Every demon at least rivalled the fallen avatar’s imposing physique with none less than ten feet in stature. The pair of Expert realm elite demons were closer to thirty feet. Their eyes were level with Dink despite standing on the flat surface at the bottom of the stairs.

“At a time like this, I could use a Magus to clean up the rabble. Master Jackin was unmatched in dealing with demons. What did he teach me about them once over a jug of wine?” Dink rhetorically asked aloud.

***

“Sever a demon’s anchor on the mortal plane and they’ll be sent back to their own. They can’t exist here without assistance. The world laws prevent incursion from extraplanar entities. Even the jealous Primordial gods aren’t exempt from that rule. It was put in place by the Creator Himself,” Master Jackin said, taking a deep drink from his wooden tankard. Slamming it down on the table when he was satisfied, wine sloshing over the sides.

“Don’t speak too loudly. You could incite a riot if anyone overheard you mention the creator god. You know it’s the kind of hearsay that draws the wrath of the Primordial gods,” Eugene whispered, leaning across the rickety table.

Jackin merely snorted in response, reclining back to put his muddy boots on the table beside a discarded floppy hat. He looked toward the Sword Saint while crossing his arms, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“What about you, Leo Cursedblood? Do you believe in the Creator?” Jackin asked with a sly grin.

“I told you not to call me that. My blood’s not cursed. Merely my father lacks any self-restraint. I renounced my family name of Cloudburst a long time ago. The day my father sold me to the arena. But that doesn’t mean I accept the name the masses gave to me,” the Sword Saint replied.

“That didn’t answer my question, Sword Saint. Tell me, are you a believer?” Jackin asked again, shifting forward to make eye contact. His eyes filled with deep mystery.

“Sigh, I do. Why else would the Primordial gods work so hard to suppress the knowledge? Going so far as to reduce the Praven Empire to sands and ruins. All that’s left is wandering constructs grafted with the souls of its citizens. That kind of extreme response reeks of desperation and fear,” the Sword Saint replied with a heavy sigh, drinking from his own tankard.

Smiling in satisfaction, Master Jacking leaned into the backrest of his chair. He retrieved his cup and took another swig. He was a handsome man with short-styled light hair and a dark beard. He had an athletic physique garbed in a tight-fitted white shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing his defined chest and a simple silver amulet. A basic shape rectangle, the heretical symbol of the Creator.

He also wore sleek brown trousers made of high-quality soft leather with equally fine boots. He took his feet off the table to sit forward with his elbows on the table, looking earnestly into the Sword Saint’s eyes.

“Then you understand. The Creator shields us from anything that would do us harm. Demons are the perfect example of this. Someone or something must act as a conduit for them to cross the boundaries into the mortal plane. On the surface, I’m a storyteller for the House of Worldly Delight. My true purpose is to rid this world of trespassers. I’ve got the feeling that one day this information will prove invaluable to you. You’re unrivalled on the field of battle but a single man can’t be everywhere at once. Take the path of least resistance,” Master Jackin confided, the smell of wine on his breath mixing with the strong aroma of rosemary of his perfume.

At such close proximity, the Sword Saint could see an unnatural cast to his handsome features, indicating the presence of subtle magic being utilised. Standing abruptly to his feet, the Sword Saint knocked his chair over backwards. Drawing curious stares from the commoner patrons at tables around them. Seeing the group's fine attire, their gazes turned contemptuous and quickly returned to their own discussions.

“If that’s true. How would one know what to look for to find the anchor?” the Sword Saint asked, wavering unsteadily on his feet.

Eugene stood up beside him in an attempt to steady his lord. The Sword Saint brushed away his assistance. Instead, placing both of his hands on the edge of the table, meeting Jackin’s gaze.

“It’s usually quite simple, the least suspecting object in the room. I’ll also teach you a trick to detect magic. You don’t even need to be a Magus for something so simple. Just allow yourself to become aware of that little prickle at the nape of your neck. Your instincts will never lie to you and it’ll eventually become second nature. Let me demonstrate,” Jackin replied while holding up single a finger, maintaining eye contact. The Sword Saint noticed a golden lion head ring with piercing ruby eyes on his left ring finger.

The Sword Saint felt a faint tingle on the back of his neck as the ruby eyes of the ring illuminated with light, a shadowy image of a naked Goblin appeared in the air. It stood confronting a giant demon amid a field of corpses.

***

Dink stood surrounded by corpses of demons in every direction. He was now midway down the steps, panting heavily. Directly in front of him was the first colossal demon. The second attacked from the side in an attempt to smash him into pieces. Steaming wounds crisscrossed the exoskeletons of both elite soldier demons, indicating the battle had been going on for a while.

For fuck sake, I can’t penetrate deep enough to do any real damage. I need my sword if I want to kill them. They’re not like Mercy’s avatar without any combat experience. They’re elite demons from Hell, a place of constant carnage and struggle. They would have clawed their way to strength through bloodshed and cunning. It’s only a matter of time until they exhaust my mana.

“Dink, catch!” Axion’s voice thundered over the sounds of the melee. Tossing the dragon blade spinning through the air.

Dink rolled out of the way of the enormous fist, allowing it to smash into the staircase beside him and reducing it to rubble. Craters decorated the stairs in dozens of locations. Dink spun out of the way of a vicious claw aimed at his face. A smaller soldier had dropped from the ceiling to ambush him.

“About time you got back!” Dink shouted in relief.

He launched himself atop the retreating fist of the first elite demon, running up the length of its arm.

Ignoring the threatening gaze of the enormous demon, he used its shoulder as a springboard to launch himself into the air above its head. He stretched out his arm, catching the dragon blade’s hilt firmly in his grasp.