Hunters College was built to repel monsters.
It was not built to understand them.
Nor was it built to understand what happened when monsters mistook beauty for mercy.
The breach did not trigger alarms at first.
The demons entered not as invaders, but as whispers—mana folded inward, intent sharpened into silence. They slipped through the outer layers of the college's defenses by mimicking resonance patterns left behind by repeated dungeon simulations. It was not brute force that allowed them entry.
It was patience.
Three demonic males emerged fully within the underground transit ring of the college, their true forms tall and refined rather than grotesque. Their bodies bore the marks of higher demons—creatures that ruled territories rather than swarmed in them. Horns curved elegantly from their temples, eyes glowing with intelligence honed by centuries of survival.
They were predators.
But not the mindless kind.
"This is where the distortion converges," one of them said, voice smooth as polished obsidian.
"The pull is unmistakable," another replied, fingers flexing slowly. "Something here bends desire, fear, and power into a single point."
The third demon closed his eyes, inhaling. "A reincarnated soul," he murmured. "And not a weak one."
They transformed.
Their monstrous features folded inward, demonic mana compressing into perfect human disguises—tall men with sharp features and restrained auras. To the college's wards, they were nothing more than visiting hunters or instructors passing through.
To Lunaria Vale, they were a mistake waiting to happen.
---
Lunaria was unaware of them at first.
He stood in a quiet corridor near the sparring complex, adjusting the strap of his sword harness with delicate care. The blade rested comfortably at his side now—long, slender, balanced perfectly for precision rather than force. He had chosen it deliberately.
Knives were intimate.
Swords were final.
"…I still need to get used to this," he murmured softly.
[Weapon compatibility: high.]
"That's good," Lunaria replied. "I don't want to disappoint it."
[Weapons do not feel disappointment.]
He smiled faintly. "I do."
His ribbon was tied neatly at his neck, pale pink fabric contrasting gently with his hunter uniform. His moonlight-colored hair was bound loosely behind him, waist-length strands catching the light whenever he moved.
Then he stopped.
"…Something's wrong," he whispered.
[Multiple unregistered mana signatures detected.]
"Inside the college?" Lunaria asked quietly.
[Yes.]
His expression did not change—but the air around him did.
Students passing nearby slowed unconsciously. Conversations faltered. The space felt tighter, as if something unseen had leaned closer.
The disguised demons felt it the moment Lunaria turned the corner.
There.
The first demon's breath caught—not in fear, but in instinctive recognition. "That's him."
The second demon narrowed his eyes. "So fragile-looking."
The third smiled faintly. "And yet the abyss trembles."
They followed him.
Not stealthily.
Reverently.
Lunaria entered the sparring complex, where students were gathering for afternoon evaluations. The arena barriers hummed softly, instructors positioned around the elevated platforms.
He stepped toward the field entrance.
That was when they revealed themselves.
Mana surged.
Illusions shattered.
Gasps tore through the crowd as three demonic auras erupted into the open space, oppressive and ancient. Horns shimmered into existence before fading again, eyes glowing crimson, violet, and silver respectively.
Barriers slammed shut instantly.
Instructors moved—but hesitated.
These were not low-rank monsters.
These were beings that could turn a dungeon break into a massacre.
The tallest demon stepped forward, gaze locked onto Lunaria. "We came to meet you."
Lunaria blinked.
"…Me?" he asked softly.
"You restructured the flow of death," the demon continued. "You kill with refinement. With grace. We wished to see you."
"I'm sorry," Lunaria replied politely. "I'm busy."
A murmur rippled through the arena.
The second demon laughed quietly. "He refuses demons as if declining tea."
"I don't mean to be disrespectful," Lunaria said, glancing at the instructors. "But I really don't have time."
[They will not withdraw.]
"…I see," Lunaria murmured.
The third demon stepped closer. "Then fight us."
Lunaria hesitated—not from fear, but from inconvenience.
"…That will delay training."
The demon's smile sharpened.
Then he moved.
A blade of condensed demonic mana flashed—not toward Lunaria's body.
Toward his ribbon.
The fabric parted cleanly.
The ribbon fell.
Silence detonated across the arena.
Lunaria looked down.
At the severed ribbon resting against stone.
His hands trembled once.
Just once.
Then he reached up and removed the remaining tie at his neck.
His hair fell free.
Straight.
Unbound.
Moonlight spilling down his back like a silent omen.
[Warning: lethal intent rising.]
"…You shouldn't have done that," Lunaria said softly.
The demons felt it immediately.
The air changed.
The pressure was no longer alluring.
It was suffocating.
Lunaria stepped onto the sparring field.
He drew his sword.
The sound it made was not loud.
But it carried.
His stance was fluid—not aggressive, not defensive. His body aligned itself naturally, like a dancer finding rhythm. His eyes lifted, calm and clear.
"Leave," Lunaria said gently. "Now."
The tallest demon laughed. "Show us."
They attacked.
Lunaria moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Perfect.
The first demon lunged, claws extended.
Lunaria turned.
One step.
The sword flashed.
The demon's head separated from his body before his momentum carried him forward. It hit the ground a heartbeat later.
Blood did not spray.
The cut was too clean.
Gasps erupted.
The second demon snarled, power exploding outward as his form warped—horns elongating, wings tearing free as he unleashed his true shape.
Lunaria advanced.
Hair flowed.
The sword danced.
He slipped beneath a sweeping claw, blade carving upward in a graceful arc that severed the demon's torso diagonally. The body collapsed, demonic essence unraveling into ash before it touched the ground.
The third demon froze.
For the first time, fear entered his eyes.
"…What are you?" he whispered.
Lunaria did not answer.
He stepped forward.
The demon tried to flee.
Lunaria was already there.
One precise thrust.
Straight through the heart.
The demon gasped—not in pain, but in realization.
"…So beautiful," he whispered as his body disintegrated.
Silence returned.
Not stunned silence.
Grave silence.
Lunaria stood alone in the center of the sparring field, sword lowered, hair loose, expression calm. Demonic residue faded into nothingness around him.
[Targets eliminated.]
"…That took longer than I wanted," Lunaria murmured softly.
He sheathed his sword.
Then he knelt and picked up the severed ribbon, fingers gentle.
"…I liked this one," he whispered.
[You acted within acceptable parameters.]
"I know," he replied quietly. "But next time… I'll be faster."
Instructors stared.
Students trembled.
Hunters College had just witnessed something terrifyingly clear:
Demons had entered seeking fascination.
They left as corpses.
And Lunaria Vale—elegant, gentle, devastating—was no longer something monsters could afford to desire.
He was something they died for underestimating.