Rearing Demons
Chapter 62: Striving for Freedom

Chapter 62: Striving for Freedom

"Grand Elder Rivno, we have lost many disciples this time."

At the highest peak of the Fiend Devouring Sect, under the vast stretch of a star-speckled sky, Sect Master Hinjo kneeled. His tone carried no grief, no hesitation—just cold, emotionless precision.

"Celis has entered the Azure World. Ris is dead. Fyr is in the Incandescent Caves. Karo and Brune are dead. Many other core disciples... gone."

Despite the list of names—each one a fallen warrior, each one a loss to the sect—Hinjo’s expression did not waver.

He was merely making a report. Nothing more.

"That is unfortunate." The voice was calm, steady. Floating effortlessly beneath the heavens, Grand Elder Rivno remained undisturbed, as though the fates of those disciples had never held weight to begin with. "Call back the Veilborn Fiends."

Hinjo’s head snapped up. "Now?" His voice carried a rare hint of shock. "Are you sure?"

"If we don’t, that old man will start asking questions." Rivno frowned slightly. "He held a meeting with the Afloria Lords... and did not reach out to me or the other Guardian Grand Elders."

Hinjo stiffened. "Really?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

Even in the shadowed corners of the cultivation world, such an act was a direct insult.

"But we are the Guardian Sects..."

"I know." The words were sharp, clipped.

Rivno’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, but his tone remained steady.

"He seems to have his own plans. For now, we will cooperate. But invite only a few of the Veilborn Fiends. No more than necessary."

With a flick of his fingers, a black key materialized from the void. Rivno tossed it to Hinjo, who caught it effortlessly.

"Fyr is to be taken into the Realm of Fiends. He will be trained."

Hinjo’s brows knitted together. "Him? Why?" His tone carried a mix of confusion and skepticism. "Wouldn’t Celis be the better option?"

"Celis is loyal, yes, but the Azure World is enough for him." Rivno took another measured sip of his tea, the green liquid steaming softly in the cold night air. "Although the Azure Lord was once a Dreadfiend, even he found the Realm of Fiends to be useless. Why would Celis benefit from it?"

Hinjo nodded slightly. "That makes sense... but why Fyr?" His frown deepened, eyes narrowing. "He’s talented, sure, but not enough to warrant entry into the Realm of Fiends."

Rivno’s lips curled faintly at the corners. "He has what it takes—decisiveness." There was no further explanation.

Hinjo sighed, knowing better than to push further. "Understood."

His grip tightened around the key as he bowed slightly. "I shall retrieve him soon. But first, I will enter the Realm of Fiends and summon a few of the Veilborn Fiends."

"Go."

With that single command, Hinjo vanished. Leaving Rivno alone beneath the stars.

A stillness fell over the peak. Silent. Unmoving. But Rivno’s gaze sharpened slightly.

"Guardian, it is impolite to eavesdrop on private conversations." His voice remained calm. His fingers, steady. With the ease of a master tearing silk, he reached into empty air, and ripped it apart.

The very fabric of space unraveled like fragile parchment beneath his grip. And from the blackness behind the curtain of the world, a figure stepped forward.

The old man from the Afloria Lords’ meeting. His hands remained clasped behind his back, his face carrying an ever-familiar smile.

"Rivno," the Guardian greeted, his tone light, almost casual. "I was merely taking a stroll. I didn’t mean to intrude."

Rivno scoffed. "Of all the places, you chose to take your walk on my mountain?"

His hand flicked lazily through the air, and from nowhere, a porcelain teacup appeared between his fingers.

With a graceful motion, he poured himself another cup of steaming green liquid. "What do you want?"

The Guardian’s smile didn’t falter. He stepped forward, settling down across from Rivno as if he belonged there. Then, with a single motion, he pulled something from his sleeve.

A small note.

"I would like your help." His tone, though polite, carried weight. Carefully, he extended the note to Rivno.

The Grand Elder took it, his movements slow, deliberate.

His eyes traced the words. And for the first time that night—his expression changed.

————————————————————————

Freedom. That is what I fight for.

My freedom.

From them. From him.

Yur clenched his fists as his gaze swept across the barren land. His fingers curled so tightly that his newly formed flesh tore, but the damage was a mere whisper compared to the weight of his thoughts.

The past flooded through him, those memories that did not belong to him—yet had shaped him nonetheless. They all led to one name.

Krinli.

