From Human to Skeleton: Revived with Infinite System Crystals

Omhina had leaned back in her chair, her expression serious. "Then I hope you're ready for whatever you find. Because once you confront Osalf, there's no turning back."

x

Back to the Present

The memory faded, and Daemon found himself back on the trail, the weight of Omhina's words heavy in his mind. No turning back. The phrase echoed in his thoughts as he continued down the path, the tension in his chest growing with each step. He had made his decision, and there was no changing it now. This was something he had to do, no matter the cost.

x

The sun was setting now, the two suns casting a warm, golden light across the trail. The trees around him were bathed in a soft purple glow as the light filtered through the leaves, creating a surreal, almost otherworldly atmosphere. It was beautiful, but Daemon barely noticed. His mind was too focused on what was waiting for him at the end of the trail.

The small stall came into view as he rounded a corner, the smell of roasting meat filling the air. It was the same stall he had taken Ty to once, a quiet place tucked away from the bustling streets. The memories of that night drifted through his mind, but he pushed them aside. This wasn't the time for nostalgia.

Daemon approached the counter, his eyes scanning the small crowd of patrons. Most of them were locals, their faces unfamiliar, but one man stood out—a burly figure behind the counter, his eyes sharp as he worked the grill.

The man glanced up as Daemon approached, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Password?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Daemon hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice steady. "Faron's Flame."

The man's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed taken aback. "I wasn't aware we had the great Lieutenant helping our cause," he said, a note of respect in his voice. He quickly wiped his hands on his apron before reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a small package wrapped in cloth. "Here's the drop. Location's in Raventhorn Woods, just past the old watchtower."

Daemon nodded, accepting the package and tucking it into his coat. The man handed him a drink and a small loaf of bread, his eyes lingering on Daemon's face for a moment longer. "Good luck out there," the man added quietly. "You'll need it."

Daemon didn't respond. He simply nodded and turned away, his thoughts already shifting back to the confrontation that lay ahead. Raventhorn Woods wasn't far from here, and the sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon.

The trail grew narrower as he walked, the trees closing in around him as the light faded. The suns were setting now, casting the world in a deep purple hue as the forest around him grew darker. The wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint sounds of movement. Daemon slowed his pace, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the path ahead.

He was close now.

And then he saw them.

Osalf, standing at the edge of a small clearing, his back to Daemon. Beside him stood another figure, their face hidden in the shadows. Daemon's heart pounded in his chest as he approached, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

This is it.

The clearing felt like the edge of the world. Lt. Daemon stood at the threshold, the air hanging heavy with the weight of what was about to unfold. His breath was slow and deliberate as he walked forward, each step sinking into the soft earth beneath his boots.
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The faint, purplish glow from the two setting suns bathed the trees in a surreal light, casting long, creeping shadows that danced along the ground. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, a silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.

But Daemon's thoughts were anything but silent. His mind raced, a whirlwind of emotion and memory that threatened to overwhelm him as he drew nearer to the clearing. General Osalf stood just ahead, the man he had once trusted more than anyone. The man who had betrayed everything Daemon had believed in.

Daemon's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his short blade, the cool metal beneath his fingers grounding him. He could still hear Realdo's voice in his head, the laughter, the camaraderie they had shared—memories that now felt like ghosts haunting his every step. Realdo, the man who had been like a brother to him. The man who was now dead, and for what? Osalf's twisted sense of duty?

His warped vision of what the kingdom had become?

The anger bubbled just beneath the surface, but Daemon forced it down. There would be time for anger. There would be time for revenge. But not yet.

He stopped just a few feet away from Osalf, his eyes scanning the scene. Osalf's back was to him, but the former general's posture was relaxed, too relaxed for a man who knew what was coming. Next to him, a nervous-looking man stood fidgeting, his eyes darting between Daemon and Osalf as if he could feel the storm that was about to break.

"You're alone," Osalf said, not bothering to turn around. His voice was calm, detached, as if the conversation were of little importance. "No Yun-Jin. No Demon Boy. Just you."

"This is between us," Daemon replied, his voice steady despite the torrent of emotions swirling inside him. He took another step forward, the distance between them shrinking. "They don't belong here."

Osalf turned slowly, his eyes meeting Daemon's for the first time. There was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, a cold, calculated expression that sent a chill down Daemon's spine. "Of course," Osalf said quietly, his gaze steady. "Always the noble protector. Always thinking you can shoulder the weight of the world on your own. That's why I chose you, Daemon."