"Hahaha. As a man with no sons, I am quite envious. I feel like I'd want to raise one myself."
"Is that so?"
"Hmm?"
"No, it is nothing."
It was Baron Schneider, hastily slurring his words. For a moment, he had been tempted. But setting aside his son who was shooting him a 'what is this old man saying' look, he couldn't do such a terrible thing to Count Parmas, the Marching Count of the eastern territory.
"Ahem, well, I must first express my gratitude. Young Patrick. Thanks to you, my daughter is safe. As her father, I thank you."
"It was nothing. But about that assailant..."
"Ah, you mean the scion of the House of Baron Malcolm?"
"I do not know of his family, but was he always like that?"
"There are many young noblemen in the eastern territory who admire my daughter. You could say pretty much all of them do."
'Count me out.' Patrick wanted to say it, but Count Parmas's pride in his daughter was immense. His expression was filled with sincerity, as if it was only natural for any man to be captivated by his daughter.
"But no matter how charming my daughter is, there has never been a man who dared to do something like this. Do you know why?"
"It is because you, my lord Count, protected the young lady thoroughly."
"Hahaha. That is right. Is it not natural to guard a treasure closely?"
"Yes, yes. Your daughter is very pretty. In your eyes, that is."
"The scion of House Malcolm did admire my daughter, but a case like this is a first. In fact, according to the testimonies of those around him, the son of House Malcolm had a timid personality and lacked the nerve to even speak to my daughter."
"But he suddenly caused a scene this time?"
"Yes. As if he had suddenly become a different person."
The Count continued, his expression serious.
"You, who have faced him directly, would know, but the young Malcolm was by no means in a normal state. Neither his body nor his mind."
"Yes, that is true."
"Especially that black aura that erupted from his body. Anyone who knows anything would know what that signifies."
The people gathered in the banquet hall had already seen the black aura emanating from the son of Baron Malcolm. There was no one who did not know what it meant.
"A black mage has pulled the strings from behind. I am sure of it."
"Do you mean to say those cursed seeds still remain?"
To the lamenting Baron Schneider, Count Parmas sighed and said, "Uprooting them is not as easy as it sounds. They are merely hiding in the darkness. They were not annihilated."
Black mages.
This term referred to the humans who had sided with the demons and fought alongside them in the war against the demons centuries ago.
A black mage, having made a pact with demons and receiving power directly from them, could quickly obtain great strength, but their personality would twist into evil, and in the end, they would be reborn as a being that could no longer be called human.
After winning the war against the demons, humans hunted down and killed these black mages like rats, but even after hundreds of years, black mages still existed. Occasionally, whenever an incident occurred, such as a mass death, an epidemic, or a high-ranking noble dying from a curse, black mages were behind it.
"I do not know how the black mage approached the scion of House Malcolm, but it seems he used the young man's feelings for my daughter to make his move."
"Manipulating someone by exploiting their weakness. It is just the sort of thing a black mage would do."
"Indeed. Well, of course, nothing is confirmed yet. The culprit is now locked in prison, so we will have to conduct a detailed investigation through a mage later to know for sure."
At that moment, Patrick interjected into the conversation.
"Is the culprit in the underground prison right now?"
"That is right. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. It is nothing of consequence."
Afterward, the Count continued to chat with Baron Schneider about various things, but Patrick let it all in one ear and out the other. 'An underground prison... I should check it out before a mage arrives.'
Patrick also had something to confirm with that young scion of House Malcolm, or whatever his name was.
The underground prison of the House of Count Parmas. A guard keeping watch there was dozing off, seemingly bored with his dawn shift.
"Hey. Wake up."
"Mm... Ah. I almost fell asleep."
"Tsk tsk, how can you be sleepy when there's a prisoner inside that the Count is concerned about?"
"Ah, I said I'm sorry."
"Stay sharp. A guard should not let even a single mouse pass... Huh? Who goes there?"
"What? What is it?"
The guard, startled, aimed his spear and hastily got into position.
However…
"Kekeke, tricked you."
"You son of a..."
"Woke you right up, didn't I?"
"Ugh, you scared me!?"
Behind the scolding soldier, another presence muttered softly.
"Tell me about it..."
There was one person who was truly startled, thinking that an unknown prison guard had actually detected his presence. It was Patrick. Patrick, who was quietly infiltrating the underground prison on an errand, had been shocked when the guard pointed precisely in his direction and shouted.
'Then again, even those Shaolin baldies couldn't find me when I infiltrated their Thunder Prison, so how could these guys?' Why did he secretly enter the Shaolin Thunder Prison, you ask? Let's just say it was because there was a man in there who needed a good thrashing.
After skillfully hiding in the darkness and entering, Patrick found the culprit collapsed inside the prison, breathing raggedly.
"There are no other prisoners. I can check this quietly."
"Kuh... Grrrrr... Ugh..."
Hearing Patrick's voice, the young scion of House Malcolm, who was groaning on the floor, made a sound like a beast growling. To do this even when his jaw was shattered and he couldn't speak meant he still had some fight left in him. In truth, it was a feeling closer to hatred than fighting spirit.
"I was a bit unsure earlier, but let's just check one more time."
Patrick grabbed the wrist of the collapsed opponent and infused energy into him.
And then...
"As I thought..."
Patrick's expression turned cold. He had been somewhat certain. But confirming it directly like this brought about a different feeling.
"It's demonic energy. The same kind those bastards from the Demonic Sect wield."