A figure beyond comprehension. A force standing at the pinnacle of existence itself. An unshakable, untouchable will. Not a god, not a devil—worse. Something tangible. A force that was actual oppression. An immovable barrier between Yur and liberty.

Yur exhaled slowly, tilting his head back toward the void sky.

If Mal can’t defeat him, I will.For freedom. For myself.

It was never vengeance, never mindless hatred. Krinli wasn’t just an enemy—he was the embodiment of shackles.

To be free, I must destroy him.

His gaze lowered. Velmira.

She stood a short distance away, her alluring shape shrouded in tension. Her eyes wavered, a flicker of fear, but something more—longing.

Not carnal desire, nor an appetite for control.

A desire to be looked at. To be wanted. To be acknowledged. A desire to shatter the chains of repulsion and rejection.

"Velmira." His voice was commanding, authoritative.

She swallowed, her throat convulsing.

"Come here."

The words, spoken softly as they were, had the ring of inevitability to them.

Velmira’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath came shallow as she stepped closer, drawn by something deeper than words. There was a force in his voice, in his presence—something that called to her even as it sent her instincts shrieking in alarm. She searched his eyes.

There was no warmth there. No kindness. Only bottomless certainty.

A being who had made his decision and would never turn back.

No matter the cost.

"Y-yes."

"Kneel."

Her form trembled, not in frailty, but in something she could not name.

She obeyed.

This was it. Her chance.

To be free from what she once was.

To no longer be the embodiment of filth, despised and avoided.

To be beautifully remade.

A shiver ran through her, but she did not hesitate. She dropped to her knees before him, surrendering to whatever he intended.

"Open your mouth." Yur lifted his hand, his thumb hovering in the air. Then, in a deliberate, slow motion, he sank his teeth into it.

Dark, silky blood welled from the wound. Blood that was no longer constrained by mortal or demonic nature.

Velmira parted her lips. Warmth dripped onto her tongue. She accepted it.

Ritual of Blood Binding.

The silent ritual of binding. A bond that would remake her as his kin.

As the blood flowed into her, Yur drew his thumb across her forehead, anointing her with a small ritual circle.

From his Ashen Veil, a dense, darkened essence poured out, consuming the mark—blackening it.

The ritual circle expanded. It stretched, twisted, becoming something vast, grotesque—enclosing her in folds of abyssal energy.

Velmira groaned as the shadows engulfed her whole.

She would be remade.

Into what she desired.

His face did not move as he turned away. There was no need to linger. The ritual had already determined her fate.

"Jisvruul." The massive demon, still in human form, promptly came forward, kneeling on one knee. His glittering silver eyes were filled with devotion.

"Master," Jisvruul breathed, his voice trembling—not with fear, but with something far more potent.

Reverence.

He was a creation of Yur’s will. A being whose very existence was shaped by his master’s hand.

"Go and bring me as many Vashra, Morruk, Tharok, and Zorath demons as possible." Yur’s voice was calm, but the command behind it absolute. "I want to see thousands here by the end of the day."

Jisvruul shuddered in exhilaration.

To serve. To carry out his master’s will.

To make his dream come true.

"Yes, Master!"

With a surge of energy, Jisvruul shot into the skies, his body tearing through the air like a dark comet.

Yur remained where he was, gazing up at the endless void above.

The sky, once beyond his grasp, now lay in the palm of his hand.

He slowly clenched his fist, feeling the weight of existence settle within his grasp.

I will rule this world.

It was not fantasy.

It was not hubris.

It was simply truth.

There would be no doubt. No fear. No hesitation. He would be free. And anything—anyone—who stood in the way of that freedom would cease to be.

His lips twisted slightly. There was only one true obstacle. Krinli.

The very name sent a wave of fire through his chest.

Yur had witnessed the past. The flashes through Mal’s memories. The attempts, the failures, the final surrender.

Mal couldn’t get to him.

Couldn’t defeat him.

But I am not Mal.

His fists tightened until his knuckles turned white. I will reach those heights. I will shatter the chains binding me.

Not because he wanted to conquer.

Not because he wanted revenge.

But because he would never yield again.

To anything.

To anyone.

Yur breathed out slowly, the weight of his convictions settling deep within him.

Then, without another word, he turned his back on the starless heavens—

And began to carve his path to true freedom.

[Quest Complete!]

[Reward: Eyes of Dripping Blood; Land of the Mother (Border Section)]

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