Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 19.1, 19.2

It was the kind of singular moment that burnt itself into Simon's memories. Not because of any shocking revelation or upswell of emotion – although there was no shortage of anger brewing in his heart – but because of the sheer strangeness surrounding it.

The man across the street, Armand Calloway, had previously ambushed Katarina when she was alone. She hadn't wronged him. No provocation was given. Yet between his Identify Description, his unusually high Level, and the manic grin on his face when he'd attacked her, Armand's motivations were clear as day.

Night was when he painted Caelryn with rivers of red.

Serial killer. No other conclusion could be reached. And going by what Simon had witnessed during Katarina's Sin Scry vision...Armand was a man who took great pleasure in his hobby of choice.

However, none of that demented fervor was present right now. Far from being a terror who stalked the moonlit streets of Caelryn, the Armand Calloway of early afternoon was little more than window dressing. He melded into the scenery so effectively that Simon was tempted to blame it on a hidden Skill.

Without access to Identify, Sin Scry, and Katarina's personal testimony, he wouldn't have thought the man capable of raising his voice – let alone murder.

It was that feeling of stark disconnect which made the moment stand out so much. In the span of several brief seconds, Simon went from just another unwitting passerby...to someone who knew. If the crowds on the street had seen what he'd seen, then they would've trampled each other in a mad dash to get away. Like a stampede of deer fleeing from the carnivore suddenly appearing in their midst.

Their ignorance was bliss. Over the course of the day, thousands of people might pass by Armand's sequestered relaxation spot, some coming within inches of the man. None would ever learn who and what they'd crossed passed with.

How many of them became victims in the end? Simon's hand twitched as he suppressed the urge to summon a blade from Inventory. Is this his modus operandi? Spend his time people-watching, searching for the right prey, waiting until–

From behind his back, Katarina tugged at his shirt sleeve. "We need to move," she hissed, whispering urgently. "Walk with me. Same direction, same pace. Keep me hidden. Don't want him to see."

Simon didn't question her. The two of them marched in tandem, putting distance between themselves and the creature in human guise.

They stopped when Armand was just barely still in view. From their new vantage point, they could freely examine him without notice. Katarina also took the time to confirm that they were isolated, letting them speak without worry of eavesdroppers.

"So," the transmigrator exhaled. "I'm assuming he wasn't the original target you had in mind."

Katarina shuddered. "No. No, he is not." She breathed in, then out, taking a few seconds to compose herself. "Apologies. Don't know what's come over me. He wasn't even the first person to make an attempt on my life. I just..."

"Something about him unnerves you?" Simon offered.

She nodded. "It is one thing to fight over food or coin. If someone had stabbed me because they sought to feed themself another day, then I'd still hate them, but at least I'd understand. With this man, there was no rhyme or reason as to why he struck."

That was the point. She'd likely been chosen because she was unknown to him. Less chance of his crime being traced back to him.

Granted, Simon was basing that theory on stories from Earth. He shouldn't hold Valtia to equivalent standards. After all, it wasn't like Caelryn City's 'law enforcement' – term used generously – would care about a random penniless urchin being killed. No one would've lifted a finger to investigate Katarina's murder.

Armand probably didn't need to try very hard to conceal his nature.

"He was one of many reasons why I left Caelryn City," Katarina murmured. "Couldn't even pretend to feel safe here anymore. I kept thinking, what if he tracks me down, sneaks up while I'm sleeping? Worse – what if he goes for my father instead?"

"Actually, does Gerold know what happened to you that night?"

"It was what finally convinced him to leave."

Simon made a mental note for the future. When they later returned to Gerold with a cure, and he found out that they'd immediately traveled to Caelryn City, once more putting his darling daughter in proximity of a crazed lunatic murderer, the man would be...displeased.

Which meant Katarina was getting thrown under the bus. She'd recommended Caelryn, and she hadn't warned Simon of her history with Armand, so the transmigrator wasn't to blame.

