Dark Fantasy Normalized-Chapter 92: Demon? Sword? Master?
It was the moment Lisir showed signs of leaving the inner world.
Clana felt a suffocating pressure tighten around her solar plexus.
A sensation both unpleasant and strangely tender—one she had never felt in her entire life.
It was certain.
That bastard must’ve exerted his dominion over her again.
So then, the fact that she grabbed his sleeve and spoke so pitifully—that had nothing to do with her own will.
There was no reason to feel guilty. No reason to feel shame.
“Wait. I’ll give you what you want.”
“...”
“You disgusting bastard. Even after making me do this, it’s not enough? /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Those eyes... How much humiliation do you want to inflict on me?”
How much humiliation do I want to inflict on her? Lisir took a moment to reflect on himself.
...That’s not even what I’m interested in, though?
Upon checking, he confirmed that his dominion wasn’t active on her at all.
So then what was it?
What was with her attitude just now?
Lisir decided not to think too deeply.
Let things lie. No need to go stirring up trouble when she was finally cooperating.
For now, the best course was to go along with her “worldview” and get what he needed.
With that decision, Lisir curled his lips into a mean little smile.
Maybe this was the version of him she wanted to believe in?
“How much shame you’ll feel... Well, I suppose that depends on how you carry yourself.”
“Tch—!”
Clana grit her teeth in humiliation.
But her eyes—oddly—gleamed with a strange light.
Lisir’s response had granted her a kind of absolution.
Right. I knew it. Just look at him. Look at his behavior. What I just did—this isn’t me at all. It’s something I was forced into. So there’s no helping it.
Clana felt the last traces of shame and hesitation dissolve. And with that, she moved boldly.
She demonstrated once again the motion she had shown Lisir earlier—assuming he hadn’t grasped its deeper meaning.
“Right. With your pathetic little insight, you probably can’t see a thing. But you’d best not ask for more. I’m no teacher. And if you can’t even understand this basic motion, you’ll never get anything from my sword.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Could you show me the next move?”
“Ha... how did I end up like this—”
Clana let out a sigh and repeated the same motion.
“No, not that one. The next move.”
“?”
Wasn’t he asking her to repeat it again? Not show the actual next one?
Clana felt momentarily confused—
“Pathetic. Already trying to skip ahead? What do you think you’ll gain from seeing the second step when you haven’t even grasped the first?”
She sneered at him with scorn.
And that was all.
She didn’t feel particularly disappointed.
Because disappointment stemmed from expectation—and she had no expectations for Lisir in the first place.
As far as Clana was concerned, her role here was to humor this arrogant little brat until he finally realized just how far beneath her he was.
“Well, since we’re on the topic... would you take a look at my form? I tried going as far as I could on my own.”
Clana scoffed and gave a disinterested nod of her chin.
Lisir moved into position.
At a glance, it was a simple upper-cut slash.
But there was something in the breath.
A quiet that blurred the line between inhale and exhale—and it seeped into the movement itself.
His swinging blade, the brush of cloth, the step forward, the encompassing breath—none of it made a single sound.
It was like the shadow of a man moving beneath moonlight.
And like prey only realizing it was wounded once it saw its own silhouette reflected in the pale glow.
The motion of the killer Blue Lotus had been replicated.
“What do you think?”
“Again.”
Clana muttered the word before she even realized it.
Once.
Twice.
The word repeated.
How long had she stood there, watching him repeat the same motion again and again?
Eventually, Lisir, growing frustrated by her soulless “Again,” spoke up.
“Can’t you just tell me what I’m doing wrong?”
“...”
Clana couldn’t answer.
Not because she had no interest in playing the role of a kind mentor. No—it wasn’t that.
It was because... there was nothing wrong with his form.
That was why she kept repeating “again.”
Clana couldn’t accept that Lisir had perfectly reproduced her movement.
Of course, it wasn’t flawless.
But that was only a matter of proficiency.
He had grasped the subtle mechanics, the meaning embedded in the motion, and made them his own.
He had internalized it—after a single demonstration. In just a few days.
“...!”
In that moment—
Clana’s breath caught.
Her sword—unfolded in someone else’s hand.
Her sword—understood by someone else.
She imagined it.
The moment Lisir would cut someone down using that sword.
That sword—the Blue Lotus—held in his hands.
Thump!
Her heart pounded.
