Among the survivors of the town, not a single one could forget Aldwin's appearance.
It was not only the power he wielded or the monsters he had slain. It was the way he carried himself now. Calm. Focused. Distant, yet present in every corner of the settlement. He no longer wore the clothes of a displaced civilian or a desperate survivor. The black robe he had purchased from the system shop layered neatly over dark, reinforced armor that shimmered faintly with mana when the light struck it just right. The Tidecaller's Staff rested at his side like an extension of his body.
Where Aldwin walked, people noticed.
And where Aldwin stood, the town felt safer.
His demonic servants followed him openly now. Hatch's towering frame was impossible to miss, his axe resting against his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Flambe slithered along rooftops and walls, his salamander head turning lazily as he watched for threats. Corvus was rarely seen for long, appearing only to deliver reports before vanishing again into the sky.
Of the three, Corvus had become indispensable.
Under his guidance, a network of scouts had formed. Survivors with movement based or stealth based abilities gravitated toward him naturally. Shadow walkers. Speed runners. Those who could sense mana fluctuations or move without sound. They did not see Corvus as a commander in the human sense, but they trusted him. He taught them how to observe without being noticed, how to retreat without panic, and how to survive encounters that could not be won.
Within the town itself, order had taken shape.
A man named Tobias led the first group.
He was in his mid forties, broad shouldered, with graying hair and the posture of someone who had spent his life enforcing rules. Before the rifts, he had been a police captain. Now, he acted as the backbone of the settlement. His group handled patrols, internal disputes, and defensive formations. They were not the strongest fighters, but they were disciplined, and discipline mattered.
The second group answered directly to Aldwin.
These were the main combatants. Survivors with offensive gifts, hardened by the gnoll siege and tempered by Aldwin's presence. They trained daily, learning how to fight as a unit rather than individuals chasing contribution points.
The rest of the town consisted of the vulnerable. Elderly people. Children. Those whose gifts were noncombat oriented or had not awakened at all. They worked, cooked, repaired, and rebuilt. Aldwin ensured they were protected, and in return, the town functioned.
It was not perfect.
But it was stable.
That stability cracked when Corvus returned at dusk.
Aldwin stood near the western watchtower, reviewing patrol reports with Tobias when the raven headed demon descended silently from the sky. Corvus landed beside Aldwin, wings folding as his eyes gleamed with urgency.
"We have movement," Corvus said. "Two factions. Both hostile."
Aldwin straightened.
"Gnolls?" Tobias asked.
"Gnolls," Corvus confirmed. "But not alone."
The scout network had already relayed fragments of information, but Corvus delivered the full picture. Gnoll warbands had regrouped in the western region of the town's outskirts, reclaiming ground lost after Jax's death. They were not attacking outright. They were consolidating.
And they were not the only ones.
A second force had entered the area.
Humans.
Or something close enough.
Martial artists clad in crimson and dark leather. Their presence pressed against the air like a weight, not mana, but something denser. Internal energy. Ki.
"They call themselves the Blood Demon's Claws," Corvus said. "They are fighting the gnolls for territory."
Aldwin felt his jaw tighten.
"So they are not allies," he said.
"No," Corvus replied. "They butcher gnolls efficiently. They also butcher anything else that gets in the way."
Aldwin exchanged a glance with Tobias.
"If they win," Tobias said carefully, "they will come for us next."
Aldwin nodded.
"We cannot allow unknown factions to establish control that close to the town," he said. "Not without understanding their strength."
He turned to his demons.
"Hatch," he said. "Corvus."
Both responded immediately.
"You will go to the western region," Aldwin continued. "Do not engage unless necessary. Gauge their strength. Their techniques. How they fight."
Hatch grinned, baring sharp teeth.
"Finally," he rumbled.
Corvus inclined his head. "I will observe first."
Aldwin met their gazes.
"Return if the situation turns unfavorable," he said. "Information is more valuable than blood."
Hatch snorted. "I will try."
They left before anyone could respond.
Corvus vanished into the darkening sky, wings silent as he soared westward. Hatch took to the ground, moving through broken streets and forest paths with surprising speed for his size.
The western region was chaos.
Gnolls and martial artists clashed amid ruined buildings and overgrown roads. The gnolls fought with feral aggression, howls echoing through the trees. The Blood Demon's Claws moved like predators, coordinated and precise. Their strikes cracked bone and crushed skulls without wasted motion.
Hatch watched from a distance at first.
"These humans," he muttered. "They move like demons."
Corvus observed from above, eyes tracking every exchange. The martial artists did not rely on spells. Their bodies glowed faintly red with circulating ki. Each blow carried force that distorted the air itself.
One of them stepped forward.
He was lean, his hair tied back, eyes sharp. He faced a charging gnoll and did not dodge. Instead, he planted his feet and drove a fist forward. The gnoll's chest caved inward as if struck by a battering ram.
Corvus relayed the sight instantly.
Hatch felt his blood stir.
"This one is strong," Hatch said.
The martial artist turned.
His gaze locked onto Hatch.
The demon did not retreat.
He stepped forward instead.
The gnolls scattered, sensing a predator beyond their understanding. The martial artist raised his stance, ki flaring visibly around his arms.
"You are not one of the beasts," the man said. "State your allegiance."
Hatch laughed.
"I serve a king," he replied.
The martial artist lunged.
Their clash shook the ground.
Hatch's axe met the martial artist's reinforced forearm, sparks flying as metal met condensed ki. The impact sent a shockwave outward, flattening grass and cracking stone.
Hatch slid back a step.
His eyes widened.
"Interesting," he growled. "Not demonic magic."
The martial artist smirked, ki pulsing harder.
"But your energy," Hatch continued, gripping his axe tighter, "it feels similar."
The standoff held.