Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 9: Devourer’s Rage (1)

"Damn it, I give up!"

The creature's guttural scream reverberated through the clearing, its single crimson horn glinting under the pale moonlight. Trapped between the unyielding thighs of a man riddled with battle scars, the demon's voice was desperate and strained.

Renard, the scarred human, didn't so much as flinch. His legs locked tighter around the demon's head, forcing out a pained growl from his opponent's throat.

"Enough! You damn human! Let go—I swear, I'll die this time!"

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The demon's plea was rasping, his voice cracking with both rage and panic. Renard held the grip a moment longer before releasing it with a scoff. He stepped away and then brushed the dirt from his worn trousers.

"Barbarians fight better than this," the demon wheezed, clutching his throat as he gasped for air. "What kind of master strangles their opponent like that?"

"Doesn't matter how I win," Renard replied, his tone casual—annoyingly smug. "What matters is that I do." He then squatted down to collect his scattered equipment. "Now, where's my gold?"

A low growl rumbled from the demon as he begrudgingly tossed a leather pouch at Renard. The jingle of coins confirmed its contents.

"Next time, human," the demon muttered, flexing his neck with a grimace. "Next time, I'll crush you."

Renard grinned, a playful glint in his eye. "I'll gladly take more of your gold anytime."

"You bastard! How dare you speak to the future Demon King like that!" the demon barked, his pride clearly wounded. "Anyway," he then grumbled, rubbing his still-sore neck, "who taught you those moves? They're... unusual."

"You're awfully curious about the same moves you were just whining about," Renard remarked, slinging his blade over his shoulder.

The demon's face flushed an angry shade of crimson. "That's because..." He hesitated before blurting out, "They were impressive, alright?! Now tell me how to learn them!"

Renard raised a brow, barely suppressing a chuckle. "You? The future Demon King, asking me for pointers?"

"Don't get cocky!" the demon snapped. "I just thought they'd be... useful, that's all!"

The corners of Renard's lips twitched in amusement. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but no one taught me. This isn't something you can just pick up at a fancy school."

The demon crossed his arms, his curiosity unshaken. "Then what is it? Some ancient secret technique?"

Renard tapped his chest with pride. "I call it the Wild Heart Arts. A combat style I created myself."

The demon's eyes widened in astonishment before narrowing with determination. "Then you will teach me. The future Demon King deserves nothing less than the best."

Renard's grin widened. "If you're serious, you'd better start saving more gold. My lessons don't come cheap."

"Damn you!" the demon roared!

_____

Arnold Grim, vice commander of the Tiara Castle and a member of House Grim's branch family, possessed the BloodCrest ability that was inherited from the Grim Bloodline.

Beast Mimicry. 

It was a power that allowed him to copy the nature of any beast he had a deep understanding of.

Arnold despised this ability, thinking that it was worthless since it only allowed him to copy a beast's nature, which included its instincts and traits and not its actual powers or abilities. To top it all, being a human had numerous limitations that prevented him from fully utilizing even the limited power of the skill.

But in Renard's hands, Beast Mimicry transformed into something extraordinary.

[Stolen Ability - Beast Mimicry(-)]

[Can copy the nature of a beast that you have a deep understanding of.]

Renard channeled the nature of one of the most powerful beasts he knew—Esther, the black panther. Combining that with his Wild Heart style, his capabilities were buffed beyond expectation.

His reflexes sharpened to razor precision. His mind cleared of all thoughts, leaving only one primal drive—to kill!

Even with barely enough essence to strengthen his body, Renard moved like a shadow, wielding his oversized sword with deadly grace.

The darkness of night gave him another advantage.

While the Knights struggled to see, the Night Vision ability he had stolen from Victor cut through the gloom. Like the black panther whose instincts he had borrowed, Renard felt the night strengthening him.

Though the power boost was subtle, in his desperate situation, every advantage mattered.

The assassins quickly recovered from their initial shock at Renard's display of skill.

"Attack together!" one shouted, no longer treating Renard as a mere child.

Four of the five assassins charged at him at once.

Renard blocked the first sword with his blade and ducked under another. He then redirected the force of the mounted attacker's blow, letting the blade slide off his own before clashing with a third opponent.

But he couldn't evade every strike - the fourth blade grazed his cheek, drawing blood.

"Protect the young master!" The Knights rushed just in time.

Gerald pushed back one assassin while his fellow Knights engaged the others. Though not exceptionally strong, they managed to hold their ground.

Renard, still locked in combat with an assassin, used the force of his opponent's strike to leap backwards. In that same motion, he slashed at another assassin's horse, his blade cutting deep into its leg.

The wounded horse shrieked in panic and crashed into a second one. Both assassins tumbled to the ground as their mounts collided.

But even as Renard squared off against another attacker, his body was reaching its limits. His young frame, with its limited stamina, couldn't sustain the strain using both Night Vision and Beast Mimicry at the same time.

His meager essence reserves were draining fast.

"Deal with the knights. I'll kill the boy," the lead assassin commanded.

His subordinates immediately obeyed and turned their attention to the Knights.

Renard had no time to worry about the others while the leader was already upon him. Startled, he barely raised his sword in time. Steel met steel with crushing force, sending Renard rolling backwards until he found his footing.

Before he could regain his footing, a dagger whistled through the air behind him.

His beast-enhanced senses screamed danger!

Renard bent backwards just in time—the blade whooshed inches from his face. But before he could straighten, a sword came plunging down toward him.

Still bent at an unnatural angle, Renard lifted his oversized blade with all his strength. As their blades met, he finally saw the assassin's face.

"Incredible. I didn't expect the young lord to be this skilled with a sword," the assassin mused, his free hand raising the dagger for another strike.

Renard reacted quickly by dropping flat on the group and rolling to the side.

"I wish I could say the same about you," he taunted before springing back to his feet.

"Let's see if that sharp tongue of yours can help you survive my blade." The assassin vanished from where he stood a moment ago.

But Renard didn't panic.

Instead, he remained calm. He knew this ability, and he also knew how to counter it.

'To my back,' without hesitation, he spun in a wide arc, his sword slicing through the air.

Though the assassin was invisible, their blades connected.

The next instant, blood sprayed across Renard's sword.

His opponent leaped back, shock written all over his face.

"How?!"

Faint Step - it was a rare assassin crest's ability that allowed its user to step into shadow and become invisible for a few seconds.

Renard stayed silent, knowing very well that his time and strength were running out.

Then—a scream pierced through the night.

He turned to see Mathis, his eyes wide with terror. A dagger was pressed against his throat.

In the next instant, crimson bloomed from the spot out, and Mathis collapsed.

He was dead!

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