Journey to the underworld: How I became the demon king

I barely had time to react before Aurora lunged forward. Her movements were precise, each strike forcing me to dodge and stumble across the uneven terrain. My body screamed in protest, but I couldn't stop. Not when her words lingered in my mind: Fear won't save you.

Her translucent blade hummed as it sliced the air, missing me by inches. "You're too slow," she said, her voice filled with both frustration and challenge. "If this is all you can do, you won't last a day in Purgatorio."

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus. Every step, every breath became deliberate. I studied her movements, the subtle shifts in her stance that hinted at her next attack.

And then I saw it—a momentary hesitation in her swing. Acting on instinct, I sidestepped her blade and reached out, aiming to grab her wrist. But she was faster, twisting away and planting her foot firmly against my chest.

The impact sent me sprawling across the rocky ground.

"Better," she said, standing over me. Her smirk softened, if only slightly. "But you're still holding back. You won't survive here unless you commit to every move. No hesitation. No fear."

Her words stung, but they ignited something inside me—a spark of determination. I pushed myself to my feet, wiping the blood from my lip. "Again," I said, my voice steady despite the pain.

Aurora raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but she nodded. "Good. Maybe you're not as hopeless as you look."

The sunless sky of Purgatorio loomed above as we continued to spar, each exchange of blows pushing me closer to my limit. Aurora was relentless, her strikes forcing me to adapt, to think, to survive.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she lowered her blade, her expression unreadable. "You've improved," she said, though her tone lacked warmth. "But don't let it go to your head. This was just the first step."

I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air. Every muscle in my body ached, but there was a sense of accomplishment—however small—that dulled the pain.

Aurora crossed her arms, her piercing blue eyes watching me closely. "You'll need a place to recover. Purgatorio isn't just endless trials. There are pockets of stability—safe zones, if you can call them that. I know of one nearby."

I nodded, too exhausted to argue. "Lead the way," I managed to say between breaths.

As we walked through the desolate terrain, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to ease, if only slightly. Aurora remained silent, her gaze scanning our surroundings with practiced vigilance.

"How do you know so much about this place?" I asked, breaking the silence.

She glanced at me, her expression guarded. "I've been here longer than you can imagine. Longer than I care to remember."

Her answer only deepened my curiosity, but I knew better than to press further. There was something in her tone—a weight of experience and pain—that warned me to tread carefully.

Eventually, we reached a structure carved into the side of a jagged cliff. It was crude but sturdy, its walls made of dark stone that seemed to absorb the faint light of Purgatorio.

"This will do," Aurora said, pushing open the heavy door. Inside, the air was cooler, the oppressive heat of Purgatorio dulled by the thick walls.

The base was sparse, with only the bare essentials: a small fire pit, a couple of worn mats, and a basin of water that looked cleaner than anything I'd seen in this realm.

Aurora wasted no time, heading straight for the basin. She removed her cloak and gloves, revealing scars that crisscrossed her pale skin—marks of battles fought and survived.

I turned away, giving her privacy, but my curiosity got the better of me. When I glanced back, she was untying the straps of her armor, preparing to wash off the grime of our journey.

"Take a picture, why don't you?" She said without looking up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I quickly averted my gaze, my face burning red from embarrassment. "I wasn't—"

"Relax," she interrupted, a faint smirk on her lips. "I'm used to people staring. Just don't make it a habit."

Despite her teasing tone, there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes—a reminder that, beneath her tough exterior, she was still human.

As I turned my attention to the fire pit, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "You're different, Kuro. Most people here are either broken or consumed by their own ambition. But you… you're just trying to survive. It's almost admirable."

I looked up, surprised by her words. "Almost?"

Aurora chuckled, a sound that was equal parts genuine and bitter. "Don't let it go to your head. You still have a long way to go."

Her laughter faded, replaced by a somber expression. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her gaze distant. Then, as if snapping back to reality, she turned to me, her eyes hard once more.

"Get some rest," she said. "Tomorrow, we train again."

As I lay on one of the worn mats, exhaustion pulling me into sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that Aurora was hiding something—something that might be the key to understanding not just her, but the trials that lay ahead.