"To be honest," she continued, "I'd hoped we might one day seek him out. Can't imagine a more deserving target from which to gain EXP." She slowly enunciated each letter in E-X-P, as if the sounds were unfamiliar to her. "Yet that was but a dream of the future. I definitely didn't expect to encounter him now."

"You haven't seen him since he tried to kill you?"

"Not for months, no. Suppose our paths just didn't cross until today."

"Quite the coincidence," Simon remarked.

Katarina's eyes widened with sudden realization. "I promise you that I'm not lying about anything," she said, sounding almost desperate. "I know that this may seem like a ruse invented by a two-bit charlatan, but–"

"I believe you."

"...You do?" Her voice was quiet yet strained, as if worried that expressing relief would just make her look suspicious.

Simon raised his right arm, still in human form. "Demon magic. Lets me verify certain details."

A struggle took place within Katarina's gaze as she stared at his arm. She appeared to be arguing with herself, deliberating on some course of action.

"Simon..." She addressed him directly. "What do you mean by 'Demon magic', precisely? How does it reveal people's secrets to you, and in what way? At this point, I...think I ought to know."

Ah. Hmm.

In truth, Simon would've preferred to keep her in the dark. Knowledge was power. Skills like Identify and Sin Scry would be at their most effective when no one was aware they existed. If others learned how his abilities operated, they could invent measures to counter him, and his burgeoning reputation as a powerful upstart Demon may lose some of its mystique.

But that wouldn't happen unless Katarina tattled. Considering that he was her one and only chance to save Gerold, she had little reason to undermine him.

At this juncture, anyway. In the future, if we part ways...

Simon stifled an internal sigh. While his paranoia was well-founded, the fact remained that he had proposed an equal alliance to Kat. If he'd wanted a simpering yes-man who wouldn't ever question the scary Demon's capabilities, he could've held interviews at Springwater Village and had his pick of the litter. Refusing her without cause would set a bad precedent for the both of them.

He shouldn't poison a well just as it'd started filling with water.

"The Skills on our Character Sheets can be split into two categories," Simon began. "Active Skills perform unique functions when activated. If you were a mage, then 'Fireball' might be an Active Skill. Then there are Passive Skills, which represent feats you're inherently good at. You don't need to activate Acrobatics to climb a wall, or use Crossbow Proficiency to land a shot; that expertise is simply a part of who you are."

And if he'd gotten any of that explanation wrong, then Voice-In-The-Sky was next in line to be thrown under the bus. It was tough being a transmigrator without an instruction booklet.

Katarina frowned slightly as she checked her Character Sheet. "I don't believe I have any Active Skills."

"You'll probably learn some as you get stronger." And select a Class Advancement, but we aren't beating that dead horse right now. "My Character Sheet also contains another section – Demonic Skills. To pull the curtain back – that's what I'm referring to whenever I say 'Demon magic'. All of my Demonic Skills seem to be Active types, carrying out defined functions when used."

"Like a Contract?"

"That's one of them." Technically, he thought of Contract as a combination Active and Passive ability, but superfluous details would just confuse Kat and muddy the waters. "Sin Scry and Identify are two more Demonic Skills."

A small, unavoidable lie. Identify was listed under his standard Active Skills section as a 'transmigration bonus'...which Sworn to Secrecy prevented him from saying. "In broad strokes: Identify reveals a limited amount of general information, and can be used on people or items. Sin Scry specifically shows the worst, most vile deeds a person has committed."

Simon pointed at Armand Calloway, who'd barely moved a muscle. "It's how I confirmed what he was."

Katarina said nothing for some time. She sank into deep thought, recalling all of their interactions up until now – with added context.

"Did you ever use Identify or Sin Scry on me?" she eventually asked.

"Yes. Both."

She looked away, poorly-suppressed disappointment plain on her features. It was the reaction Simon had anticipated.

