Armin made his way down to the first floor of the inn.
The wooden steps groaned beneath his weight, and the air was thick with the scent of old ale and seasoned meats. A dark elf woman—the innkeeper—gave him a neutral nod, her wrinkled face devoid of warmth. He returned it with a silent dip of his head and took a booth in the far corner.
He ordered the special.
Minutes later, she placed a steaming plate before him. Dusk Cow Steak—charred just right, juicy and slathered in a thick, dark sauce. It carried a tangy bitterness he couldn't quite place. Earthy. Rich. Almost nostalgic.
Actually,no,it was not nostalgic as his mother practically didn't cook for him mostly because she hated his guts.
"The Great Stampede ruined most of the Demon Realm's crops," the innkeeper muttered as she turned away. "Used to taste better."
Armin merely nodded.
He knew. He'd died to that damn stampede once.
Then the whispers began.
At first, just a murmur. Then it swelled—soft, excited, dangerous.
"Did you hear? The Colosseum has a new master…"
"They say the old one died mysteriously—his head was gone!"
"No one saw the killer. But they're saying it was Duke Romulus."
The voices mingled and clashed, forming a dull roar of rumor and speculation. Armin didn't turn around, but every word lodged itself in his brain like barbs. He slowly set his fork down and stared blankly at his half-eaten meal.
'First I'm freed… others too. Then the master dies, and a new one's already in place?'
Suspicion slithered through his gut.
He stood abruptly and returned to his room.
'Duke Romulus… he killed the colosseum master? Damn. Can't believe I'll have to kill that bastard one day.'
Inside, Dike and Eirene were still sprawled on the bed, playing with a ragged, stuffed creature made of burlap and dry grass. Their giggles filled the space like birdsong.
'These two… saints?'
The thought clung to him like a shadow.
He couldn't make sense of it. Couldn't reconcile the purity in their eyes with the weight of the prophecy tied to them.
His jaw clenched. Knuckles tightened.
Too many people had already tried to twist them—turn them into tools, icons, or weapons.
And then there was Herina.
The goddess herself.
He had met her. Spoken with her. She was nothing like what the humans believed.
They revered her as a divine judge, a bringer of order. But in truth?
She was… a weirdo.
She adored soft things. Obsessed over cute animals. She squealed at anything remotely adorable. The kind of woman who knitted bunny-shaped scarves and cried during lullabies.
She didn't send children into war. She hated the idea.
He remembered her saying that clearly.
Herina had created the humans. All of Imperia, even. She was a deity. A being descended from the True Angels—guardians of the Archive of Souls. The ones who managed Heaven and Hell itself.
Another of their kind had apparently chosen a hero of his own now.
A rival piece on the chessboard.
It all made sense, and yet it didn't.
When humans discovered they were Herina's creations, they twisted that revelation into something ugly. They decided anything not shaped like them—demons, beastfolk, elves—were outsiders.
That arrogance sparked a war.
Fifteen thousand years of fire and hatred. Of genocides and massacres.
Demons—Armin's people—were almost wiped out.
'War brings nothing but loss…' he thought as he sat at the edge of the bed, watching the children tumble over each other, their laughter echoing through the room.
It was painful. Beautiful. A sound he wanted to protect.
'I should teach them self-defense,' he decided. 'They won't use their Veil Arts. I won't let them. That power… it's a reminder of the pain they've been through. Better they learn what I know—honest fighting. Basics. Survival.'
He stood, stretching with a quiet grunt, then clapped his hands.
"Alright, kids. We're heading out."
They froze, then turned toward him with glowing eyes.
"YAY!!" they shouted in unison, scrambling off the bed.
Armin allowed himself a small smile.
For a moment, the weight in his chest felt lighter.
Outskirts of Romian City.
The Red Desert stretched endlessly ahead, its crimson dunes swallowing the horizon. Minerals sparkled beneath the sun, and heat shimmered off the sand like ghosts.
Dike and Eirene followed close behind, holding tightly to their stuffed toy, bouncing along in joy. Their footprints joined Armin's in the scarlet dust.
In his hand was a standard longsword—one he'd purchased from the city.
His father's blade, the one Herina had personally blessed, remained untouched in his storage.
It was too powerful. Too sacred. Too revealing.
