Chapter 18: One Horned Demon (1)

Two events occurred at the same time: Beatrix began her transformation, and the majestic doors swung open.

Those doors undoubtedly guarded the first fragment of the previous Lost King’s crown.

Blake wouldn’t have been surprised if that very piece radiated the regal brilliance flooding the space. The glow felt so warm and inviting that even Sol, the Sun Elemental, closed his tiny eyes to bask in it.

Behind Blake, his newly bonded familiar trembled under the suffocating black light. Beatrix moved stiffly, like a mechanical doll long overdue for oil and maintenance.

Parts of her armor darkened as though infused with creeping ink. The metal popped and shrank, conforming to her evolving figure.

By the end of her transformation, Beatrix had shifted from a heavenly white soldier into a demonic servant.

Every trace of white had vanished. She now wore a full suit of armor that, much like Blake’s own, clung to her body as though it were a second skin.

Her helmet had transformed as well, resembling a featureless mask rather than practical headgear. Instead of being tied in a neat ponytail, her blonde hair now cascaded loosely down her back, drifting like threads of gold.

Her skirt had vanished, its loss accentuating her hourglass figure even more.

With this new title, Blake officially became Beatrix’s master and the first player to claim a familiar. He could now view her stats, equipment, and even her inventory.

A quick glance at her profile hinted at her extraordinary nature. Her system mirrored that of a player’s, able to evolve alongside him and match his limitless growth.

This insight explained the Lost Kingdom’s former prestige, though it also raised the question—how had such a mighty kingdom fallen?

Dwelling on that wouldn’t help now, so Blake focused on her stats:

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‘Her dexterity is naturally high,’ Blake thought. ‘She gains far more from her equipment than I do from mine, and her stats might improve further once she equips her bow.’ He regarded her thoughtfully.

Standing poised, she saluted by pressing her joined fingers against her left breast. Initially, the gesture struck him as odd for a soldier, but recalling her immense strength and graceful movements, it soon felt appropriate.

He found it reassuring to have her at his side, especially since he still intended to advance through the game with minimal involvement from other players.

‘Her equipment set is similar to mine but far surpasses it in quality—no doubt because the previous Lost King forged it,’ Blake mused, examining her armor set, The Pride’s Back.

Not only did it boost her mana by 215% and raise her dexterity beyond his own, it also bestowed two skills, surpassing his gear in that regard.

Since the set itself provided no direct attack speed bonus, Blake suspected her bow would compensate for that—and perhaps grant even more dexterity.

Still, he clicked his tongue, feeling overshadowed by the previous Lost King’s craftsmanship. No matter the circumstances, it felt like a personal setback.

The equipment’s skills were also astonishing:

Both legendary skills bent the game’s rules in ways Blake considered almost unfair.

In comparison, his Perfect Steel felt unremarkable. He imagined Vargar’s advice—don’t fret, Perfect Steel would shine at legendary grade someday. Yet Blake’s disappointment lingered.

His competitive spirit demanded that he return to the smithy and forge something even greater. How else could he hone his craft?

Just then, Vargar’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Ye alright? What’s that look for? Even she’s tiltin’ her head at ye.”

“…her equipment has two skills,” Blake muttered.

“Haha! Ye really thought ye could match the Lost King?” Vargar grinned like a kindly grandfather as he reminded that the previous Lost King had been trained in blacksmithing and enchanting from a young age.

There was no chance for a novice king to forge someone like Beatrix in the modest smithy where they had worked this past week.

“Enchanting seems better,” Blake said, sounding sulky.

Vargar harrumphed. “Ye’re right. Ye just need scrolls to make ’em permanent—scrolls ye can’t get yer hands on yet.” His expression softened. “Don’t be such a child. See again how similar yet distinct these concepts are after today’s battles.”

Blake side-glanced at the old dwarf.

He’d relied on enchantments and his forged gear throughout this hall. In his last clash against the Supreme Archer, he had turned Prideful Step into a lethal strike by controlling his weight with the Weight Enchantment. Although the concepts were distinct, they meshed perfectly.

“That balance is what ye must master,” Vargar said after hearing Blake’s assessment. “Ye’re a real monster in battle…I doubt many could do what ye did.”

“It wasn’t anything special,” Blake insisted. “Plenty of people could do the same.”

Vargar narrowed his eyes. “Ye jokin’?”

“No,” Blake replied, completely sincere.

The dwarf sighed. “Yer battle experience is exceptional. It’ll serve ye well as ye strive for the throne…but ye’ve got a long journey ahead in crafting and enchanting.”

Blake sneered, as though a new challenge had been laid before him. “Actually, that makes it sound even more fun now that I think about it.”