“Good to see you two defeating that holy priestess.”
Dreu turned to see Tragthan limping towards him. The old demon had some nasty gashes and burns throughout his body. A human with such wounds would be at death’s door.
Are demons just built differently?
“Will you be alright?” Dreu asked concerningly.
The old demon simply laughed. He placed his left hand over his wounds and, a few spells later, there was no sign the demon was even injured. Yet, even Dreu would tell that the healing took a lot out of Tragthan. For the first time since they met, the old demon looked like a weathered old man with one foot in the grave. Whoever faced the old demon definitely pushed Tragthan to his limits.
“Don’t worry about an old demon like me,” Tragthan said with his chest held high. “I’m a lot tougher than you think. I fought tougher battles in the past.”
Dreu smiled at the sight of an old demon standing tall. He wasn’t sure how he felt about demons acting tough like humans. He also didn’t doubt the prime Tragthan would be a force not to be reckoned with. As the young man considered changing the topic, Tragthan did it for him.
“Is that a red mist blade you are carrying?”
Remembering that a demon once carried the weapon, Dreu nodded his head. He knew better than to lie about the matter.
“I assume you know about the blade because this once belonged to a demon.”
“Yes, the blade belonged to Sog. He was my son.”
“I’m sorry,” muttered the young man as his mind struggled to find ways to maneuver out of the mess.
“Why are you apologizing?” Tragthan said angrily. “He died a warrior as he should have. Death in battle is the only way to go. Anything less would be an insult to his honor.”
“But he’s your son.”
“Because he’s my son, I know him better than anyone.” Tragthan let out a big sigh. “He was gonna get himself killed eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“Let me explain as we walk.”
Dreu followed the demon deeper into the cave. He stopped a few times to check on his two companions. Both Aggich and Zog tagged along closely behind him. They stared up whenever he looked down, appearing to be content just following him around.
Stolen novel; please report.
“The Red Mist Blade was created by the Mist Orcs, a powerful race that was wiped out three hundred years ago. You probably never heard of them. Their records were wiped clean since their annihilation. The intention was for their legacy to cease altogether. Only these mist weapons remain from their time so you might say they still live on in history.”
“My Emperor Class gave me the bare minimum information on them. Beyond that, I don’t think they were ever mentioned within the kingdom.”
“Their history, like those of so many races, is lost to time. The Mist Orcs were known for their blacksmith abilities. I know it comes as a shock as the Orcs you know nowadays are only known for their strength, brutality and at times stupidity. The Mist Orcs were unique and that uniqueness can be attributed to their eventual downfall. Some viewed them as too dangerous and took the initiative to eliminate them.”
“Many of their weapons like this one survived then?”
“No, they are exceptionally rare. Sog found that one in the demon realm and wielded it until his death. I know no other mist weapons and I have been around for a long time.”
Tragthan went on to explain that the mist blades came in different colors and the colors were associated with a certain emotion. The better one could harness that emotion, the more adept one would be at wielding the said weapon. The red mist was tied to rage. The more anger one felt, the stronger one’s attack. The danger of a Red Mist blade was that one could be consumed by the rage to the point the individual no longer had control over his or her reasoning.
“Watch your step,” said Tragthan as he stopped abruptly.
The group entered a chamber filled with shining mushrooms that were scattered all over the ground. While Zog and Aggich had no issue navigating around the mushrooms, the young man had to stay on his toes as he had no interest in learning firsthand what the mushrooms were capable of. As the group exited the chamber with the shining mushrooms, Dreu heard pursuers behind them. He was about to open his mouth when Tragthan signaled for silence. The young man watched the demon mutter words in an unknown language before multiple explosions shook the passage they were in. He looked back to see the way to the chamber covered with debris.
“Mine Mushrooms. Great for trapping enemies underground.”
Tragthan then asked Dreu if he ever felt rage consuming him during battles.
“I did lose control. It felt like my rage fed it and the rage within the blade fed rage back into me.”
“Yes, it formed a positive feedback loop where you became stronger at the cost of completely losing control of all your reasoning. If allowed to continue indefinitely, you will forever lose your reasoning and become nothing more than a brute.”
“Was that why you said your son was destined to die?”
“Indeed! The rage gives a being the sense of invincibility. Yet, my son was far from the level needed to take down Rowan. The fact that there’s now a Left Arm of Xemir only worsened his odds of accomplishing anything at the capital. He was doomed to die the moment he set out for the capital.”
“Where does he find all that rage?”
“When you lose your mother and two siblings to humans, it’s not hard to harbor hatred and rage. He and Eglallin were both destined to die because revenge was the only thing on their minds.”
When the old demon turned away, Dreu was certain he caught a glimpse of tears.
“If only I had let them flee with the others…”
Dreu didn’t feel comfortable intruding on the matter so he stayed silent. His tears were held in check until Zog and Aggich hugged his right foot, reminding him of the loss he suffered earlier that day.