For most people, trust was akin to a brave leap of faith. It was risky, with the potential to backfire – but that was what gave it value. When you extended trust to someone, you were essentially handing them a dagger and baring your chest, betting that they wouldn't take the chance to strike true.

Conversely, Katarina had just learned that Simon's trust was based not on faith...but on a severe invasion of privacy. He knew far more about her than she'd been willing to share.

Simon could have lied, claiming that he'd never used his Skills on her. Perhaps Katarina would've even been willing to believe him, rather than face an uncomfortable truth. But–

"Do you regret it?" she asked.

"I don't."

–But that would have defeated the purpose of their alliance.

Equal partnerships are tough, Simon mused. He'd known that Katarina wouldn't appreciate him using his Skills to research her past. Who would, really?

That didn't mean he regretted his actions. Identify, Sin Scry, and even this blunt honesty were all part of the cost of doing business. They had been necessary at the time. If she lost a degree of faith in him as a result, then he would just have to make up the difference elsewhere.

Katarina let out a short, brittle chuckle. "Can't tell if I'm more or less upset with you than before. More, because you're a callous bastard – or less, because you've owned up to it."

The woman ran a hand through her messy, shoulder-length red hair. "Is it hypocritical to feel a mite betrayed, yet recognize that I still would've done the same in your position?"

"A little," Simon admitted, "but it's not like I'm any better." The idea of someone using Identify on him inspired a kernel of dread within. Secrets were for him to keep, and for others to divulge.

Katarina fell quiet once more, her gaze periodically switching between Simon and Armand. She seemed to be processing a tempest of disparate emotions. He chose not to interrupt her, taking the opportunity to plan his activities for the night.

After five minutes, she spoke. "So." Katarina drummed her fingers on her thigh. "You saw the worst of who am I...and you still made me an ally?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Should I not have?"

"I'm no paragon of morality, Simon. No blackhearted reprobate, either, but I've hardly lived a virtuous life." She shrugged with an air of forced nonchalance. "Figured that would give anyone cause for concern."

"The opposite, actually. All I saw was someone doing their best to get by after being dealt a rough hand. You could've been much, much worse."

Silence, again. But where the previous silence had felt tense and awkward, this was easier, more contemplative.

Katarina sighed. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Right." She gestured towards Armand, taking care not to have her face in full view, just in case he happened to glance their way. "Activate your Sin Scry on him. I want to know if – if I was special."

The word spat out of her mouth like rancid bile. "Has he attacked others as well, or was I merely the passing fancy of a madman? I'm not even sure which I'd prefer to be the case, but...I feel like I need to know. Like it'll help me make sense of what transpired."

Simon already had a solid guess, but he was morbidly curious about what else Sin Scry would reveal, and helping Katarina achieve a bit of closure wouldn't hurt either. "Using it puts me in a trance for roughly five seconds," he told her. "Keep watch."

Katarina looked surprised that he'd agreed so quickly, but nodded regardless. After she'd given their location a once-over to ensure that there weren't any prying eyes, Simon stared directly at Armand Calloway, fixing his gaze on what was seemingly a plain, ordinary man.

Sin Scry.

Scenes from another life played out before him.

'Armand. Comes across a drunken, staggering guard. Spies a dagger glinting in their pocket. Its splendor catches his attention. The first thing to ever banish the emptiness inside.'

'Armand. Stealing the dagger. The first crime after a long life of temperance.'

'Armand. Slitting the guard's throat. The first kill of oh so very many.'

'Armand. His guilt and remorse, devoured by the dagger. He goes hunting again within the week.'

'Armand. Grinning wildly as blood splatters the ground.'

'Armand. At day, shuffling along in his shell. At night, revelry commences. Kill. Drink. The sweetest embrace, unlike anything known before.'

'Armand. Luxuriating in the dagger's sustenance. Pouring ambrosia into the emptiness. It can never be filled, but he'll try, by the Ancient's blood will he try.'

