Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 4

Simon greeted another skeleton as he made his way back up through Caelryn Cave. The long trek was far more enjoyable in reverse. No worry of traps, no mounting pressure, and he got to pass the time by experimenting with his ill-gotten gains.

Character Sheet.

Simon
Class: Fledgling
Attributes: Transmigrator, Fell-Touched
Level: 3
HP: 90 / 90
MP: 50 / 50
Strength: 15
Dexterity: 9
Vitality: 9
Intelligence: 5
Unspent Points: 4

Two new lines had been added. The first was Attributes, displaying his status as a Transmigrator, and as a human who was now Fell-Touched. The second was Unspent Points, denoting the stat points he'd earned from reaching Level 3.

Stat points that hadn't been automatically allocated like the ones from Level 2. Simon couldn't be certain of exactly why, yet if he had to guess...Heroic Valor was the cause.

I haven't fought anything since Stuart. Which means I made it to Level 3 solely by receiving bonus EXP from Heroic Valor's effect. It was entirely responsible.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he walked. My first Level-up gave me 3 Strength and 1 Dexterity. It happened as a direct result of killing Stuart. And I killed him in a quick ambush, where I lifted him using a boost from the Glove of Power.

During 'normal' Level-ups – where EXP was gained from slaughter – the system probably assigned his points based on his recent life experiences. After all, it was a system designed to expedite growth using RPG mechanics as a framework. Stuart had been slain by feats of Strength with a dash of Dexterity, so those stats got the bump.

Heroic Valor complicated matters. The system wouldn't know how to assign his stats based on EXP gained from nebulous deeds of valor. Weakening the Demon of Ruination hadn't been a feat of Strength, Dexterity, or Vitality. Intelligence was the closest, but if the stat truly was just a catch-all term for Simon's proficiency with magic, then it didn't fit either.

So the system had done what any self-respecting administrator did when faced with a roadblock...and passed the buck to someone lower down the chain. Simon could distribute his Level 3 stat points whichever way he pleased.

A part of him wanted to believe that this was an intentional design choice on behalf of the gods of Good. It made sense when viewed from a top-down perspective. If a champion raised their Level through killing, then their stats would largely be decided for him.

But if they instead gained Experience through heroic deeds, then they could mold themselves into any kind of fighter they desired. It incentivized the gods' chosen champion to conduct themselves like a hero – as opposed to an aimless murderhobo.

However, Simon had met enough project managers to know better. The stat point flexibility from Heroic Valor was likely an unintended side effect. Something about it just screamed 'It's not a bug, it's a feature!' to him.

That wasn't a bad thing. Abusing exploits was a tried-and-true method of getting stronger in RPGs.

Now for the million dollar question. He gazed at his Character Sheet once more. How should I spend my stats? What will help me survive?

It depended heavily on the next type of enemy he encountered. Maybe he would have to overpower something, or outrun something, or need the durability to endure just one solid hit. Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality were all crucial for different reasons.

Intelligence less so, but that might rapidly become his most important stat if he learned magic one day. Neglecting it now felt like an easy way to screw himself in the long run. Shoving more points into Intelligence might even be what triggered his genesis as a Valtian sorcerer...although he wasn't willing to test that particular theory. Too much risk of wasted resources.

After much deliberation, he opted to heroically pass the buck to future-Simon. He was a smart guy. He would figure it out.

Moving on, present-Simon went further down his Character Sheet, scrolling past the lists of Traits, Active Skills, and Passive Skills. A section had been inserted at the bottom: Demonic Skills, complete with three completely new abilities.

His mouth split into a wide grin. Stat points may have been the backbone of his power, but Skills represented options. It was enough to send his adventurer's heart aflutter.

Demonic Shapeshift [Right Arm] (Rank MAX)
-Your right arm now houses Fell power, which can be unleashed by assuming its true form. When this arm is Shapeshifted, your latent Demonic Skills become usable. Shapeshifting may be performed at will and costs no MP.

For the umpteenth time, Simon watched as his human arm morphed to a limb of demonic savagery. Silver-black scales. Wicked talons as sharp as daggers. Even the arm's muscles felt stronger, as if benefiting from a diluted Glove of Power.

It was amazing.

It was also something he should never show another human. Kirkelas' words still rang clear in his mind.

'This is likely your first encounter with a Demon, which means your mind is rife with misinformation and paranoia. The weightiness of our aura can feel...stifling. However, rest assured that the untoward rumors of my kind have been greatly exaggerated.'

