Rearing Demons
Chapter 66: A Slaves Punishment

Chapter 66: A Slaves Punishment

Stepping onto the grass, Yur and his group scanned the surroundings.

"This place is so different from Zulmasharr," Velmira commented immediately, sensing the change in the very air—the essence was different, more... alive.

Yur took a deep breath of the unfamiliar air, his gaze roaming the forest he had entered—the very forest where he had met his first imp. He looked toward an opening and began to move in that direction. The rest of the group fell silent, attuned to the rare emotion in Yur’s usually dull expression as he traced the pathway forward.

Back then, he had escaped with damaged legs; yet, it was the first time he had truly felt alive, truly free—despite the circumstances, he had managed to protect himself and escape. Soon enough, he came upon an opening, and a familiar sight met his eyes: a large boulder bordered by jagged spikes.

Yet what he saw surprised him even more.

"A slave," Yur murmured, staring at the old man lying atop the boulder. With his keen eyesight, he could tell that the old man was still alive—breathing, albeit barely. His chest rose and fell, despite the withered flesh.

This was the death punishment for the slaves: chain them to a boulder and let them either be devoured by animals or die of starvation and thirst—a slow, torturous death. Even in death, they were bound; even in death, they were meant to know there would never be escape.

"Jisvruul, bring me that old man," Yur commanded.

"Yes, Master," came the immediate reply. Without hesitation, Jisvruul moved toward the old man. As he neared, he could tell the man was close to death—he might survive only a few more days.

Reaching the spiked floor, Jisvruul hopped to the top and examined the old man’s face, whose eyes were closed. Oddly, the old man seemed at peace; there was no trace of pain or agony—only acceptance.

With his hands, Jisvruul crushed the metal ankle braces, causing the old man’s eyes to flutter open.

"W-who is it?" a weak, barely audible voice escaped the man’s parched lips.

Jisvruul did not answer; he simply picked the old man up and leaped toward Yur, placing him on the ground in front of his master.

"What’s your name?" Yur stared at the old man.

The old man’s eyes were dim, and he struggled to keep his body upright.

"Would you like to be free?" Yur asked, his gaze unyielding.

At these words, the old man slowly lifted his head, staring at Yur. "Y-yes..." he replied.

"Understood." Yur lifted his hand, and suddenly the Hallow Sword appeared. With a swift swing, the old man’s head fell to the ground.

"You are now free." There was no emotion in Yur’s voice as he spoke. "Death will be the freedom I grant others."

"Come now, there should be a slave camp nearby." Unless things had changed during his absence, the slave camp he belonged to should be close. "We will grant them all freedom."

"Yes, Master," Jisvruul and the boys replied in unison.

Velmira merely nodded in acknowledgment.

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"Holy shit!" Celis collapsed onto the blue grass, huffing heavily. "To think I failed that!"

He clenched his fists as he recalled his brutal encounter with the rank-six trees. No matter what he did, they countered with ease—there were moments when he nearly died, forcing him to flee.

"I need to find a way to get stronger," he murmured as he sat up, staring at his arms, now marred by fresh lacerations. Fortunately, the healing energies of the world slowly mended his wounds, sparing him permanent damage—unless he died, of course.

The Azure World was no easy place to train; opportunities abounded, but each came with dangerous, nearly insurmountable obstacles. "I need to try and enter Essence Forge before I leave," he thought. Unlike demons, who simply devour others to boost their strength, humans must rely on a higher level of comprehension to evolve their orb.

Yur’s path, although somewhat easier in that he didn’t require such immediate intellectual leaps, was still riddled with hardships.

"I need to figure out a way to set aside the treasures for now," he sighed. "This world has a higher concentration of Azure essence that could propel me into the next realm." Despite his natural talent and good nature, the sheer power of Azure essence was extraordinary—the very force that had elevated the Azure Lord to one of the most powerful figures in Afloria, unmatched by nearly anyone, yet ultimately unsurpassed.

"There is only one risk I can think of," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Although the world around him appeared calm, one area within the Azure realm was anything but peaceful.

"The Eye," he whispered—a chaotic vortex where storms, fiery rain, and indescribable mayhem reigned. It was a place his master had warned him never to enter until he reached the ninth realm, the Orb of Divinity, as only a truly powerful orb could withstand its pressure.

"Do I have a choice?" he sighed. Unlike his master, he did not have enough Azure essence at his disposal to propel himself to the next level. Although he could bend Azure essence to his will, doing so exacted a heavy toll on his body.

At present, he relied on a mixture of regular essence and diluted Azure essence to sustain himself—an impressive force, yet insufficient for his next breakthrough.

"I need to create a more pure and controlled source of Azure essence within my Cyralim," he resolved.

Although he could spend years in the Azure realm slowly accumulating essence, that approach was too time-consuming for his current ambitions.

He craved revenge and was determined to complete the task his master had set before him.

"The other successors are already far more powerful than I am," he admitted bitterly, fully aware of his status as the weakest successor. But how could he allow his master to down him?

"Alright, fuck it. I’ll risk it," Celis declared, pushing off the ground. His body, now fully healed, propelled him forward in a burst of resolve.

With rapid, determined strides, he began to rush toward The Eye.

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