The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

The battlefield that had been filled with chaos and noise finally fell silent for a breath.

Then…..

"NEXT!"

Kael's voice boomed across the desolate landscape like a god's decree. It sliced through the smoke, the ash, and the broken hearts of those still alive.

"Anyone who wants to fight with me or harbor some thoughts, you can come out and taste my sword."

His imbued with man roared across the place.

His head turned slowly, mechanical, almost lifeless, and his eyes locked onto the fleeing figures in the distance. Just that gaze just that subtle motion was enough.

"Gugggh!"

"Fuck! It's looking at us!"

"RUN! MOVE, DAMN YOU!"

The damned horde—thieves, smugglers, killers, and traitors—broke into chaos. Fear swallowed them whole. Their tough exteriors cracked like dry bark under fire. The arrogance they once flaunted disappeared, replaced by raw, primal panic.

They stumbled over their own feet, shoving each other to the ground. Blood, sweat, and urine stained the dusty road as they trampled their comrades, blind to anything but survival.

Some screamed for gods they never prayed to. Some cried like children. Others just screamed—without words, without reason, just noise to drown out the looming silence that followed Kael's footsteps.

One man vomited and crawled, screaming, "He's not human! That thing's not human!!"

As Kael stepped through the smoke, the metallic clink of his sword echoed in tandem.

The blade he dragged from a metal pipe that was glowing with a crimson tint a moment ago, had started to break down scattering into thin, glowing shards that disappeared like sparks.

He glanced down at the ruined weapon with mild annoyance.

'I should have a secondary sword.'

His mind wandered briefly—but only briefly.

Before him lay the four.

Barely breathing, bloodied, cut apart mangled, but alive.

The strange thing was—they didn't beg. They didn't cry.

There were no pleas for mercy, no pathetic last-minute groveling. Their eyes, though dulled with pain, still held clarity. They'd lived long enough to understand that begging only made you look like a worm. And worms get squashed faster.

Kael crouched.

His voice came cold, matter-of-fact:

"I will ask you once again. Tell me who put the bounty, if you didn't."

For a moment, he thought he was talking to corpses. Then, a broken voice rasped out.

The four who had been holding a tiny bit of consciousness spoke. At this point, they didn't hold any pretense and showed bravery like, kill me if you want but I won't answer.

"It's… Peru followers…"

Kael's brow twitched.

"Peru followers?" he muttered, memory flashing briefly the church in Barony, the twisted rituals, the scarred priest.

As he sank into thought, another voice interrupted, weak but urgent.

"Thi… This is just the beginning… I heard the Serpent Gang is also planning to post bounties in that guy's name… Their posters are already out in black markets…"

'What!'

A flicker of surprise sparkles in his eyes.

Kael's jaw clenched. His pupils twitched.

'Holy shit…'

'Why the hell is everyone putting a damn bounty on me? I'm not the only one who ruins your ducking plans… There have to be others, right? Then why me?'

The irony of surviving deathmatches only to become everyone's favorite target sat sour in his gut.

"Since you got what you wanted…" Gorro coughed blood, face cracked with bruises.

"Kill us quickly."

Kael blinked. Then smirked in half amused twisted smile that started giving the four a chill.

"Huh? Who said anything about killing you?"

His smile widened as their eyes flinched—not in hope, but in dread.

"Then what…" Marn rasped.

Kael raised his arm slowly, shadow swirling around it. His eyes darkened, voice carrying a cruel edge of amusement.

"[Devour]."

The air then cracked.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A sickening, wet snap echoed like thunder as the void around Kael's arm exploded open.

"I don't showcase the true vile nature of power but knowing you are bandits, I should showcase his evil deal with evil.''

The moment his words finished, black tendrils, gnarled and wet like parasitic roots, surged forward and wrapped around the bodies of the four. They struggled, mouths wide in silent screams as the tendrils invaded their very mana circuits, tearing out the essence, consuming everything—blood, bone, soul.

Their bodies twisted, crumbled, and finally shattered like old bark, sucked into the spiraling darkness. Not even ashes remained.

The sound of snapping flesh and the vortex of consumption echoed across the now-deserted ruins.

When higher demons used Devour it was more brutal and gut-wrenching. The crude and vile effect had been suppressed by Kael however the more devour regained its original power the more it wanted to return to its vile power.

He wasn't the only human who granted this power, others who got this were devoured by the power itself and went mad until the Demon Contracter devoured them.

In a way, they were rearing them for harvest.

Name: Kael Veydrin

Species: Human Lv 28

Pathway: Malefic Aberrant

Rank: B

[Stats]

Strength: 235

Agility: 233

Constitution: 224

Vitality: 235

Mana: 275

[Talents/Blessings]

Devour [A+], Swordsmanship [A+]

Title]

Lunatic of Veydrin, Cursed Devour

[Skill Slots]

Swordsmanship A-, Hexbrand A-, Maledict Counter A-, Curse Resistance A-

His stats were just a few points away from reaching A.

Meanwhile his talent had capped towards A+.

'It had been quite silent but the moment it touched A, it started to exert its effect, however…It won't be easy for you to affect him so try harder..'

Then silence again.

Not one man dared to return. Not one sound was made.

Kael stood alone closing his eyes as he savoured the taste of his soul-devouring the four.

Only one phrase lingered in the suffocating air.

"This is just the beginning…"

….

Inside the dim-lit inn, the air carried the faint scent of herbs and wood polish. Most of the furniture had been stacked up for safety, and the shutters remained bolted from the inside. The streets outside had turned into ghost lanes since Kael's explosive confrontation. No innkeeper in their right mind dared to open doors after that devastation.

In one of the quieter rooms, a fire flickered gently in a hearth. A woman with honey-blonde hair sat cross-legged on a cushion, a wooden comb in hand, gently brushing long flowing strands of crimson.