Damien did not go far.
He had walked less than a kilometer from the abandoned stronghold when he felt it.
A pulse. Not wild or chaotic. Rather, it felt controlled and focused.
A Grade Three signature.
It didn't take him long to figure it out. It belonged to an intelligent demon.
And it was approaching fast.
He stopped mid-step.
'So, they hadn't abandoned it.'
They had deployed outward.
Most likely searching for the missing members of their stronghold.
And probably for him.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Good."
He turned back.
Instead of leaving the eastern stronghold behind, he returned — silently, without haste. If a powerful demon was approaching, then others would follow.
Which meant this would become a gathering point.
And gathering points were predictable.
Predictable meant exploitable.
He re-entered the clearing and moved immediately.
"Luton."
The slime slid from his shoulder and landed on the ground.
"Traps."
