The next morning arrived softly, wrapped in pale sunlight that filtered through the thin curtains of the tavern room.
Vincent stood by the window, steam curling from the cup in his hand. He seeped the hot tea slowly, savoring its bitterness as it slid down his throat. Leon's face reflected faintly against the glass, calm and heroic, yet the eyes staring back held something far older.
Satisfaction lingered on his lips, subtle and dangerous.
Behind him, Liana stood quietly near the door. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, framing the faint glow of enchanted tattoos that circled her neck and wrists like dark jewelry. They pulsed gently, almost breathing with her.
She looked the same as she had yesterday.
Yet something had shifted.
Her posture was softer, her gaze steadier, anchored entirely to him. The air around her felt heavier, warmer, as though an invisible thread bound her to the man wearing her son's face.
A translucent screen shimmered faintly before Vincent's vision.
[ name: Liana DrakenClass: Demon HunterRace: Demonspawn 10%Rank 5 Tier 6Skills….. ]
A quiet smirk tugged at his lips.
When Vincent took a woman into his arms, it was never merely pleasure. His essence settled deep within them, patient and invasive, reshaping them cell by cell. Their bodies adapted. Their souls bent.
Loyal. Strong. Hungry for him alone.
The demon hunters who once sought his head now carried fragments of him within their blood. Liana was no different. Leon's mother, once righteous and unyielding, now stood silently awaiting his next word.
"Hmm, I'm hungry."
His tone was light, almost playful. He set the empty cup aside and turned.
Without hesitation, Liana followed.
They descended the creaking wooden stairs of the tavern. The scent of baked bread and roasted meat drifted upward, mixing with the chatter of early patrons. Morning light spilled across rough tables scarred by years of spilled ale and arguments.
A table had already been prepared.
Vincent sat, one hand resting on a fork, the other idly turning an apple between his fingers. Liana remained standing until he gestured for her to speak.
"Now tell me. What kind of changes has Valor experienced in recent years. I want to know everything you can remember."
Her voice was steady as she began recounting the state of the kingdom.
The western borders had collapsed into chaos. The Dark Plain Lord had pressed forward relentlessly, forcing Valor to divert nearly all of its forces. Towns emptied. Resources thinned. Years of quiet war had drained the kingdom's spirit.
Nurturing demon hunters had grown increasingly difficult. Too few resources. Too many casualties.
Vincent listened without interrupting, though his fingers tightened slightly around the apple.
"If not for the queen and the royal family's obsession with you, they would have abandoned the tower long ago," Liana added.
A low chuckle escaped him.
"Hehe, that bitch was always bad at ruling."
His eyes darkened. The queen of Valor had lived centuries, yet pettiness clung to her like perfume. Prideful. Vain. Forever grasping at validation.
She had hunted him not out of duty, but out of wounded ego.
"What is the situation with the tier 9 heroes in the kingdom?" he asked, the bitterness no longer hidden.
Back then he had stood at tier 8, surrounded by enemies. Not only the queen, but the shadowed figures backing her throne. He had been forced to retreat, to imprison himself within his own tower and let the world believe he was defeated.
"I only know that Grandmaster Don recently fell sick," Liana replied. "There is speculation that the old king has died. Some believe that is why the invasion began."
Vincent's fork tapped lightly against the plate.
Grandmaster Don sick. The old king possibly dead. The western front collapsing.
Opportunity hid within weakness.
"Okay." He nodded slowly, a smile forming that did not reach his eyes.
Revenge simmered within him, but revenge alone was not enough. He needed evolution. Only by ascending further could he step into the deeper currents of this world's true struggle.
"It's spring now…" he murmured, glancing out the window.
Outside, blossoms trembled on nearby trees. The season of renewal. Of beginnings.
Meanwhile, far from the quiet tavern deep in the capital city there was a buzz of excitement.
"The Banquet of Valor. What a beautiful event. Shame not everyone can attend."
Citizens gathered around freshly posted flyers pasted onto stone walls. The ink was still dark and bold, depicting golden halls and glittering chandeliers.
The Banquet of Valor was a royal tradition, held each year in the capital. The most brilliant scholars, the strongest adventurers, the wealthiest patrons all gathered beneath one roof.
It was the queen's display of generosity. Her spectacle.
This year, rumors claimed it would surpass all previous celebrations. She had promised it personally.
Of course, entry was not granted lightly. Prestige was the price of admission.
"Get into the demon hunter academy," a brutish man said, ruffling the hair of a young boy staring wide eyed at the flyer. "Graduate, and you might attend one day."
The boy nodded, determination flickering across his small face.
The man's features seemed familiar.
Very familiar.