This was the real reason Patrick had to step in. It wasn't just for the money.
The powers of the martial world Patrick had lived in were largely divided into three. The Righteous, the Unorthodox, and the Demonic. The righteous path were the guys who would swing their swords shouting, 'You evil bastards, die.'
The unorthodox alliance were the guys who would swing their swords, saying, 'You hypocritical bastards, die.' And the Demonic Sect...
"Heavenly Demon Descends, Ten Thousand Demons Bow! Kill all who deny the Heavenly Demon's name!"
"Hold your tongue. Blood Demon Descends, All Hail Asura! Kill all the apostates!"
They were the kind of people who fought even among themselves. Why was that? For that, one had to look at their history.
Originally, the Demonic Sect was known as the Bright Flame Cult, a sect of martial artists who revered fire. Before the concept of the martial world even took shape, they had openly and secretly aided Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty, spreading their influence far and wide.
They prospered to the point that there were rumors they might be designated the state religion of the Ming Dynasty. From this Bright Flame Cult, an outstanding figure emerged. In fact, two of them.
The Heavenly Demon and the Blood Demon. An outstanding talent, the likes of which are hard to find even once in an era, happened to emerge in the same era, from the same organization. Two of them.
And they were both candidates for the position of the next sect leader. In such cases, the existence of geniuses is not necessarily a boon to an organization. First of all, the two of them were too strong.
Even if they had been born as sons of nameless villagers without the backing of the Bright Flame Cult, they were monsters who would have grown on their own and made their names in the history of the martial world as great masters of their generation.
And they were born as candidates for the next leader of the Bright Flame Cult. The two naturally became rivals, and eventually, that rivalry escalated into an internal war. As a result, the Bright Flame Cult split into two, one becoming the Heavenly Demon Sect, and the other, the Blood Asura Cult.
These two organizations claimed to be the rightful lineage and fought each other to the death. For hundreds of years. Their internal conflict was so fierce that they did not engage much in external activities.
But very rarely... When a martial artist who trained in the demonic arts of the Demonic Sect or the Blood Cult, commonly known as a demonic cultivator, appeared in the Central Plains, a storm of blood would follow.
Usually, the demonic cultivators who appeared in the Central Plains were individuals who had caused so much trouble that even the Demonic Sect or the Blood Cult couldn't handle them, and were thus exiled or had fled. In other words, they were completely and utterly mad.
And each time, the martial world of the Central Plains had to shudder at the strength of the demonic cultivators. Though the demonic cultivators numbered less than one-hundredth of the righteous or unorthodox paths, the power they possessed was astonishing.
There were three instances in the history of the martial world where the righteous and unorthodox paths formed an alliance, and all three were formed to fight against the demonic cultivators of the Demonic Sect or the Blood Cult. That was how strong and dangerous the demonic cultivators were.
And Patrick had faced one of those demonic cultivators in his past life. 'He was a madman who would catch a hundred young boys on the night of the new moon and bathe in their blood.' Patrick had seen it with his own eyes.
He had seen the demonic cultivator, submerged in a pond of blood, wearing an ecstatic expression as if drunk on fine wine. The scene of that tragedy was so horrific that even his good-natured Master couldn't help but curse.
It was so cruel and savage that it made one doubt how a human could do such a thing to another human. Most of the training processes for the demonic cultivators' martial arts were like that. Absorbing another's internal energy, drinking blood, or plundering a woman's vital essence—it was mostly of that nature.
Despite the gruesomeness of such methods, the existence of demonic cultivators continued to appear without end. Because it was the fastest and most certain path to obtaining power. At that time, Patrick had managed to cut off that demonic cultivator's head, but he had to exchange over a thousand blows to do so.
Considering that Patrick's martial prowess at the time was such that he could easily subdue the Sect Leaders of the Nine Great Sects within a hundred moves, the demonic cultivator's strength was astounding. And the demonic energy of such a demonic cultivator…
"Why has it appeared here?"
Patrick's expression grew serious. From the moment he first saw this man at the banquet hall, he had faintly sensed the presence of demonic energy. But seeing him again like this, he could feel its presence even more clearly.
Could it be that the Demonic Sect or the Blood Cult also exists here?
"Hmm, uh... wait, this is a bit different."
Patrick's expression changed again as he investigated the opponent's interior. In the process of checking where and how the demonic energy was located inside the body, he discovered that the demonic energy was not in the dantian but was concentrated near the heart. This was not the way of a demonic cultivator.
Whether it was demonic energy or just ordinary energy, it was common sense for a martial artist to gather energy in the dantian. This was an unchangeable piece of common sense, whether one practiced a peerless divine art or a third-rate martial art from the streets. Demonic cultivators were no exception.
'On second thought, our founding ancestor who came up with the idea of splitting the precious dantian in two was the real madman.' In any case, this was not a demonic art of a demonic cultivator.
If so…
"This means those fellows called black mages wield demonic energy. This could be a headache."
How dangerous could these black mages be? Since being reborn in this world, Patrick had never felt a presence that could be considered a threat. The fight with the King Ogre was the only real threat, but that was when he was inexperienced.
If they fought again now, he could take it down with ease. But if the power of the black mages was not inferior to the demonic cultivators Patrick remembered…
"I won't be able to end this quietly."
Patrick's expression hardened quite seriously. He had jumped into this affair thinking he would just make a small show of it, but it seemed increasingly likely that it wouldn't end so simply.