'Armand. Cut the flesh, drink the essence, again and again and again, joyous joyous–'

"Simon?"

With a start, he snapped back to reality. It took him a couple moments to notice that Katarina was shaking his shoulder. "What is it?" he asked.

"Your eyes were blank for ten seconds," she explained. "Was longer than the five seconds you described, and your muscles kept tightening. Thought I should wake you."

"Thanks." Simon rubbed his face, as if clearing cobwebs from his mind. "Didn't need to see any more than I did. Armand is a senseless, indiscriminate murderer."

Katarina sucked in a harsh intake of breath. "There was no reason why he attacked me?"

"Zero. Was simply a case of wrong place, wrong time. He kills for the fun of it."

Although...something about Armand's memories were bothering him. Simon hadn't let himself get fully immersed in the Sin Scry visions this time – would've been like taking a bath in sewage waste – so the details seemed fuzzier.

I know his means and his motive. Those are accurate...yet there's another, secondary intent there too. Something I'm missing.

Well, no big deal. He could just ask the man himself.

"I'm making an executive decision," Simon declared, stretching his aching limbs. "Our first target will be Armand Calloway. Sorry for delaying your initial suggestion, but unless they're also a homicidal maniac, I think this one takes precedence."

Katarina bared her teeth. "I have absolutely no qualms with that."

"Not even when I tell you that Armand is an Estimated Level 28?"

"...28? Simon, you're Level 13, and I'm Level 12."

"Correct. Honestly, it's a miracle you escaped him before."

Her enthusiasm deflated like a poked balloon. "I'm no expert on Levels, but challenging an opponent whose Level exceeds both of ours combined sounds...ill-advised."

"Could be worse." Simon put on a winning smile. "Springwater's Fell Beast was Level 39 when we found it."

Katarina sputtered at him. "Wait, you knew that, and you still fought–"

"The Warding Orbs stalled the Beast – we would've been devoured in moments otherwise. Won't work the same way with Armand. He doesn't have any huge glaring weaknesses we can exploit."

With a vicious snarl, Katarina clenched her fists. "So be it. We'll increase our Levels until we've risen above that Ancient-cursed savage."

Simon shook his head. "We don't know how long that'll take. Each day we tarry could be another life he snuffs out."

"Then what do you suggest? That we just leave him be?!"

"Whoever said anything about leaving him?"

A spike of adrenaline pumped through Simon's veins, the plan coalescing in his thoughts. "You're looking at this from the wrong angle. Levels may be a general barometer of strength, but they aren't the end-all. The slavers and the Fell Beast were higher-Level than us, and they're worm food, while we're not. Raw power doesn't win battles; strategy does."

He locked eyes with her. "Tell me, Kat – what do you think would be karmic justice for a coward who ambushes people in the dead of night? Because I think that turnabout is fair play."

--

Observing Armand for the rest of the day proved to be an easy task. Despite his status as a longtime resident of Caelryn City, the man didn't seem to possess any concept of self-preservation, never checking his surroundings for danger. Muggers could've snatched the clothes off his back, and he probably wouldn't have noticed or cared.

His silent vigil was only interrupted by the passage of time. After hours had gone by, when dusk was just starting to fall, Calloway abruptly stood up. Nary a flicker of emotion on his face, he trudged down the crowded streets with sullen, plodding steps, like a rock drifting aimlessly through shifting waters.

Armand led Simon and Katarina to a tiny hovel several streets over. While it wasn't a terrible place to live by Caelryn standards, the domicile obviously hadn't been cared for in the slightest. Dirt and grime covered its exterior, and its one window was scarcely more than shattered glass. The front door didn't even close shut all the way.

This wasn't a home – it was a pit stop. A place of respite that facilitated the transformation from the Armand of day to the Armand of night.