People in Valtia weren't fans of demons. Shocker.

Simon doubted that they'd cut him any slack if they saw his Shapeshifted arm. His excuses of only being Fell-Touched would fall on deaf ears. Then it was straight to the angry mob wielding torches and pitchforks.

And looking at his other two Demonic Skills...he wouldn't have blamed them.

Fell Harvest (Rank 1)
-When holding a person or creature in your Shapeshifted Arm's clutches, you may drain their life force. Draining them to the point of death will increase a chosen stat by 1 point.

-As this ability evolves, more stat points shall be gained per death-drain.

Simon intended to use Fell Harvest every chance he got. Four drains was equal to a whole Level, and that was just at Rank 1. It would significantly hasten his long-term growth; he couldn't have asked for a more advantageous Skill to acquire early on.

...Yet it probably wasn't the wisest Skill to employ around other humans. They wouldn't take kindly to seeing a 'Demon' suck the life out of creatures, even if he exclusively used it on mindless Beasts.

Although he imagined that Fell Harvest would still be better-received than his third Demonic Skill.

Subjugate Territory (Rank 1)
-A unique demonic ability gained by subsuming mana from Kirkelas the Conqueror. If the established leader or governing body of a village, town, city, or any similar settlement yields authority to you, then you are granted authority of the aforementioned area.

-Native residents of this area will feel partially compelled to follow your orders. This authority cannot be revoked except by your death.

-As this ability evolves, more benefits shall be gained.

The Demon's title wasn't for show. He'd actually gotten stronger from conquering.

Simon listened carefully. By now, he was far away from the bottom of Caelryn Cave. But if he strained his ears...he could barely hear the sound of Kirkelas wishing a virulent pox upon his family and household.

It brought another smile to his face. Two days in Valtia, and I'm already making new friends.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he was going to get much mileage out of Subjugate Territory. Not in the short term. He wouldn't be opposed to, say, unseating a dictator and usurping their capital city, but using the Skill on random settlements just struggling to get by would make him no better than the Conqueror himself.

Simon had a few too many morals for that. Besides – pragmatically speaking, conquering places like an evil overlord wouldn't earn him any bonus EXP from Heroic Valor.

...Unless there was an ethical way to subjugate a town...

He'd think on that later. At the moment, he was faced with another decision.

The entrance to Caelryn Cave lay in front of him. Early afternoon sunlight was streaming through the opening, banishing darkness with rays of soothing radiance. The light was like one of Grace's hugs after a rough day, inviting him to step forward and leave the cave's dismal halls behind. Especially since Kirkelas would eventually settle down, regenerate his power, and begin devising a revenge plan against the upstart human who'd wronged him.

But while Caelryn Cave was no Sanctuary Tree, its entrance was guarded by a pair of Warding Orbs. In here, he was safe from the Red-Eyed Fell Beast. Hopefully.

Outside? Who knew. It could be inches away at any time. Lurking just out of sight...until the very instant it chose to strike.

Inevitably, the worsening dryness in his throat pushed Simon onward. He couldn't stay here. Not when there were only several days of drinkable water left in Inventory. Before he found a renewable source of nourishment, no place was truly 'safe'.

Risking your life in the present was always preferable to a guaranteed death in the future.

Red-Eyes is still going to ambush me when I least expect it, though. If so...

Simon stepped outside Caelryn Cave. The Warding Orbs tingled uncomfortably as he strode by them. Curious; they hadn't felt like that when he first entered. The change was almost certainly related to his newly-acquired status as a Fell-Touched Human.

Thankfully, the sensation was easily ignored – and in this case, knowing the Orbs' exact range was useful. Simon kept walking, continuing on for roughly ten feet until he could no longer feel the Warding Orbs' stinging aura. He gave it another couple feet for good measure, stopping at the end of the large stone structure attached to Caelryn Cave's entrance.

"Been a long day." The weary transmigrator stretched and sighed, leaning back against the stone structure. "Couldn't hurt to take a breather."

Simon relaxed everything except his mind. Then, with nary a hint of concern displayed on his expression...

He closed his eyes.

Don't trust your ears. Don't trust your instincts. They didn't help you last time it snuck up on you.

Just remember Kirkelas. Envision the cavern of danger and death. Crystallize what that atmosphere felt like, reduce it to a smaller scale, and–

There. Like a tiny blip on a radar.

Demonic aura.

