When Eri had been reborn as a human child, he had earned a peculiar Perk.

  Of all the power-ups granted by the System, it was the Perk mechanics that arguably made the most significant impact on his development.

  Perks were not like Skills or simple Attribute Stat bonuses. The System explained them to be the equivalent of receiving Blessings — rare boons of Divine or Demonic power that bend the very rules that govern all sentient creatures, only ever bestowed through extraordinary deeds or impossible trials by the whims of powers far greater than mortals.

  In other words, by the Goddess or the Demon Kings.

  For Eri, while Skills could be learned and Attributes trained through Attribute Points, Perks were awarded so rarely that he only had two, even after 12 years of life.

  One he earned when he first received his Copper Core. The other was one that he was born with.

  And it was the latter that was the one more worrying by far.

  \-\

  Perk: False Memories of a Demon King

  Rank 1: Sovereign of the Bloodflame Arts

  Effects: Grants the Skill ‘Bloodflame Demonic Arts’ at maximum Proficiency (Legend), unlocking all eight forms of Bloodflame Arts.

  One day, you will fulfil your purpose/debt/promise to me. Until that day comes, you may hold on to this power you stole.

  Should you have need of more… Exalt your determination, and I may turn a blind eye to even greater theft.

  \-\

  Disturbing implications on its description aside, the Perk alone gave him a Skill at maxed proficiency.

  Now, an outsider could be forgiven for thinking the effects unspectacular. After all, Eri was a reincarnated Demon King. It would be stranger if Eri didn’t know of the Demonic Arts, considering he had been reborn with his memories.

  But here was the thing: In his past life, Erizen had only mastered the Bloodflame Demonic Arts up to its Sixth Form — the perceived apex of any school of magic, even amidst Chosen Saints and Demon Kings.

  He — the Fourth Demon King, the very creator of his unique school of magic, the Bloodflame Arts — had not known that a theoretical Seventh Form of his own magic even existed, let alone an Eighth.

  Now, an outsider might be thinking: Well, with such a dominating proficiency in Bloodflame magic, there’s surely no way Eri would ever lose in any fight! All he has to do is use the legendary Eighth Form of magic that no one has ever achieved before, and he would absolutely obliterate his opponents!

  … Two problems with that.

  The first was more obvious: he couldn’t go around freely using demonic magic and not garner suspicion. Elen had warned him extensively that humans — Chosens or otherwise — do not use Demonic Arts. Such magic was both strictly illegal and unsanctioned, and anyone who was spotted using it immediately got a Capture-or-Kill order from both the Empire and the Church, without exception.

  While its application in a life-or-death emergency might be justifiable, complications would inevitably arise if anyone saw him using it — ones with potentially fatal consequences.

  Eri would thus much rather have other abilities on hand to pull himself out of trouble should the need arise, hence why he had so rigorously trained his other Skills rather than solely relying on the Demonic Bloodflame Arts.

  The second problem was, well…

  Eri’s human body was entirely unsuited for using Bloodflame Arts.

  The Bloodflame Arts was a profane and self-destructive school of magic — invented by the Fourth Demon King, and thus uniquely suited for use with his own Hellwrought constitution, and only with his own Hellwrought constitution.

  In other words… It was a school of magic which only the Fourth Demon King’s hyper-regenerative body could handle.

  The Bloodflame Arts, as the name implies, sets one’s own blood on fire. The Church marked it as a forbidden discipline of demonic war-magic, born from the marriage of two conceptual Elder forces: the searing purity of fire and the vital essence of blood.

  Conceptual symbolism — otherwise also known as ‘Sympathy’ — was deeply intertwined with how powerful a school of magic was. The themes of ‘Blood’ and ‘Fire’ were as ancient as life itself. Through the combination of such primordial principles, the Fourth Demon King was able to create a formidable and heretical new school of magic: Bloodflame.

  By igniting his own vital ichor with arcane flame, the Demon King could forge weapons of living fire, hurl searing torrents that burn both flesh and spirit, and brand his enemies with infernal wounds that cannot be quenched, even with healing magic.

  Theoretically, the art was as perilous to the caster as it was to the target. Each spell demands a toll of the caster’s blood, severely harming their body in exchange for infernal powers.

  However, since the Fourth Demon King was effectively immortal to all weapons but the Holy Sword Calabrum, the self-inflicted damage was rendered moot.

