The White Pavilion, usually a place of absolute stillness and terrifying authority, felt like a mausoleum.
Mangūsu sat cross-legged on the silk tatami, his expression a mask of serene detachment. But as he reached for his porcelain tea cup, his forearm betrayed him. It didn't just tremble; it rattled.
His life had disintegrated. Since the "Great Ape Incident," Mangūsu had lived in a state of high-functioning panic. But the true rot was the death of his Martial Drive. He had spent decades obsessed with the "Demon" Bankei. Now, Bankei was gone, handed over to Sage Kai. The world felt hollow.
I am a coward, Mangūsu thought. I feared the Sage more than I loved my own Path.
His rage finally flared. The porcelain cup was crushed into a fine white powder as his hand began to distort—the skin thickening into hide, the nails lengthening into obsidian claws.
Suddenly, the sliding door behind him hissed open.
Mangūsu bolted upright, forcing the transformation back as he dropped into a deep, reflexive bow. "SAGE KAI! SORRY, I—"
"Master? It... it is only me."
Mangūsu froze. He looked up to see a Martial Squire servant standing in the doorway. "You did it, Master. The Demon is back. He is here. At the gates."
Mangūsu didn't rush. He composed himself, smoothing his robes before skywalking onto the balcony. Standing before the massive iron-studded gates was a figure that made Mangūsu's breath hitch.
It was the mask. He would know those jagged, wrathful features anywhere. But the figure wearing it was wrapped in a heavy, weighted white cape with sharp pauldrons. It was the Demon's face, yet the silhouette was entirely new—wider, more imposing, and draped in the color of white.
Mangūsu closed his eyes, extending his Mind Sense like a web across the courtyard. He probed the figure, searching for the familiar, weary mind of the old doctor.
Nothing.
Instead of Bankei's refined, surgical calm, Mangūsu struck a wall of raw, unadulterated heat. He checked the man's realm.
A Martial Squire? Mangūsu's brow furrowed.
He pushed deeper, sensing the stranger's emotions. Most martial artists at that level felt like flickering candles—nervous, ambitious, or disciplined. But this man? He felt like a sun obscured by thick clouds.
Through Mind Sense, Mangūsu felt a localized storm of unrelenting, righteous fury. It was a primal, predatory wrath of something that sat atop the food chain.
Mangūsu's eyes snapped open. The logic began to click into place, piece by jagged piece.
Sage Kai took Bankei three days ago, he reasoned, his mind racing. He took a man who was past his prime—a 'Saint' who had grown too soft for his own face. And now, three days later, a 'Squire' appears at my gates wearing that very mask, radiating a fury that Bankei hasn't felt in forty years.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, leaving him lightheaded with relief.
I see... a slow, manic smile began to spread across Mangūsu's face.
The Patriarch didn't punish me. He fixed my mistake!
He knew I was stuck in the past, coddling an old man because of a childhood obsession. He took the old, broken 'Demon' to clear the way for a successor. A 'New Demon'—pure, young, and filled with the kind of rage that creates legends.
The fear that had haunted Mangūsu for days evaporated.
He felt a sudden, jubilant clarity. Sage Kai had provided him with a superior tool, a fresh start for his own martial path. Wherever he was right now... he was grateful.
"So, you've sent me an upgrade," Mangūsu whispered, looking down at the thirty Squires surrounding the intruder. "Let's what he's made of."
He gave a sharp, downward nod.
The first ten Squires charged in a synchronized swarm. Despite their numbers, The Demon didn't move his feet. He stood like an iron pillar as the Path of the Reaper's Dew practitioner and the Vile Gale user converged on him, unleashing a simultaneous flood of toxic black venom and paralytic gas.
The Demon simply stepped through the cloud. The toxins rolled off his skin as if he were made of wax. As he emerged from the haze, the Hemotoxic Needle user lunged, their reinforced bone fingers striking his chest and throat with precision.
SNAP. SNAP. SNAP.