No, Simon thought, correcting himself. Not a transformation into something greater. Just a cruel, pathetic man inflicting his miserable vices on the unsuspecting. He is less than nothing. A living ghost. None will mourn his passing, nor will they celebrate it.

He paused. Except for the EXP he'll give me. I'll certainly celebrate that.

The plan was simple: assassinate Armand Calloway. While it was entirely possible to win a direct fight, that was their backup option if stealth failed them. The element of surprise would once again be their strongest asset.

They would wait until nightfall, then ambush him when he least expected it, striking before he even knew he was dead. His life would be extinguished silently and without fanfare.

A fitting end.

According to Katarina, magic couldn't reverse brain death – so if they targeted his vital areas right away, that was that. Even if Armand turned out to be a spellcaster, he couldn't exactly heal himself from a gaping hole in his head.

Ideally, they'd catch the man while he slumbered inside his hovel. Wasn't like he could go prowling the streets every night. Serial killers needed their beauty sleep too.

Otherwise, they'd tail him as he went searching for fresh prey. Hunt the hunter. That would be somewhat trickier, as Simon wanted to avoid using his Demonic abilities in open view. The last thing they needed was rumors of a new Demon in town spreading throughout Caelryn.

Alternatively–

"Are you sure this is wise?" Katarina whispered.

Simon glanced over at her, keeping Armand's house in his peripheral vision. "You're referring to...?"

"This plan of ours. It is fraught with peril."

"Getting cold feet?"

"I'm thinking logically," she muttered. "Masterstroke ambushes are all well and good, but no strategy is foolproof. You need to consider what happens if things go awry – and I don't like our chances if we have to fight the madman in a straight confrontation. Victory isn't at all guaranteed."

"We beat the Fell Beast."

"We shouldn't have, and you're well-aware of that." Katarina rubbed her hands together, warding off the cold and expelling nervous energy. "Just think it would be safer to come back later. We've already learned where he resides. What's the harm in increasing our Levels first?"

Simon turned his full gaze onto her. "People are going to die if we wait."

She grimaced. "Then I suppose it's my turn to be the callous one, because...let them. What good would it do for his victims if we were slain as well? We aren't responsible for everyone in the world, Simon."

He almost laughed at the absurd irony of her statement. Transmigrators were, in fact, responsible for the world.

An insistent, painful itch started crawling over his shoulders. Scratching, biting, gnawing. The feeling was spurred on by all-crushing weight pressing down on him; the looming apocalypse timer, invisible and ever-present. Every day, every minute, every second wasted was a moment where Valtia inched closer to destruction.

Simon welcomed the sensations like old friends. He knew from experience that the itch and the weight could only be lessened by one thing.

Progress.

"I have to ignore Helmund for now," he seethed, "as we aren't strong enough to fight him. You convinced me to ignore the slaving industry for much the same reason. But this...creature?" He jabbed a finger at Armand's house. "This abomination?"

Like a falling guillotine, Simon inclined his head. "He's within our power. No more averting my eyes. I refuse to let him escape."

Katarina's posture sagged with defeat. "The slaver band, the Fell Beast, and now this." A sardonic chuckle rose up from her chest. "You're fearless, aren't you?"

"No."

The understated severity of his response caught her off-guard. Simon carefully adjusted his emotions before speaking further. "I'm not fearless. I get scared just like anyone else."

He'd made sure of that.

**

15 Years Prior

"Simon! SIMON!"

The young boy stood unmoving as three people rushed around him. Two of them were his parents, dashing forward at full sprint, their faces frozen in rictuses of horror. The third person was an unknown man running in the opposite direction, a knife held in his hand.

Seconds ago, it had been pressed against Simon's neck.

His father swept him into a tight hug, clutching as if the boy might vanish at any moment. His mother – noting that his father had the emotional support angle covered – got in front of them, standing like an unyielding bulwark in case the assailant returned.