It wasn’t the happiness of slaughter. Nor the artificial euphoria he’d sometimes forced on her.
It was something new—a kind of fullness she had never experienced before. A completely different kind of emotion overflowed within her.
“Damn it... my sword... in the hands of someone like you...”
Clana, forcing herself to feign disgust, demonstrated the next movement. A forward step technique that followed the upper-cut slash.
“...”
Lisir observed the motion carefully and nodded.
Without delay, he exited the inner world to begin internalizing it.
“Ah...!”
Clana let out a soft, involuntary sigh, staring at the spot where he had been standing.
***
[Affinity has increased.]
[Affinity: 11%]
***
The wave of that feeling hit her right then.
“Aah...”
She curled up on the floor, trying to calm her body.
“Damn it, damn it...!”
She kept cursing under her breath, unaware of what her face looked like in that moment.
And when the storm of emotion finally passed—
Only one thought remained in Clana’s mind.
What’s... happening to me...?
The joy of slaughter. The euphoria of submission.
She no longer cared for either.
What she wanted—
Was to see Lisir. Wielding that sword.
The moment a killer began to understand human emotion.
***
<You’ve got far too many unnecessary habits>.
“Huh?”
It was a voice that reached Lisir as he practiced a new movement in front of the garden mirror.
He glanced down at the Blue Lotus in his hand.
Clana, who hadn’t shown herself no matter how often he called to her in the inner world, was now naturally inhabiting the sword.
“What brought on the sudden change of heart?”
<...Far too many unnecessary habits>.
“What brought on the sudden change of heart?”
<Silence.>
Clana pressed on, saying what she wanted while entirely ignoring Lisir’s perfectly reasonable question.
<Why do you keep letting your mana drift around? Are you planning to ambush someone with a sudden spell or something?>
To Clana, Lisir’s mana control felt deeply unnatural for a swordsman.
Frankly, it was closer to watching a mage waving a sword around. It was a jab, plain and simple.
“Oh? That’s actually a good idea.”
<?>
“?”
<Was that sarcasm in response to my sarcasm?>
“Huh? That was sarcasm?”
<?>
“?”
<Don’t tell me you actually meant that idiotic nonsense?>
“Wait, but—wasn’t it you who brought up that idiotic nonsense first? Besides, I think it’s a great idea.”
<Be serious. Distracting with swordplay before a surprise magic attack? Do you think you’re some kind of sorcerer?>
“?”
<?>
Lisir looked down at the Blue Lotus in his hand.
An awkward silence passed between them.
“Well... I am trying to explore magic, after all.”
—Chyuuinni!
A third voice rang out from the room.
The speaker was Dangaleon, the gray crystal orb sitting on the desk, who had been spectating Lisir’s training with non-stop praise like:
“Such a valiant strike!”
“No demon could ever withstand Chyuuinni’s footwork!”
Magic is a force higher than swordsmanship! Don’t be swayed by the ramblings of a bug who couldn’t even protect their own body!
<?>
“?”
Two bugs—both incapable of preserving their physical forms—clashed in the air with invisible glares.
Lisir watched the standoff between the two non-living entities with amusement.
Sensing his gaze, Dangaleon cried out:
“Chyuuinni! Surely you aren’t equating me—Dangaleon, the burning blade of fire—with that mere hunk of steel!!!”
“Well, if we’re categorizing things... I mean, you both fall under the same type, right? Sentient objects.”
...!
Dangaleon was shocked.
To think that a sealing crystal containing a mighty demon would be spoken of in such lowly terms.
<Hey. Wasn’t I your teacher?>
“To be honest... I kind of just see you as a really useful sword.”
...!
Clana was stunned.
She didn’t care to be seen as a mentor—but even so, that was a bit much.
And so began the brief massacre carried out by the one who had kept her own body intact.
“Anyway, Chyuuinni! There’s no need to give up your pursuit of magic just for some petty swordsmanship! I dare suggest—walk the path of magic with me! A realm of power lies ahead that mere steel could never reveal!”
“I’m already walking it. The path of magic.”
?
<?>
A moment passed.
Clana, managing to calm her flustered state, spoke:
<Still... it’s a relief you found your natural aptitude before becoming too deeply infatuated with magic.>
“Is that so?”
<Yes. Had you reached the fourth tier, your body would’ve been completely fixed into that structure. You’d never be able to accept swordsmanship again.>
“?”
