Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 721: The Ashes of Chikitsa, and a Pissed Off Master

...The wind howled over the silent bones of the Chikitsa Clan’s mountain, carrying with it the smell of scorched wood, rusted metal, and something older, and very cursed.

Beneath the pale sky, a lone rider clad in obsidian-black garments made her slow approach.

She wore a full-body outfit, tight yet flowing, and her short silver demon-hair was bound and concealed beneath a silk hood. Her eyes that were once a deep infernal white, now shimmered a soft brown, thanks to contact lenses that Chiron had crafted from his previous world and the fate change system. She still found them a little dry when she blinked, but they served their purpose. Every piece of her disguise was meant to erase her demonic identity. At least for now.

This was Carla. She was once a child of this land.

Now... a weapon of Chiron.

She sat astride a sleek, muscular core beast: Hunter, his panther-like form padded silently across the ruined path. His black spotted fur shimmered faintly in the low light, his purple eyes wary but calm. Together, they passed the faded, crumbling barrier where the warning had once been carved in bloodstone:

"Beyond This Line: Death Awaits."

Carla didn’t flinch.

The old Chikitsa village lay beyond, a carcass of stone and memory. Roofs were caved in. Swords rusted in their racks which were the skeleton corpses around the place. Walls once etched with honor and legacy now crumbled into vine-choked rubble. The air here had not moved in a long time.

The Devil Energy that lingered around the place was thick—primal, and vengeful.

But no one dared live here. Even the mountain tribes and scattered nomads knew better than to disturb the grave of the Chikitsa Clan.

Maybe it was because of their unfortunate fate, or maybe it was because the reason for it still roamed the world, and his name—now an infamous household legend of dread.

She had heard them on her journey here. Some say he is the incarnation of the demon king, others said he was sent as a curse from the gods. Some others even said he was a vengeful spirit reborn.

Nothing good ever came from the rumors of him, except the acknowledgment of his achievements, conquests and the envy of his legend.

Carla remembered that she had once asked him, back when they were in the Vandora kingdom. "The image they have of you is disrespectful. Let me cut them down and make examples of them."

But he had stopped her. "What! And after that you will kill every ’talking’ thing in the whole world!?" He asked surprised, with his eyes giving her the ’are you stupid look?’

"And if you kill them all, who will sing my praises or tell stories of my legends to the next generation. Whether it’s true or not, why does it matter? The story is naturally going to be bent across several generations for thousands of years either ways. Legends are not made because people tell the truth. They are made because of the emotions the stories excite. If they are saying things, its vecause fear and anger are the emotions I excite. Besides, they are not exaggerating, I am the VILLAIN."

After which he continued his meditation. At the time, he had lost both his arms, but his gaze still carried that proud smirk. Like the world revolved not around him, but by his ’Will.’

Yes, Carla was proud of her master.

As Carla rode, her eyes drifted over the place where her childhood once danced. Her heart grew tight.

She remembered the smell of sweat and smoke from the training fields, where boys her age had sparred with wooden swords, and old men chuckled while sharing fermented plum wine at her father’s favorite pub. She could almost hear the sound of steel clashing... laughter... joy.

But then the memories darkened.

She remembered blood. Her mother’s betrayal. The tears. The moment she had plunged a blade into her own mother’s chest, the cursed heart in her hands, its warmth still steaming as she bit into it on Chiron’s command.

The moment she became a demon.

She had been young. Angry and no doubt Used.

And now, years later, after seeing how Chiron manipulated godlike beings and kings alike, she knew he had likely orchestrated that night too, and even killed off her siblings.

But she didn’t resent him.

In fact, she was grateful. He had gone such great miles to secure her place by his side. Such dedicated planning all for her. She felt blessed. Favored even.

Because of him, she’d tasted true freedom, seen the world beyond mountains, and walked beside beings of awe and horror alike. He’d given her purpose when her bloodline had caged here.

By now she would have been a Clan warrior that had lost her life in some pointless battle for resources, or married to another drunk fool like her father, with two children, and struggled a lot. While contemplating how to hide her affairs from his eyes.

Her heart stirred.

Hunter paused beneath her, his ears twitching.

"You’re trembling," he said with his deep, feline voice. "Are you hurt?"

Carla shook her head, wiping away the moisture in her eyes.

"No... Just thinking about how much I love him."

Hunter grunted in agreement. "I do too. I love Master."

She smiled and patted his back.

"Then we better not disappoint him. You know he hates wasted time."

The core beast let out a low, proud growl and then charged ahead, his paws gliding over the dusted stones as they made for their destination.

The Clan Chief’s home. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

It had long since collapsed—its grand entrance buried beneath debris, its central pillars snapped like twigs. Nature had reclaimed parts of it, but the malice in the air warned any who wandered too close. Ivy and rot cloaked the once-grand hall, but Carla paid it no mind.

What mattered lay beneath.

With Hunter’s strength and Chiron’s directions, they uncovered the hidden steps beneath the broken home, descending into a long-forgotten cavern carved under the manor.

Torches on the walls—enchanted with spirit energy-fire—lit of their own accord as they walked in. Their flickering light cast strange shadows across the walls... and there it was.

The dragon’s face. Carved into the end of the cavern wall.

Its features were ancient and fierce—stone horns, jagged teeth, and eyes that seemed to follow her every move.

Carla stepped forward and sliced open her forearm, letting a few drops of her demon-tainted blood flow onto the mouth of the statue. She whispered the incantation Chiron had given her.

The sane one that always opened this place.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—

"Grhhhuuuhhhhhh..."

The stone shuddered. The dragon’s eyes ignited with green fire, and its lips curled back in a snarl.

"Chikitsa Clan... or not," the deep voice boomed, echoing like thunder through the earth. "You dare feed me the blood of a demon-born?"

The cavern trembled.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

The dragon’s stony face lunged forward slightly, stone tendons flexing like real muscle. It was a relic—but not dead. Its soul was still here.

Yet Carla’s face did not change. Nor did Hunter growl.

She stepped forward and spoke with clarity.

"My master, Chiron... has a message for you."

Her voice was low but sharp.

"You have offended him."

For a moment, silence.

Then, to her surprise—the dragon’s face froze.

Its glowing eyes widened ever so slightly.

Carla tilted her head, watching. As a demon, she knew that look.

It was not anger. Not confusion.

It was fear.

And that made her smile.

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