He battered the demon with knowledge.
Ruger kept a constant eye on the pale yellow crystal in his hand. Neither the commotion here nor the activity over at the Royal Palace Main Complex had caused any change in it.
Two Fur Hands rapidly wove themselves into being beside Ruger.
Grey Bullet Spells rained down in a pattern that was both ordered and chaotic. This was how he had cast spells while practicing by the sea. The Ash Bullets cast by the two Fur Hands were different: one hand pushed its casting to the limit, doing as much as it possibly could, which made its rhythm look relatively regular. The other acted on a whim, as though he were humming a tune in his head and that hand were playing along, sometimes following the melody, sometimes twitching its fingers at random.
The scene was noisy, with smoke and dust billowing everywhere, yet Ruger, who had caused it all, watched in silence.
He was in no hurry to finish.
He even used the hand-shaped demon, whose malice was growing ever stronger, to replenish the peculiar origin power within the markings on his body.
Back on the isolated island, he had painstakingly emptied them once to get a sense of his limits. Afterward, he had replenished them by hunting sea beasts and other creatures nearby, but naturally, the results had been far inferior.
Now, this demon and its pure stench of malice were like sweet spring water to him.
Of course, he could only sense the concentration and ceaseless flow of origin power. He could not enjoy the stench of evil himself; only those who bore him malice were entitled to that pleasure.
Spell after spell fell, and under his perception, the strange demon had nowhere to hide.
Demons could sometimes have unfathomable