Simon was already leaping sideways before he'd even finished opening his eyes. Twin scythes bisected the air where he had been standing, carving deep scratches into the side of the cave's stone structure. He swiftly backed up, retreating to the Warding Orbs' aura of protection.

A satisfied smile adorned his features. "Took the bait."

Four crimson eyes turned to glare at him. The light of day did nothing to make the Fell Beast more visible – its body was still fully shrouded in concealing fog. Simon observed the Beast as it retracted its scythe-limbs, the menacing blades of steel disappearing as if they'd faded from existence.

Relief flowed through him when the creature stayed where it was. As long as he was near the cave entrance, it couldn't approach him. The Warding Orbs had granted him a reprieve.

He intended to use it wisely. Identify.

Name: Red-Eyed Hunter
Description: A patient Fell Beast that endlessly stalks its prey. Exists in a permanent state of invisibility and intangibility. Can bring itself into the corporeal world for a short time per day. The Red-Eyed Hunter is weaker than the other myriad types of Beasts, so it only hunts what it believes are easy marks.
Estimated Level: 9

THAT'S supposed to be weak? Simon thought, with no small amount of bafflement. It wasn't the Level that unnerved him – while still higher than his own, it was hard to be impressed with a single-digit number after chatting up the Sealed Demon of Ruination.

Red-Eye's unique properties, however, were horrifying. Relentless. Invisible. Intangible. A perfect assassin in every way. Even if an experienced warrior could presumably repel it, this was the kind of creature that ensured children never lived to see adulthood.

And when compared to other Fell Beasts, it apparently ranked low on the totem pole.

How in the world have the people of Valtia lasted this long? Simon glanced back at the Warding Orbs behind him. More of those? Lots more of those. Has to be.

Gathering his thoughts, he examined the Red-Eyed Hunter. It hadn't budged. According to Identify, the Beast could only turn corporeal for a short period each day. If he waited, it would be forced to vanish, just like it had when he took shelter within the Sanctuary Tree.

Tempting. But the Hunter was also described as relentless. It would come for him again tomorrow...and there might not be any Orbs or Trees around him next time.

Simon made a snap decision. He summoned his broken sword, holding it in his Glove of Power. His right arm Shapeshifted to its demonic form, silver-black scales gleaming viciously in the sunlight.

Lastly, he put his four unspent points straight into Dexterity, bringing the stat up to 13. What he needed now was speed – enough to rush down Red-Eyes and slay the Fell Beast before it disappeared.

I'm Level 3...it's Level 8...that's doable, Simon mused, with absolutely zero evidence to support his forced bravado. His thoughts raced as fast as his feet, the distance between him and Red-Eyes rapidly narrowing. Shouldn't have missed your opening strike. When prey is backed into a corner, ready to fight for its right to life, there's no difference between the hunter and the hunted–

It was at that moment, when he was in the middle of hyping himself up with the first cheesy lines he could think of, that Simon realized something rather peculiar.

The Fell Beast was completely motionless. Even its swirling fog seemed to have frozen still. It hadn't reacted at all to his approach.

Except for its four red eyes – staring directly at his demonic arm.

An inhuman screech of terror blasted Simon's ears. The Hunter immediately leaped backwards, exhibiting far greater speed than a meager 13 Dexterity. Its eyes were bulging with fear, their collective gaze fixated on his arm, never letting it out of sight.

And then, like flicking a switch, it was gone. Simon was alone.

He stood in silence until his brain caught up to what he'd just witnessed.

"...Wait! Come back! I wanted to see how much EXP you'd give me!"

--

Red-Eyes didn't return the next day. Or the day after that.

Coward. Some 'relentless' hunter you turned out to be.

Simon knew he should be relieved. As anticipated, there hadn't been any more Sanctuary Trees or Warding Orbs along the road. A visit from Red-Eyes would've likely resulted in a premature end to his Valtian vacay. Most importantly, he needed to retain composure at all times – an unsettled mindset was hardly conducive to survival.

Yet his list of grievances were starting to pile up. He was thirsty, hungry, tired from sleeping badly on the harsh rocky ground, on-edge due to constantly watching for Fell Beast ambushes, mentally understimulated from traipsing through a barren wasteland, and kicking himself for rashly allocating four stat points. Dexterity wasn't a bad choice, but what if it ended up being suboptimal?

Although it'll be worth it if I get to the next town sooner. A perk of increased Dexterity seemed to be that it reduced the strain of movement on his body. With the stat at 13, lightly jogging ate up as much of his stamina as walking had before coming to Valtia.