The sound of breaking bones echoed in the courtyard. The Demon's skin didn't break; instead, the Squires' specialized fingers shattered upon impact. The Demon reached out, grabbing two of them by the collars and slamming their heads together with a dull thud. He tossed them toward the last squire with enough force that all three of them had bones crushed on impact, his eyes already locked on the next threat.
The Multi-Limbed Terror surged forward, his four grafted arms blurring into a chaotic flurry of strikes aimed at every one of The Demon's vital points. Simultaneously, the Jointless Wraith contorted around The Demon's flank, sliding low like a snake to snap his Achilles tendon.
The Demon's reaction was terrifyingly methodical. He caught the Terror's primary wrists, halting the twelve-strike-per-second barrage instantly. With a sharp twist, he forced the attacker's own grafted limbs to lock against each other. Before the Wraith could strike from below, The Demon simply shifted his weight. His heel came down on the Wraith's shoulder with the weight of a falling mountain, pinning the contortionist to the cobblestones.
"Get off!" the Multi-Limbed fighter roared, struggling to break the grip.
The Demon ignored the plea. He stepped forward, dragging the pinned Wraith and Multi-Limbed with him, and drove a straight punch into the Iron Carapace defender who had moved in to intercept. The defender had mineralized his skin to the density of granite, but The Demon's fist didn't stop. It drove the man's own chest cavity inward, launching the "invincible" warrior twenty feet back until he crumpled against the courtyard wall.
He then tossed the Multi-Limbed fighter into the the Wraith on his feet with tremendous force, snapping most of his arms and knocking them both out.
The Skeletal Spike user and the Razor Beast lunged in a desperate pincer move. One extruded jagged bone shards from his knuckles; the other slashed with obsidian claws. The Demon caught the bone-spike mid-thrust, snapping the growth off with a casual flick of his wrist. He then used the shard to parry the Razor Beast's claws, the screech of bone on obsidian setting the other Squires' teeth on edge.
With a brutal efficiency, The Demon delivered a spinning back-kick that caught the Razor Beast in the solar plexus, folding the man in half and sending him skidding across the dirt. He then made a quick karate chop down onto the Skeletal Spike's shoulder, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The Mycelium Strike user tried a last-ditch effort, punching The Demon's shoulder to release his fungal spores, while the Sanguine Leech latched onto The Demon's arm.
The Demon didn't even look at them. He flared his suppressed ki just enough to generate a wave of sheer physical heat. The spores scorched to ash before they could take root. He then grabbed the Sanguine Leech by the throat, hoisting him into the air.
"Struggle," The Demon growled, the mask looming inches from the man's face. "If you want to live, struggle."
The man wailed in panic, trying to create holes in the Demon's arm to absorb his blood. But it was all in vain as the Demon drove the man into the earth. The impact cratered the ground, the shock rendering the Leech instantly unconscious.
The Demon stood in the center of the devastation. Ten of Ise's specialized warriors lay scattered in the dirt—limbs broken, systems failing, but alive. The remaining twenty Squires froze, their bodies trembling. They had attacked together, with every biological advantage the Oni Clan could provide, and Merun had dismantled them one by one as if he were simply checking items off a list.
They wanted to fight... but their legs wouldn't listen.
The sense of inevitability was suffocating.
Was this truly the strength of a Martial Squire?!
The Demon slowly turned his head, the demonic mask locking eyes with Mangūsu on the balcony. He raised a hand, pointing a single, steady finger toward the inner pavilion.
"I didn't come here for these children," the Demon said, his voice cold and echoing. "I want..."
"The one with red eyes."
Mangūsu felt the hair on his arms stand up. Through his mind sense, he felt the Demon's rage hit its zenith—a white-hot point of focus directed solely at his next opponent.
The Master of Ise felt a jolt of pure, dark adrenaline. This was the challenge he had been waiting for. If he defeats that brat, he'll prove his potential to rise.
One day, he'll be strong enough to rebuild his martial drive!.
"It shall be done," Mangūsu called out, a predatory grin splitting his face. "Master Hiraku, call him to the courtyard. The Demon wants a proper opponent."
Under his mask, Merun's black pupils boiled of wrath.