Chapter 283
“What doesn’t kill me will make me stronger,” she spoke to herself in a firm voice. It was the first serious note to her voice after returning.
Her gaze sharpened, a glint flickering in her eyes as she straightened her posture, shoulders rolling back with newfound purpose. Her eyes were no longer filled with fear but rather excitement and ambition.
She traced a jagged scar along her wrist, her fingers lingering on the rough skin—a silent testament to survival—before gripping her dagger with a resolve that hardened her features. She was prepared for death, and this was something that she would prevent.
“Boy… I can’t wait to meet you again. Next time, I wonder how much you would have grown?” She pictured their next meeting, the boy—no, the man he would become—standing before her, his power even greater. And she, stronger still, ready to face him, to tame the beast he would become.
She wanted to see what sort of monster that kid would become once he grew up.
She turned sharply, boots thudding against the stone as she marched toward the camp area.
The campfires flickered in the distance, casting elongated shadows that stretched like grasping hands, but she didn’t waver. Each step was a promise—to herself, to him, to the unknown future that awaited.
And to tame such a beast, she had to become stronger as well.
‘But still, why didn’t he kill me?’
Her brow furrowed, and she halted mid-step. The memory resurfaced—his blade, gleaming under dim light, poised just inches from her throat. And yet… he hesitated. Why? The more she thought about it, the more unnatural it seemed. It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t hesitation. It was something else.
It was something that she found hard to justify no matter what.
There shouldn’t be any reason for him to have let her go so easily.
It was nagging her too, just like Vasoth.
She clenched her jaw, recalling how he sidestepped her strikes with uncanny precision, his every word a careful mask that revealed nothing of his intent.
She had observed and knew that the boy was far from simple; he was the opposite of being simple, every action of his felt deceptive.
Each glance, each pause, each breath—none of it felt accidental.
In fact, now that she thought about it, her pulse quickened. A creeping thought slithered into her mind, unsettling and insidious. Was that even his real face?
She squinted into the distance, picturing his features again—had there been a faint shimmer, a ripple in the air around him that betrayed some trickery? What if it was just a strong disguise—a front to fool her and all the other demons?
Otherwise, why would someone sane go around the demon cities showing his face and make enemies out of the Inquisitors on their first visit?
She had read about the report collected from the locals.
He had lingered too long at the tavern, asking clumsy questions that drew narrowed eyes, his outsider’s cloak clashing with the locals’ garb in a way that screamed inexperience. She believed it was the boy’s first visit; he had left behind too many traces, trusted unknown sources, and seemed quite naive in his strategic placements after coming to the city.
A thrill surged through her, her pulse quickening as she pieced together the clues, certain she was closing in on the truth. She felt that she was close to it; her hunch was telling her that she might have just hit the bullseye.
That the boy was simply wearing a complex disguise to shield himself from their eyes.
And…
Since he had the mysterious ability to bypass their senses, then why could he not also have the ability to change his facial structure or mask himself to appear as someone else?
That was not entirely impossible either.
She knew of some demons who could sew the skins of the fallen human exorcists and make very real-looking human skin suits.
Once someone wears and fits into them, they become almost just like the humans whose skin was peeled off.
And this was quite useful too; it was said that they had many spies planted in the human lands using this method.
Skin too tight, smiles too practiced, a heartbeat half a second too slow—that’s how you knew.
Unless someone highly perceptive forcibly looked into it, they would not be able to differentiate at a glance.
It was that sophisticated.
She had seen it before—demons disguised as humans, their skins peeled from fallen exorcists.
Once, she had interrogated one such spy, his human facade so convincing that even she had been momentarily fooled. But under scrutiny, the illusion had cracked. It just showed how advanced those skin techniques were.
She remembered peeling back that false skin with her own hands, the squelch of flesh separating from flesh. The sight of fear twisting in the demon’s eyes as his cover was ripped away.
She tilted her head, imagining him shedding a stolen skin like a snake, his true face lurking beneath. There might be a possibility that the human too had used a similar method.
Perhaps, an elixir or potion?
A flicker of disgust curled at the corner of her mouth. The human alchemists were quite capable, even if it was the bitter truth. The demons still could not compete in terms of alchemy even now.
Sera frowned, replaying the events in her mind. Did he need her alive to witness something—spread rumors, perhaps—or was she a cog in a scheme she couldn’t yet grasp? Why had he spared her?
It made no sense. Unless… unless he had a reason to keep her alive. Perhaps he needed her for something, or maybe it was part of a larger plan.
Or, more likely, he was hiding something—his true identity, perhaps.
She thought back to his face, his mannerisms. Was there something off about him? Something that didn’t quite fit? The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was almost too perfect, too calculated. And his knowledge of the city—it was as if he had studied it thoroughly, yet he made rookie mistakes in covering his tracks.