He had no desire to use it unless absolutely necessary.
"Alright," Armin said, stopping mid-slope. The children halted behind him.
"I want you to throw rocks—far away from us. As far as you can."
They nodded and scattered, picking up pebbles and stones from the mineral-rich sand, flinging them as far as their little arms allowed.
Dike turned to ask something, but his words froze in his mouth.
The ground exploded.
A Glutton Worm burst forth with a thunderous screech, its massive body crashing through the sand like a tidal wave. Its pale, bloated skin glistened unnaturally—slick with mucus despite the desert heat. Rows of spinning, saw-like teeth churned inside its gaping maw.
Eirene screamed.
Armin didn't flinch.
"Watch out for falling debris, kids," he said calmly, slipping the regular sword back into storage.
Golden light shimmered around his hand.
And with a pulse of divine energy, his father's blade appeared—gleaming, heavy power.
The sword gleamed in his hand, gold runes pulsing faintly along its gray blade. The sand around him shimmered as the Veil responded to the weapon's presence—this was no ordinary sword. It was the one Herina had given him
The Glutton Worm screeched—a warbling, metallic noise that vibrated through the ground. Its grotesque body slithered through the sand, half-buried, mucus steaming in the desert heat. It lunged.
Armin's eyes sharpened. Time slowed.
He took a single breath, then moved.
A burst of speed. His feet barely left a mark in the sand as he dashed forward, slicing upward just as the worm's gaping mouth descended. Sparks flew as his blade scraped against the creature's rotating teeth, parrying the force aside. A wide arc, a spinning slash—he carved into its side.
Red blood sprayed, sizzling against the hot sand.
The children closed their eyes for a moment before opening them again.
The worm roared again and twisted, its body coiling upward like a serpent ready to strike.
Behind him, Dike and Eirene ducked behind a large dune, their wide eyes locked on Armin's silhouette.
"See how he waits for it to move first?" Eirene whispered.
"Yeah… He's not even scared," Dike murmured, clutching the stuffed creature tighter.
Armin was scared,he was scared the children will get hurtm
He was scared that they will not be able to grow up in peace.
He was scared that war could not the avoided.
The worm lunged again, faster this time. Armin leapt, flipping over the jaws, then brought his blade down like a bolt of lightning. It cleaved through the worm's slick hide, cutting deep into muscle and bone. The beast writhed, shrieking. A geyser of red ichor followed.
But it wasn't dead.
The worm slammed its body into the sand, causing a minor tremor. Dust and red mineral clouds burst upward. A chunk of rock clipped Armin's shoulder, drawing blood.
He flew back, skidding across the sand.
"Armin!" Dike shouted.
Armin stood there unharmed,his wound had healed, he cracked his neck and charged in once more.
During the seven days he was in the desert and the two weeks he was in the colosseum he earned a lot of EXP and that gave him a lot of power.
[Swordsmanship Skillset is advancing.....]
Maton said in his mind.
"You're a tough bastard…" he muttered.
The sword responded to his resolve. The runes flared.
A golden aura of power spiraled up his body, wrapping around his body like a holy fire. His muscles tensed. The wind shifted. For just a moment, he stood still.
[Swordsmanship Skillset is being used in It's full potential.....]
And then he vanished.
A flash. A streak of light. He appeared beneath the worm, and with one clean swing, he sliced upward—cutting the creature nearly in half. A grotesque scream tore from the beast as it twisted and thrashed. Its insides spilled onto the sand.
It writhed once, then fell still.
Armin exhaled slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.
Silence followed.
Dike and Eirene peeked out from their hiding spot and sprinted toward him.
"That was so cool!" Dike shouted.
"You moved so fast!" Eirene beamed.
Armin smirked, wiping ichor off his blade. "Lesson one," he said, kneeling down to eye level with them, "Don't rely on strength alone. Strength and speed,those are the rules that bind the world."
They nodded quickly, hanging on every word.
"Can we fight something next?" Dike asked.
Armin laughed softly. "HAHAHA!!!.....no."
He replied in two different tones.
He actually was starting to regret showing them this. He kind of got caught up in the heat of the moment.
The desert wind howled across the bloody sand as the three of them walked deeper into the dunes, the sun burning overhead.
End of Chapter-022