Magatsuhi. The wave. How?"
She takes a slow drag, then exhales smoke into the wind. "Ah, that. You mean thought transmission? It's easy. Once your Magatsuhi reaches Rank D, you can do it naturally. If you're talented, D-. If you're very talented, even E+."
She taps her cigarette against the rail. "You? You're hypersensitive to Magatsuhi. You could learn it now."
I blink. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious."
She studies me for a moment, then her expression softens.
"But something's bothering you, isn't it? It's all over your face."
Tch.
I hesitate.
Then I speak.
"...How strong are you? I need to know where I stand in this world."
She chuckles.
"Straight to the point, huh? Alright..."
Another drag.
"If I went all out-my strongest move-I could destroy the moon or maybe a small planet."
...
...
"What."
She shrugs. "And our Captain? He could take out the Sun. Or a star even bigger. That's just the level he's at. But after all, High-Summoners... They're in a league of their own."
High-Summoners?
Moon-level... Sun-level... That's beyond nuclear weapons. That's apocalyptic. And if she's at that level, what does that make me?
No-what does that make us?
There's too big a gap. Between rookies and captains. Between where I am... and where I need to be.
What even are High-Summoners?
Before I can ask, she flicks her cigarette away. The embers vanish into the night.
"Catch up soon, freshman," she says, stepping back into the shadows.
And like always-
She disappears.
Not a single trace left behind.
Just the faintest whisper of wind.
I stare into the empty space where she stood.
My fists tighten.
The truth is simple. Brutal. Honest.
I'm nothing.
Not yet.
What I have now is barely enough to scrape the dirt off the boots of a real Summoner. The path I walk is lined with giants-and I'm still crawling at their feet.
The full moon casts its pale light over the city. Cold. Distant. Untouchable.
I raise my hand toward it.
Fingers spread.
Voice low. Steady. A vow whispered only to the heavens above.
"I need more power..."
----------
Since that night beneath the full moon, everything has changed.
No distractions. No detours.
Only the path forward.
The hunt.
Every free moment is spent tracking demons. Killing them. Absorbing their Magatsuhi like a starving man drinks rain.
Hunt.
Eat.
Sleep.
Repeat.
My body moves on instinct now, honed and stripped of excess. I don't waste time on trivial things. But I haven't abandoned Mei and Sosome either-our synergy has improved. Sharper coordination, fewer wasted movements. We speak less and understand more.
Efficiency. That's everything.
In between hunts, I study myths. All of them-Hindu, Celtic, African, Polynesian. Legends from forgotten villages, gods from drowned empires. Why? Because every demon I fight is pulled from someone's story, someone's faith. Knowing their origin gives me the edge.
The Demonic Compendium confirms what's real and what's warped by the Void.
I've also expanded my roster.
Two new recruits.
Makara. A demon of the Dragon Race. Chimera-like in form, an impossible hybrid of land and sea.
Its body is long and serpentine, covered in fish-like scales that shimmer in shades of deep ocean blue and poison green. Crimson streaks run across its flanks like veins.
Crystal fins sprout from its spine, each one like the blade of a bladefish. Its legs-those of a deer-are built for speed and silence, with black hooves sharp enough to cut stone. Its antlers curve skyward and blue markings frame its eyes.
Tam Li.Of the Genma Race.
He's clads in turquoise-blue segmented armor with veins of silver. A pale face framed by silver-white hair, unreadable. .
He wears a long white cape that drifts behind him. He has a black polearm with the tip barbed.
Neither asked for Macca. Only Magatsuhi. That alone makes them valuable.
Still... I'm weak.
A C- in Luck. Nothing to be proud of. I'm barely above the dregs of the summoning world.
There are beings out there who can erase galaxies with a yawn.
And me?
I'd be gone before I even felt the heat.
That's not acceptable. Not for me.
I want to be the puppeteer. The master behind the curtain.
The hidden blade. The shadow above all shadows.
And I will never give up.
My inner monologue fades as I stop in front of a store.
I came for supplies. Dia Stones, backup charms, maybe a warding talisman or two. If I'm going to fight alongside demons, I need contingencies. Safety nets.
The shop is... luxurious.
Walls made of dark wood lacquered to a soft shine.
Shelves lined with velvet. Spotlights glimmering off gem-like stones arranged like rare wine.
Some of them rest in elegant glass cases. Others are simply tossed into metal bins, like potatoes in a market.
A strange contrast.
Mystic tools, treated like everyday goods.
Magic sold like candy.
Then I see the price tags.
My stomach turns.
500 Macca for the cheapest stone.
I currently have 7 200, thanks to the Macca Kurogane had on him when he died. Which means... every purchase counts. Every mistake stings.
As I browse, my gaze locks onto something.
A gem. Small. Blacker than shadow.
But it doesn't reflect light-it absorbs it.
A red current pulses slowly within it, like blood flowing through obsidian veins.
Curious, I lean closer.
"Eiga Jewel"
The label reads:
"Power equivalent to mid-Rank D Magatsuhi. Capable of leveling an area the size of a city."
(Disclaimer: All consequences of use are the buyer's responsibility.)
I freeze.
Wait.
Am I reading that right?
Is this store just casually selling nuclear bombs disguised as jewelry?
The price: 6 500 Macca.
Nearly everything I have.
It's tempting. Ridiculously tempting.
But no. I'm better than this. I don't need crutches. I-
...
I bought it.
And a Dia Stone. Just in case.
Now I'm broke.
Completely, utterly broke.
Strangely, the cashier didn't even blink. No ID check. No signature. No "Hey, what are you planning to vaporize with this thing?"
