Chapter 25: Cain
"I thought I told you not to kill."
Dax's grandfather appeared from a crack in space—silent, sudden, his tone strict and heavy. The air itself stilled under the weight of his authority, as though the world paused to listen.
"I did as you said," Dax replied calmly, turning his gaze toward the distant mountain peaks. The wyverns' massive silhouettes were barely visible against the bruised sky—dark shapes circling like living storms.
The Ancestor stretched his senses to the extreme—perception washing over the battlefield like a slow tide.
That was when he felt it—a faint, almost imperceptible pulse.
He scanned Zain carefully—moving past torn armor, shattered ground, scorched stone—searching for the truth beneath the violence.
No visible wounds.
No broken bones.
No ruptured organs.
Only a massive fist imprint pressed deeply into Zain's chest—like the mark of a god's judgment.
"…Impressive."
His eyes narrowed slightly as realization dawned.
There had been restraint in that attack.
He had been holding back.
The Ancestor's gaze shifted to Dax's back—pride quietly filling his heart.
Now that I think about it… he didn't even use his blade.
"Dax," he said slowly, voice steady but heavy with meaning, "you are a child born once in a billion years."
"You have already surpassed a Rank Seven Aura Master. Though this was not a fight to the death, and though you showed restraint, what you displayed today is still extraordinary."
He stepped beside him—both of them gazing toward the wyverns in silence.
"Why don't you take your pick?" the Ancestor asked, his tone lighter now.
"You cannot be the Wyvern Captain without owning one."
"It wouldn't be bad," Dax muttered softly.
To experience freedom… through such a creature.
That single sentence was all the Ancestor needed to hear.
In an instant, a scaled dagger appeared in his hand—its edge gleaming with faint silver light.
Slash.
Dax felt a sharp pain as his palm was cut—warm blood spilling freely onto the ground below.
He turned toward his grandfather, confusion clearly written in his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't look at me like that," the old man replied calmly, unfazed.
"I need to draw your blood to begin the ritual."
"He… he won."
The Fifth Elder was already on his feet—eyes wide with shock as his gaze locked onto the battlefield projection.
"An evil spirit… and a powerful one at that."
His attention fixed on the killing demon that had manifested—its presence thick and oppressive, Rank Six… or even higher.
But then his expression froze.
The killing demon split apart.
"…Brothers and sisters," he said slowly, voice uncertain, "am I the only one seeing this, or has everyone else gone blind?"
The Seventh Elder cut in immediately—tone sharp and filled with intent.
"Isn't it strange?" he said loudly.
"This boy has no foundation to cultivate, no mana core, no aura core—yet he can keep up with such monsters and even summon beings like those."
"As my brother said," he continued, raising his voice further, "those are demons. He has gained power from the devil."
In this world, demons and devils both existed—yet a thin, dangerous line separated them.
Demons followed strict laws of sin—bound by rules, hierarchy, and ancient pacts.
Devils, however, were something else entirely—the true embodiment of despair and malevolence, entities born from the Nine Circles of Hell.
A chill ran through the minds of the clan members as whispers erupted throughout the hall.
"Paul," the Fifth Elder said coldly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as killing intent surged outward, "don't put words in my mouth."
"I did no such thing," Paul replied shamelessly.
"I never labeled him a devil worshiper."
"You all know the current state of the world," he continued calmly.
"Different cults are rising every day, and devils are known for granting quick power. Doesn't that resemble his sudden display of strength?"
"I advise that we investigate this boy thoroughly," he said firmly, "before the consequences of his greed bring disaster upon us."
His words carried weight.
Several elders began to nod.
"So how do we test him?" the Ninth Elder asked in a serious tone.
"You know the Ancestor will not watch this idly."
Paul smiled slightly—preparing to continue—
But before he could—
"Paul," the First Elder spoke gently—eyes still closed, voice unshaken.
"You are playing a very dangerous game."
"I advise you stop these baseless accusations," he continued calmly,
"before you lose your head."
Seeing that six of the nine elders present were against him, Paul finally fell silent.
Back in the Wyvern Nest—
Dax's blood dripped onto the ground.
The moment it touched the floor, an unnatural scent spread through the air—subtle yet irresistible, like the call of something ancient and alive.
The distant wyverns reacted instantly.
They bolted toward his location with terrifying speed—the sky filling with screeches and piercing whistles.
The first to arrive was a small wyvern—no larger than a human.
Its scales shimmered with a deep violet hue—catching the storm-light in shifting iridescence. Its eyes carried the wide, bright curiosity of a child seeing the world for the first time—innocent, fearless, alive.
Dax smiled softly.
The little wyvern approached without hesitation—head lowered, nostrils flaring as it scented his blood. It rubbed its scaled snout against Dax's bloodied hand—gentle, almost affectionate—small wings fluttering with excitement.
"…This is odd," the Ancestor muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "They're all responding."
He watched the scene calmly—pride unmistakable in his gaze.
Then, from the distance, massive silhouettes appeared—wings tearing through the sky, the air trembling with their approach.
"Oh?" the Ancestor chuckled softly. "So Little Purple is the smallest… interesting."
"Fast though," he added. "Much faster than the others."
The thunderous sound of wings surrounded the ring.
Then it landed.
A massive black wyvern—its body covered in scars that told stories of battles older than empires. The tip of its tail was missing entirely—jagged, as though torn away in some long-ago war. Its wings, when spread, blotted out half the sky.
The moment it touched the ground, its dominance poured out like a tidal wave—raw, primal, absolute.
The other wyverns bowed instinctively—heads lowered, wings folded.
Even Little Purple dipped its head—small body trembling slightly.
"Cain…" the Ancestor whispered, stunned.
"This one has never accepted a companion."
"I heard it settled here fifty years ago," he murmured, "after being injured by a dragon."
Dax stepped forward—unafraid, steady.
He stretched out his hand.
"Come to me, friend."