"PSYCHO PIECE OF SHIT!" Red-faced, she bellowed at the fleeing man. Her expression was so murderous that if it were a gun, he would've been shot dead twenty times over. "THIS ISN'T OVER!
I KNOW YOUR FACE, AND I'M A GODDAMN PROSECUTOR! YOU'LL ROT IN A CELL! YOU WON'T EVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AG–"

"Mom?"

The sound of her son's inquisitive tone was like a flipped switch. She instantly whirled around, kneeling down to join her husband in a warm, bone-crushing squeeze.

"I'm sorry, Simon! I'm so sorry! We only took our eyes away for a second!" She was starting to babble. "This is a public mall, we didn't think, why could, why didn't anyone do anything?! Need to have a word with the head of security here and–"

"Mom." Simon patted her on the back – he'd seen people on TV do that to comfort family – and pushed his lips up into an encouraging smile. "I'm okay." He didn't like it when his mom and dad got upset. Everything was nicer when they were happy.

Both of his parents let go, closely scrutinizing him. "No injuries," his father stated, with an exhalation of relief. "Should still take you to the hospital. Just to be safe."

His father's voice sounded calm, but his hands trembled as he spoke. Simon wasn't sure why. If he hadn't been injured, then what was wrong?

Maybe this will help? "He didn't hurt me. Wasn't going to."

Angry veins bulged in his mother's forehead, a telltale sign that she would be visited by migraines later. "That man had a knife, Simon."

"But he wasn't gonna use it."

Both of his parents hesitated. They exchanged glances between each other. Simon mentally settled in and got comfy – that look usually happened before a big talk.

"Simon," his father began, saying his name almost like a question. "Why do you think that man wouldn't have hurt you?"

The boy shrugged. "Cause he was scared."

His hands were trembling more than yours are now.

It had taken a lot of courage for the mugger to reveal his knife – courage that promptly evaporated when he looked down and saw not an ounce of fear in his supposed hostage. As if he'd been anticipating a different reaction from Simon, and the one he got instead was...

Unnerving.

"He was frightened," Simon reasoned, trying hard to put his thoughts into words, "which means he wouldn't have hurt me. People don't do things they're afraid of."

Another shared, knowing look between his parents. Simon let out a sigh. What had he said wrong this time?

"Were you scared?" his mother suddenly asked.

"Not really." He knew how people were supposed to act when taken hostage by bad guys, he'd seen it watching movies – but the people in those movies always ended up fine anyway. Saved by heroes, same as today.

And even if the man had wanted to harm him, it wouldn't have changed how Simon felt very much. Fear was a quick thing. Like a cute fluttering bird, zipping in and out of vision before disappearing, never staying long enough to leave an impression.

With great care, his mother leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. Her gaze was overflowing with equal amounts of love and concern. When she spoke, it was in a slow, methodical voice; his parents had learned that he was receptive to arguments that were explained in detail.

"Simon...maybe you're right. That man may have been afraid to hurt you. Deep inside, he might've known it was a terrible idea."

She shuddered, as if imagining a horrible sight. "However, you need to realize something important about people – they don't always behave the way they should. A person can act against their own self-interest."

Simon didn't quite get what 'self-interest' was, but he nodded along, attempting to understand her meaning. He hated not understanding people. "So, that man could've hurt me? People can do things they're afraid of?"

"Yes. For many reasons."

Simon frowned. From what he knew of fear, it was decidedly unpleasant. Why subject themselves to that? "Doesn't make sense."

"People often don't." His mother paused, looking over to where the mall security guards were finally hurrying towards them, like the last horse crossing the finish line. "If you want, we can discuss it more later. Just remember what we've said for now. Please."

The boy nodded. He took his parents' teachings to heart, carving them into his worldview.

Their family spent the next few hours dealing with mall security and the police, making tedious statements and settling legalities. Eventually, enough was enough, exhaustion rearing its ugly head. The three of them gathered their things and went home.