<?>
“Well... I did hit the sixth tier recently.”
<?>
–?
“Here.”
Lisir’s breath suddenly shifted.
From the Blue Breath that channeled mana through the body, to ordinary human respiration.
And from his fingertips, sand-like wind flared up.
A magic bearing his full signature aura—a clear marker of someone who had reached the sixth tier.
Clana finally spoke, voice practically flat with disbelief.
<What kind of idiot...>
“Pardon?”
<I mean the moron who taught Blue Breath to someone like you. Did they at least explain the risks? That if someone at your level learns it wrong, it could lead to magical overload?>
“Oh. No—I didn’t know that. I taught myself.”
<...Why?>
“Huh?”
The killer—long considered the embodiment of irrationality, the one who always left others bewildered—now voiced a simple, pure question.
“Not really—”
<Shut up and listen. Why are you trying to learn the sword now, of all times?>
This was a killer who, deep down, had begun coveting him as a disciple.
There was weight in her voice—an earnestness to grasp the core of this man.
“Well... it’s just that my mana’s been increasing so fast my body can’t keep up. So yeah. To put it simply—I'm doing it to survive.”
...
–...
The killer and the demon had seen many swordsmen in their time.
But never one like this—who learned swordsmanship not out of passion, but because their magic had grown too fast to contain.
“Anyway—shall we get back on topic?”
<...What?>
“You were trying to correct my bad habits earlier, weren’t you? Let’s keep going.”
<...Do as you please.>
“Huh?”
That does sound like the best course, Chyuuinni.
The killer and the demon stared at the human before them like he was some kind of mutant.
***
Councilor Gadum had been going through a difficult time of late.
The “Master” of the northern back alleys. The “Saint” of the eastern slums.
Their sudden appearance—and rapid growth in influence—was steadily eroding the weight of Gadum’s name within the Bondales underworld.
His political power stemmed from immense wealth. And that wealth came from illegal operations rooted in the city’s back alleys.
Gadum was reaching a breaking point. If his territory shrank any further, even his city council seat would be at risk.
Ran...
He recalled the recent private meeting he had with Councilor Ran.
She had claimed rights for herself, citing her role in expelling the cultists that had infiltrated Bondales.
Her demands were:
—Withdraw all your security forces from my district. From now on, all policing duties will fall under House Fellos.
If Gadum agreed to this, it would mean trouble for the “operations” he had been quietly running in her district’s alleys.
That could never be allowed.
So—he took action.
Now, he stood before three prominent mercenaries.
According to information passed on from an insider, they were outside hires Ran had brought in to eliminate the cultists.
If he could buy them off, he could steal her credit and nullify her claims.
“Are you trying to buy us off?”
The question came from Balod, disciple of the Red Tower’s master, his expression clearly displeased.
Gadum didn’t panic.
This was his specialty, after all.
He presented the offer he had prepared.
Friendship with Councilor Ran. Honor. All shallow notions easily discarded in the face of the right incentives.
“...”
Their expressions darkened with visible hesitation.
And it made sense.
Gadum’s offer wasn’t aimed at them personally—it promised enormous benefit to the organizations they belonged to.
As representatives of their factions, they couldn’t turn it down so easily—and Ran, who had sacrificed much to preserve her honor, would never be able to make an offer like this.
“I stake the name of Gadum on this: no word of this meeting will ever surface in a way that could sully your reputations.”
Countless nobles and citizens of Bondales already sat comfortably in Gadum’s pocket. Ran’s people were no exception.
By speaking now, Gadum hinted that many among her camp had already been bought.
Then—Malrad, the demon hunter, spoke.
“Don’t tell me... you’ve already talked with him too?”
“Who do you mean?”
“The honorary mage of the Gray Tower.”
“Ah.”
Gadum smothered a laugh.
A common misunderstanding among outsiders.
The Gray Tower differed fundamentally from the other Towers, which were backed by powerful noble families.
In Bondales, their influence was negligible.
Even their Master, let alone an honorary mage, wouldn’t dare meddle in the affairs of a city councilor.
Gadum smiled proudly, flaunting his power. His well-fed cheeks jiggled with smugness.
“If any problems arise, I’ll ‘handle’ him myself. You needn’t worry.”
“...Handle?”
Whatever they were imagining—
The three mercenaries all grimaced in unison.
Then, they exchanged glances and said:
“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”
“...?”