He'd finally achieved a healthy level of cardio! And all it took was transmigrating into another world. Doctors hate this one simple trick.

...I'm more bored than I thought. Simon had been told multiple times by his paren– by people that his generation was addicted to smartphones and instant gratification.

His problem was somewhat different. While the lack of stimulation was admittedly grating, this was also about when he would've stopped by Grace's soup kitchen back on Earth. If Voice-In-The-Sky had never appeared, then right now Simon would be sorting meal boxes, readying them for those in need.

Instead, he was here. Kirkelas had been a gratifying diversion, but after that? Just days of nothing. No meaningful accomplishments. No helping people or making progress.

The itch was creeping up on him.

That, more than anything else, was what he disliked about the emptiness surrounding him. It gave too much time for unwanted thoughts to infiltrate the fortress of his mind.

At least the dehydration pains should serve as an adequate distraction.

That would be affecting him soon. Simon had previously hoped that Transmigrator's Body would cure him of his dietary needs after a full night's sleep. Healing the internal 'damage' done to his body, per se.

Regrettably, that was one loophole the gods had accounted for. The System seemed to separate hunger and thirst from damage incurred via combat or injury. His stomach was just as empty upon awakening as before.

He currently had enough water to sustain him for the rest of today. Afterwards...well, he'd once read that the human body could go seventy-two hours without refreshment before it started shutting down.

If things came to that, he would be forced to bring out some of Stuart's remains from Inventory. Uncooked meat contained a good amount of water. Identify had warned him against partaking of tainted Fell flesh, but when his only alternative was gradual organ failure, what choice did he have?

With any luck, being Fell-Touched would grant him a measure of resistance to the Beast's impurities. At best, it might render him completely immune to whatever corruption made Fell flesh toxic to humans.

Not that raw meat was the smartest thing to consume even under normal circumstances.

He kept walking, walking, walking. Eventually, Simon began outright wishing for Red-Eyes to return.

Maybe its flesh would somehow be safer to eat.

--

Two more days had passed.

It was now Simon's fifth day in Valtia. Since the time that Red-Eyes fled, he hadn't seen a Fell Beast, a Sanctuary Tree, or any signs of life whatsoever. His untainted rations were gone, and he'd reread Ardyn's unsent love letters until the parchment crinkled.

Desperation was beginning to sink in.

Little farther. He moved his feet as if lifting lead weights, motivating himself with hollow assurances. Has to be just a little farther. Road can't go on forever.

Or maybe it did. Fantasy world and all that.

There was one consolation prize – the dehydration pains were indeed distracting him from other concerns. His throat felt like it was on fire, burning with insistent, unquenchable need. The rest of his body wasn't faring much better, fluctuating between aches, wooziness, exhaustion, or some combination of the above.

He would need to eat part of Stuart tomorrow. Assuming he survived the experience, the water within its meat should keep him going for...for longer. Perhaps–

Simon perked up. Movement. At the edge of the horizon.

His nerves tensed, preparing for the worst. If a Fell Beast ambushed him in this state, then he was deader than dead.

Tension rapidly shifted to annoyance as the sight became more clear.

A carriage was rushing down the road at high speeds. It resembled an old-timey caravan that settlers would've taken on the Oregon Trail, or that merchants used in the games he'd played. Wooden frame, large wheels, doors on the side, and a sturdy cloth covering the top.

Except that it had no horses pulling it. The carriage was simply zooming along without a care, in defiance of the natural laws of physics.

Simon let out a sigh. Hallucinations already? He kneaded his temples, trying to massage the pain away. If my subconscious is going to start tormenting me with false hope, then I would've preferred an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Burgers. Ice cream. Soda. God do I miss soda.

Putting the vision out of his mind, he continued marching. This was merely another trial to overcome. He couldn't get bogged down in delusions of a horseless carriage coming out of nowhere to rescue him.

Then the hallucination drew closer.

And closer.

It was about five seconds from impact when Simon's starved, malfunctioning mind grasped that it might actually be real.

"What the..." His voice cracked with disuse. "Hey! HEY! STOP!"

To its credit, the carriage did slow down...although not quickly enough. Simon was forced to throw himself sideways lest he succumb to medieval-brand vehicular manslaughter.

Still. It was the thought that counted.

The beleaguered transmigrator shakily picked himself off the ground. He eyed the caravan as it came to a halt not far away, unsure of how to feel or what to expect. Circumstances had changed so suddenly that–

Focus. Simon urged his nutrient-deprived brain to cooperate. He attempted to devise contingency plans for whatever debacle was about to transpire.