Apparently, you can just buy nuclear bombs-level artifacts in this world if you've got enough pocket change.
Fine. Whatever.
I walk out of the shop, the Eiga Jewel tucked safely in my inventory.
Now... I just need to find demons with Macca. Preferably a lot of it.
Alright, my C- Luck parameter.
Time to carry your weight!
----------
Hahaha! Macca!
More sweet, glorious Macca!
I managed to scrape together another 5 000. Not bad for a few hours of grinding. On top of that, I picked up two new skills-Tarukaja and Agi.
Apparently, the area I was in had a sudden spike in Daemon, and most of them were too cocky to run. Bad for them. Great for me.
Tarukaja can boosts my attack across the board. Way more helpful than Agi, honestly. I already have Maragi, so tossing out a baby fireball feels redundant. But hey, I'll take all the tools I can get.
But while I was walking through the Vortex World, kicking dust and counting Macca, a question wormed its way into my brain.
Why does this world feel so... wrong?
Like a reflection.
No-like a decayed echo of something real.
What if this is the original world... and the one we live in now is the illusion?
Heh. Stupid thought. Total nonsense.
Right?
The wind shifts.
And then-
The ground shakes.
Not a tremor. A judgment.
The sand beneath my boots turns fluid. My balance vanishes. Every hair on my body stands up-electricity saturates the air. Each breath shocks my lungs. My muscles lock.
My vision blurs.
A wave of Magatsuhi hits me-no, it crushes me.
I've never felt this much.
This presence doesn't hide its strength.
It demands to be known.
It's not human.
It's not even demonic in the way I understand.
It's a king.
And beastial.
Like nature itself crowned a king and made it flesh.
Through the static haze in my eyes, I catch flashes-white light streaking across the horizon. The sand explodes into craters the size of countries. The landscape is being rewritten. No metaphor. Literal topography shifting under godlike pressure.
There.
On a hill. A white shape.
Four-legged, barely visible. Just a speck.
I focus harder-
Too late.
A wave of pressure flattens me into the sand. I can't move.
Not my fingers. Not my tongue.
I'm pinned like an insect under glass.
I try to fight it. Try to stand. But it's like pushing against the sky itself.
Then-
A roar.
Primordial. Final. The kind of sound that once signaled extinction.
Winds scream toward me, violent and wild-but just before they reach, they stop. No-they're stopped.
Blocked by swords.
Hundreds. Thousands. Falling into place like a divine net.
They form a cocoon around me. Protective. Unmoving.
Each blade hums. Not just with power, but with meaning. Like every sword carries the will of its wielder-perfect, absolute.
My breath catches.
I recognize these aren't normal weapons.
They're the concept of swords themselves.
One sword is forged from translucent crystal, etched with runes that pulse like living veins. Its edge seems to divide light itself, casting no shadow.
Another is made of black steel, its surface fractured like obsidian under pressure, but impossibly sharp-its cracks glow with silent lightning, screaming without sound.
These swords could split worlds.
I don't know how I know that.
But I do.
And then-I feel another Magatsuhi.
Not from the beast.
From the one who wields the swords.
It's different.
Sharp. Royal. Divine.
If the creature radiated primal dominance, this is pure command.
A presence that doesn't roar or growl-it simply is, and the world obeys.
This... this is The Divine Sovereign of Swords.
I want to see.
Please-just let me witness this fight.
Just once.
And then the swords around me fade-not disappear.
They've gone invisible.
My plea was answered.
I look again toward the hill.
Two shapes now.
One: black, outlined in deep crimson. A presence like a void wrapped in regal fury.
The other: the white beast, still immense, still terrifying.
Then-
The sky becomes blades.
Not thousands. Not millions.
Hundreds of billions.
A new World. A World of swords has replaced the old one.
All pointed at the beast.
The creature responds with lightning-not like before. This time it's real, furious. Power meant to kill, not impress.
But it barely phases the swords.
The beast thrashes. Desperately.
Its power means nothing.
And then, movement.
Not disappearance. Just... too fast to see.
In less than a blink of an eye, the white point is buried under a mountain of blades.
Gone.
Just like that.
The cocoon around me fades.
I breathe again. My body loosens. My knees buckle, but I stay upright.
A voice reaches my ears.
"Summoner of the Tenth Division. Return to your HQ.
This is an order from the Captain of the Sixteenth Division, Anvil of Valor."
The voice isn't loud. It doesn't need to be.
It's... regal. Weighted.
But what strikes me isn't the sound—it's the delivery. This wasn't spoken aloud nor transmitted in the same way as Akao. It was like the world itself bent to carry his words to me.
As if the world served him.
And yet...
A pang of disappointment hits me.
I didn't see his swordplay.
I wanted to. Needed to.
Then-
I spot him. The black point. Moving.
I focus everything. Pour my senses into the distance.
And then-just one swing.
A single motion. Yet I can see it, this is a Supreme swordsmanship.
The air rips open, forming a portal. A tear in the world, leading-probably-to the Sixteenth Division's HQ.
And with that, he vanishes.
Just like that.
---------
The rest of my journey back to the Amala Drum is... silent.
No demons cross my path. Not a single one.
They felt it too. They saw what I saw.
Even they know when gods are walking.
And now...
Now I know what true power looks like.
Not just strength.
Dominance.
I already knew I was weak. But knowing and seeing aren't the same.
Now I've seen it.
And I want it.
No-I need it.
The execution I just witnessed didn't break me.
It forged me.
One day...
One day, I'll stand on that same hill.
And no one will look down on me again.
"I really need more power..."