Chapter 456 - 458: Long Term Plan

The sword Damon held had already begun to melt—but he swung it anyway.

In a single motion, he sliced the swordsman automaton clean in half.

The weapon shattered mid-swing, reduced to slag and steam, but Damon caught the broken blade of the automaton itself mid-air. It was half-destroyed and crude in design, but its sheer size—nearly as large as him—made it usable.

He stepped back instinctively as the remaining automata retreated, whirring and twitching. Their internal logic systems scrambled to analyze the violent destruction of their companion.

Across the arena, gasps erupted.

"Wha... what was that?! He just split it apart!"

"Were those... flames? Or shadows?!"

"What kind of spell was that?!"

The Headmaster’s eyes narrowed.

’Ashborn...’ he thought.

He remembered the detail buried in Damon’s incident report—that he could use the flames of the dark spirit Rashi Ignath.

"Ashborn... The flames that belonged to the dark spirit Ignath... You somehow managed to obtain his power—even without a spirit contract..."

The professors surrounding him stirred, exchanging wary glances.

They had read Damon’s report, but even now, they had grossly underestimated its implications.

Emeralda bit her lower lip.

"His report said he could only access a limited portion of that power... and that his output was far weaker than Ignath’s. Dependent on his current rank."

Another professor nodded, tense.

"Those within his rank could resist it. Those of higher rank should be able to endure it... at least theoretically. But this... this isn’t matching any of our expectations..."

And while they analyzed and whispered, Damon stood there relieved—quietly thankful that he had included just enough about Ashborn in his official report.

Enough to validate it as a registered unique skill. Enough that neither the Temple nor the Empire could accuse him outright of consorting with a dark spirit.

He drove the broken automaton sword forward again, channeling the Ashborn flames through the metallic husk. The energy exploded—flooding the arena.

The tank automaton lifted its shield, but it was no use. The shadow-black flames coiled and roared, melting through the tower shield like paper.

Damon roared, his body straining under the agony.

The flames didn’t just burn flesh—they burned soul.

Shadow energy writhed within him, screaming as it was consumed. His muscles spasmed, his chest heaving, but he pushed forward. The molten blade tore through the shield—then cleaved through the automaton itself.

The tank fell in half, its melted cores fizzling with dying sparks.

Damon staggered back, groaning.

This hurt far more now that he wasn’t insane.

But this... this was his style of combat.

Ashborn flames were absurdly powerful. But they had a flaw—when dispersed, their power diminished. Burning scattered air particles didn’t yield explosive results.

So Damon had adjusted. He funneled his mana and shadow energy into his weapon, compressing the flame through the blade itself—concentrating its destructive power into a hot, surgical slash. More cutting power. More devastation.

But the price?

Every sword melted.

’I’ve lost too many good weapons like this...’ he thought bitterly.

Still, the job wasn’t finished.

The archer and mage automata remained—but he didn’t even bother engaging them individually.

Instead, Damon raised his hand.

Black flames burst forth again, this time washing over the entire arena. A suffocating wave that didn’t let up. For a full half-minute, the flames raged without mercy.

The floor cracked.

Stone groaned.

Runes flickered violently before vanishing entirely.

When the inferno died down, Damon almost collapsed. Pain hammered into his bones. But his [Pain Resistance] barely kept him standing.

He took a deep breath.

Then looked at what remained.

...Scraps.

Melted metal. Bent cores. Scorched circuitry. All that remained of the automata.

’These were allegedly rank three...’ Damon thought. ’But their reaction speed, their movement—they were barely rank two.’

They had no instincts. No combat judgment. Just reactive algorithms, and even those were slow.

’If they were any smarter, they wouldn’t have stood there waiting to be melted.’

They had mana—but no substance. No technique.

"A complete waste of money."

The crowd had fallen silent.

"Unbelievable... his power is... unbelievable."

"I thought his attribute was shadow?"

"That has to be forbidden magic..."

"Should we report this?! I don’t wanna be an accomplice or something—"

"Don’t be ridiculous. If it was black magic, the Headmaster would’ve detained him."

"Still... didn’t he say it’s Ignath’s power? The Ignath?!"

Damon remained still. Letting them talk.

Let them witness. Let them see.

He wanted it known that he could use Ashborn. Hiding it would only draw suspicion. But if the academy could test it and log the data, it would validate him—make it clear he wasn’t summoning a forbidden spirit. Just using a registered skill.

’The elves are going to have a field day with this...’ he thought grimly.

Especially the Elf King—Kadelas Moonveil.

He’d claim Damon seduced and manipulated his daughter, stabbed her, and got her possessed. That he plotted to obtain the Ashborn flames by collaborating with the dark spirit summoner.

’Yeah I can see that happening...’

But Damon had a counter.

A simple one:

The summoner’s head.

He already knew where the man was. And once the sun set...

He would kill him.

The Headmaster stared down at the molten wreckage of his prototype machines.

"It seems the circuits are destroyed," he muttered. "We’ve lost a lot of data... let’s hope we can retrieve something from those melted husks."

Damon exhaled.

"Apologies, Headmaster. But they were... sort of weak. I expected more of a challenge."

The Headmaster smiled, brushing soot from his robe.

"Suppose we should give you a better one..." He turned his gaze slowly to Renata.

"Don’t you agree, Miss Malcrist?"

Renata blinked. He wasn’t serious... was he?

He wanted her to fight Damon? After he helped Lilith scam her out of a hundred million zeni?

He did realize she was pretty mad at Damon, right?

Renata saw Damon’s smug grin and her rage boiled to the surface.

She stepped forward.

"Despite how cute you are. You’re not a very likable person, you know," she said, cracking her knuckles.

"Must be a talent—getting on everyone’s shit list."

Damon scoffed.

"I just think everyone’s too petty. I’m an honest-to-goodness guy. I’m just misunderstood."

Lilith rolled her eyes. "No... no, you’re not."

Renata jumped.

In a blink, she crossed several meters—landing in the center of the arena. The floor cracked beneath her boots.

She grinned wide, fists curled.

"I’m going to make you call me mommy after this."

Damon raised one hand lazily.

"Sorry. I’m not feeling horny today. Maybe you can prostitute yourself to me another day!"

What followed was a storm of magic bullets—fired without restraint.

But the moment they reached Renata, they vanished—dissolving into faint violet sparks that danced around her, then flickered into nothing.

Damon narrowed his eyes.

’Right... I remember now.’

Renata Malcrist had an unusual attribute.

Her attribute was—

Zero.