Later that afternoon, Simon jumped off the roof of their second-story house.

His parents found him soon after, drawn by the sound of his pained screaming. He'd tried to stay quiet – knowing that he was going to be in big trouble if they found him – but that was difficult when he was suffering from a fractured leg. The pile of leaves at the bottom had done little to cushion his fall.

"Simon? SIMON!" In what seemed like a rerun of earlier, his parents dashed up to him...though this time their horror had been partially replaced with exasperation. "Why?! Just, why?!"

Despite the pain, he peered up at them with glittering eyes. "Sorry. Had to."

His mother shook her head in growing disbelief. "You did this on purpose?"

"Didn't think I would get hurt." Simon gestured down at the leaf pile, glaring at the crunched foliage like it had betrayed him. "That's why I put this here. People on TV don't get hurt when they fall into leaves."

Neither of his parents knew how to respond to that.

"It's okay," he assured, his face beaming like the sun. "Was worth it. Needed to test."

"You, you run tests with your science kit," his father mumbled. He paled as he examined Simon's swollen leg. "That's why we bought it for Christmas, remem–"

"Mom. Dad. I get it now."

His parents didn't exchange a knowing look this time. Both of their gazes were transfixed on him, as if seeing their son in a new light.

"I kept wondering," Simon continued, his mouth splitting wider than ever before. "Why would anyone do something they were really scared of? People seem miserable when they're terrified. Just didn't make sense."

Every inch of him was shivering. He could feel his heartbeat in his mouth, sparks of electricity dancing on his skin.

"But then I felt it." Joyful laughter burst out of him. "When I looked over the edge of the roof, I started sweating, like tiny zaps all over me – and when I jumped, my body got so hot, so...fast! Like I could run ten laps around the yard! Like I'm lighting up on the inside!"

"Like you feel alive," his mother whispered.

"Yeah! That!" He met their gaze. "That's why people do things they're afraid of! It's FUN!"

Simon regretted his words the instant they came out of his mouth.

He hated not understanding people. He hated making his parents upset.

And both things he hated most were combined in the look they gave him now.

**

Present Day

Ah, the follies of youth.

A wistful, nostalgic, and bittersweet smile spread across Simon's face. That was one story he never intended to share with others. Far too embarrassing.

'Implicitly confuses fear with excitement' had been the psychologist's official diagnosis. It was a symptom commonly associated with thrill seekers, adrenaline junkies, and Darwin Award winners. Worried that their son might fail to live past his 20s, his parents had pushed him to learn how to regulate and understand his emotions more...

Carefully.

Their efforts were a success. Took a couple years, but he ultimately got the hang of things.

Overall, that day with the mugger and the rooftop ended up being a surprisingly beneficial experience. It taught Simon to identify and embrace his emotions, elevating them to a higher status than before. His parents had been immensely proud with his progress – and his reduced propensity for risk-taking.

Although...perhaps Valtia was causing him to backslide? He'd kinda rushed headfirst into grave danger on multiple occasions now. Some of those situations had been unavoidable, but the rest were just him refusing to take his foot off the gas.

Then again, would I be any better-off if I'd been more careful? A cautious Simon wouldn't have acquired his Demonic abilities, rescued Katarina and Gerold, or saved Springwater – heck, he wouldn't have even survived Stuart. Calculated recklessness had earned him gain after gain.

It might not last. Maybe one day he would make a fatal error, and that would be the end of things. After all, the line between genius and idiocy was only defined by success, and he couldn't win forever.

Don't need to win forever, he reminded himself. Just long enough to make a difference. The candle that burns quickest shines brightest, and a one-year phenomenon will change the world infinitely more than a lifetime of mediocrity.

He knew that. He agreed with it. It was why he'd transmigrated. To shake Valtia from its self-destructive inertia, to tear its society up by the roots – and to slay the untouchable monsters roaming its streets.

After tonight, there would be one less.

--

Thanks for reading!