Violence. Pure, unrelenting violence was unleashed.
The mercenaries who had defiled Lexi met a fate far worse than death. It wasn't a battle—it was an execution. A reckoning carried out by a single girl. Lexa did not simply kill them; she dismantled them, tearing them apart in ways so agonizing that even the most hardened warriors would have looked away. But she did not flinch.
She ensured their deaths were slow and excruciating. She severed their manhood, forcing them to swallow the very instruments of their cruelty before their suffering ended. She carved through them with cold precision, her sword an extension of her fury, her movements graceful yet grotesque, a horrifying ballet of vengeance.
Jost and Vivian could only watch in silence, their minds torn between horror and grim satisfaction. The same cruelty that now coursed through their daughter was something they, too, had wished to unleash. They had wanted to do the same—to rip, to tear, to destroy. Yet, what unsettled them was not just the bloodshed but the rapid transformation of their daughter.
How quickly had she shifted from the disciplined warrior princess to a vengeful reaper?
But for Lexa, this was not just violence—it was understanding. With each cut, each agonized scream, she realized something profound. Power allowed such atrocities to happen. But power was not evil. It was the freedom it provided that gave rise to cruelty.
She had seen firsthand what unchecked power could do, and as she slaughtered those men, all she felt was a chilling comprehension and a faint sorrow—but never regret. Perhaps life was precious, but no amount of idealism would make monsters value it. If not these men, then who? If rapists did not deserve death, then who did?
The only reason she could exact this revenge so easily was because of those who stood behind her. Dante. Vexion. Her parents. Without them, she knew, this justice would have been nearly impossible to achieve. And that was the final lesson burned into her mind: power was everything.
Jost and Vivian had hesitated not out of mercy, but out of caution. They were uncertain whether executing these mercenaries would offend the two men who now loomed over this battlefield like gods. Dante and Vexion had power beyond reason, and those who wielded such strength often had incomprehensible perspectives. It was only after confirming that the shadowy figures who had enabled this atrocity had fled that Jost and Vivian allowed Lexa to carry out the punishment herself.
Dante watched Lexa's rampage with amusement, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in appreciation. He had considered himself a master of torment, an artist in the craft of suffering, but Lexa's raw brutality was something else entirely. He exchanged a glance with Vexion, both silently acknowledging her talent.
Still, Dante found her transformation... abrupt. He did not truly believe she had become as wicked as he or Vexion. True malice took time. Yet, given what she had endured—what she had been forced to watch—perhaps this change was not so unnatural after all.
Yes. That could turn even the kindest soul into a harbinger of vengeance.
When Lexa finally finished, covered in blood, her breathing heavy but her resolve unshaken, Dante grinned. A private thought amused him.
'On Earth, rapists used to get the death penalty. And yet, they call me evil. I'm really the true deliverer of justice here. Lexa will figure it out one day. She'll realize I orchestrated this entire event. I wonder… what will happen when her loyalty drops to zero?
He turned his gaze back to her, the reason he had taken an interest in her so long ago finally solidifying before his eyes. It wasn't sentiment or attraction—it was her potential. He had known from the moment they met that she needed to either stand beside him or kneel before him. There could be no in-between.
His system displayed her appraisal:
Name: Lexa
Origin: Josten Empire, North-East Continent
Age: 18
Race: Dark Elf
Moral Alignment: "Vicious, Unkind, Dark, Morally Corrupt."
Skill: Bloodrazor Dominion (Legendary – 1 Slot)
A fusion of blood manipulation and swordsmanship, forging an unparalleled, ruthless combat style. Absolute mastery over the sword, at the cost of all other weapons. Every drop of blood spilled fuels her power, turning the battlefield into a personal slaughterhouse.
Abilities:
Absolute Sword Comprehension (Passive): Instinctual mastery over all sword techniques. However, proficiency in all other weapons is permanently lost. Crimson Reservoir (Passive): Absorbs blood into her sword, allowing her to manipulate it for attacks and reinforcement. Sanguine Edge (Passive): Maximizes blood loss per strike, increasing power with each hit. Blood Arsenal (Active): Shapes stored blood into autonomous weapons, attacking from multiple angles. Scarlet Phantom Slash (Active): A high-speed technique that creates afterimages, masking the true strike. Hemoblade Execution (Active): Condenses blood energy around the sword, extending its range and doubling its cutting power. Sanguine Bind (Active): Slows or restricts enemies by manipulating their spilled blood. Crimson Dominion : Unleashes all stored blood at once, creating a storm of razor-sharp weapons that attack autonomously. Once used, all stored blood is depleted.
Weaknesses:
Requires Blood to Be Spilled: Cannot manipulate an opponent's blood unless it has already left their body. Weapon Lock: Grants mastery over swords but removes proficiency with any other weapon. Blood Supply Management: Powers rely on acquired stored blood, meaning overuse depletes resources. Fatigue from Overuse: Continuous high-speed attacks and blood manipulation are physically draining.
Dante chuckled, his grin widening as he closed the appraisal screen. Her skill wasn't just powerful—it was beautifully brutal. A combat style tailored for carnage.
But it was precisely because of her nature that her skill was hampered. Her kind nature would never allow her to absorb blood and enjoy carnage chaos and bloodbaths on battlefields. Her idealism in the end was a hurtle making her unable to fully harness the true depths of her skill. The weakness of the skill he would cover with LSB later.
The elves, he mused, had an absurd talent for cultivating monstrous skills. It was likely a product of their long lifespans. Given enough time, they either developed legendary techniques themselves or found suitable partners to ensure their offspring were born with powerful innate abilities. He had always suspected this to be the case, but now, looking at Lexa, he was certain.
With a final nod of approval, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and smirked.
"Welcome to the real world, Lexa."
Dante only needed to know what was necessary. The road ahead was long, and if he ever wanted to reach what was known as the Sovereign Level, he had a great deal to accomplish—not to mention the matter of sheer survival. But he had no intention of living like a coward, constantly running, hiding, or existing in some miserable state similar to his past life.
His looked downward at Lexa, who still knelt before him, drenched in blood yet unwavering in her newfound resolve. He nodded.
"Let's go to your royal palace. I want to meet that old man—Josten."