It felt like trudging through an ocean of molasses. Baby steps, then. Make things easy on myself.

When in doubt: gather intel.

With the bizarre contraption now close by, he took the chance to examine it in detail. No less than four Warding Orbs were embedded onto the carriage's wooden exterior. Aside from that, it didn't look like anything that he hadn't seen in pictures on Earth. Considering Valtia's presumed level of technology, the vehicle was likely propelled by either magic spells or Artifacts.

That was all the time he had to investigate before two people hopped out from inside.

The duo consisted of a man and a woman, each in their early 40s of age. Both were sporting clothes of much finer make than Simon's threadbare ensemble. They still weren't up to Earth standards of luxury, but compared to them, he may as well have been wearing a potato sack.

After five days of solitude – excluding Kirkelas and Red-Eyes – seeing other people in the flesh nearly prompted Simon to burst into cheer. Mostly from imagining the rations nestled within that wonderful caravan of theirs, but hey. He wouldn't turn down the simple joy of pleasant company.

Now if only they could sheath their swords and cease glaring at him with murderous intent. Then things would really be in business.

"Who are you?" The woman took point, speaking in a harsh, questioning tone. "And how in Helmund's name are you alive? Traveling alone on the road, no carriage or Warding Orbs, that...shouldn't be...possible...."

Her words faltered. With a mixture of haste and subdued fear, she gestured to the man beside her. "Ebris – you have that portable Orb with you? Think this might be a new type of Hunter. Some deceiving Fell Beast in disguise."

Well, yes, but actually no. Would the people of Valtia view a Fell-Touched human as a Beast?

Probably best not to test that hypothesis.

"Let's calm down," Simon professed. He raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. "We're all friends here."

The man belted out a derisive laugh. "Are we now? Then tell me – which friend of mine am I addressing, hmm? What's your name?"

In the few seconds afforded to him before he had to answer, Simon took stock of the current situation. Need info.

Identify.

Name: Ebris Twobreath
Description: A merchant of sorts. Armed, dangerous, and won't hesitate to defend himself. Suspicious of those he does not know.
Estimated Level: 9

Name: Lucette Drenoka
Description: A merchant of sorts. Armed, dangerous, and won't hesitate to defend herself. Views family as sacrosanct, and those outside the family...not so much.
Estimated Level: 8

That was less detail that he'd wanted. Simon willed Identify to give him more, but the Descriptions remained unchanged. He still didn't know what governed the information it chose to reveal.

They're both wary of strangers. Understandable, when creatures like Red-Eyes roamed the lands, but not super helpful. They wouldn't be willing to aid him out of the goodness of their heart.

Both their Levels are higher than mine, too. Little surprise there. Pretty much everyone in Valtia with a modicum of combat expertise would be stronger than Level 3.

Not that he could've defeated them even if he was Level 30. His body was essentially shutting down; a stiff breeze would've laid him low and danced on his corpse.

What else is there? Merchants. Right. I can work with that.

Merchants should be receptive to profitable bargains. If he showed them something that interested them – like interdimensional storage for ferrying cargo – then they'd be tempted to keep him around.

He much preferred that to relying on the kindness of strangers. Generosity and goodwill were finite, fragile concepts, liable to shatter at the first mistake you made. Like a beautiful stained glass window with a sledgehammer suspended just inches above.

Fulfill someone's personal desires, though, and they would often treat you better than their own kin.

"My name is Simon Cobblestone." He straightened his posture, drawing up every ounce of energy left in his failing body. "I'm–"

"Cobblestone?"

He was interrupted by a startled utterance from Lucette. The woman's mouth had fallen open. "Do...do you know a man called Ardyn?"

Simon froze. 'Do I know Ardyn?' he internally repeated. It took him a split-second for his confusion to subside, and for his addled mind to connect the dots.

THEY know Ardyn.

Opportunity was a curious thing. It wasn't a living creature, and it usually couldn't be predicted in advance – yet it shaped the history of the world, raising rulers and toppling others in equal measure. The difference between those who succeeded in life and those who crawled through the festering gutter of defeat...was a mere matter of seconds. Seize the moment, or wallow in disgrace.

Simon seized this moment like a lifeline in a storm. He spoke before the thought was even fully formed, trusting his instincts to guide him to safe harbor.

"You've met my cousin Ardyn?"

--

Thanks for reading!