  Basically, the point here being made is…

  Eri White’s human body is not built to handle the Bloodflame Arts. And if he dares to use them anyway…

  He is going to kill himself.

  ~~~

  Holy Crap, this hurts so much.

  Eri could barely think as his body was subjected to infernal exsanguination, somehow both bleeding and burning at the same time.

  The pain was beyond excruciating. It exceeded even his superhuman tolerance for torment.

  But it was also a familiar pain.

  Immortal though his Demon King body might have been, Erizen had still borne the full agony of his Bloodflame Arts whenever he used them. It took him a long time to learn how to endure the suffering effectively in battle.

  And so now, even in a different life, he reaped the fruits of his long millennium of bloody self-immolation.

  Even as his blood boiled, even as his flesh burned…

  Eri White fought to win.

  The half-blood giant rushed to meet him mid-way, too excited to wait even another second. With an exhilarated howl, Gunther’s twin axes came down to meet Eri’s blood blade.

  Before, while unarmed, Gunther had already been formidable. His arms were so long that the reach of his punches might as well have belonged to great weapons.

  But now, armed with war axes, Gunther’s range of striking lethality was even greater.

  Even still, Eri kept running forward.

  I need to hit his weak points, he thought. Necks, armpit, groin… The curse of my Bloodflame blades should counter his regeneration, but I can’t reach him if I try to dodge his attacks or keep my distance!

  Don’t run away from his attack; Run in!

  Eri’s heart pounded, eyes wide and teeth gritted, as Gunther swung an enormous axe blade for his head.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Now! The boy dropped to his knees, sliding hard against the melted snow, the frictionless surface allowing him to gain greater speed.

  “Naive!” Gunther laughed as he tucked his knees and kicked.

  A massive leg came for Eri, but the boy already knew the half-blood would do that.

  Shifting his body as he slid, Eri raised a bloodied foot.

  He planted it right upon Gunther’s knee, a half-second before the kick would have pulverised his head, and activated his Arte.

  [Bloodflame Demonic Arts, First Form: Bloodflame Lance]

  A crimson spear of burning blood burst free from the vessels of his bleeding leg and blasted its way through Gunther’s knee.

  Eri twisted away from the rain of gore, already leaping up and swinging his dagger for Gunther’s groin.

  The man was still grinning madly when he reversed his grip on the axes and sent the blunt end swinging for Eri’s dagger. The powerful counter smashed the crimson blade out of his hand.

  It mattered little. Eri simply summoned another one in the blink of an eye and slashed the half-giant’s wrists.

  The boy retreated after that, bounding back and away with panting breaths as he assessed the damage he had dealt.

  Gunther’s right knee was a ruin, effectively crippled as blood-hued flames ate at flesh and bone. His left wrist had a severe gash, but it appeared to still be functional as Gunther experimentally rotated it.

  More importantly, however, was that neither wound was recovering; his Bloodflame had halted the regenerative capabilities of Gunther’s Elder blood, or at least slowed it down considerably.

  “Ohhh! You can use Arts from your feet as well?” Gunther noted in childish awe. “Or could you use it anywhere on your body, as long as you are bleeding?”

  It was the latter, but Eri was not going to tell him. He had no interest in indulging the half-giant in a conversation, either.

  His body was on a time limit. The second form of the Demonic Bloodflame Arts, Sanguine Immolation, not only bolstered his physical abilities to demonic heights but also gave him an abundance of blood to work with via self-inflicted exsanguination.

  When he had used [Bloodflame Lance] against the Capragore all the way back in the Trial, he was able to do so only because his left arm had been a ruin, pouring the necessary vital ichor everywhere.

  There was no such restriction now; Boiling blood was bursting from every major vein across his entire body, allowing him to shape bloodflame weapons and use the other Bloodflame Arts at will.

  But it went without saying that his 12-year-old human body was not going to last long like this, even if he could mentally endure the pain.

  Eri needed to finish this quickly. He deduced there were two ways of killing the half-giant: either he deals overwhelming damage in a single blow to deliver instant death, or he inflicts so many wounds that the brigand’s regeneration simply gives out.

  Summoning Bloodflame daggers to his hands once more, Eri charged.

  “Hah! As if I would let you!” Gunther yelled, his arms tucked back.

  Eri’s eyes widened as the man then violently threw his axe, the mighty blade spinning end over end as it reached the boy in a heartbeat.

  Eri hissed as he rapidly dissolved the daggers in his hand and re-congealed the boiling blood into a shield. The axe slammed hard into his protective cover, sending him tumbling.

  The boy rolled away just in time before Gunther’s follow-up slash took his head, the half-giant having already closed the distance between them.

  Eri leapt to his feet, barely having time to conjure a sword from his paling body before using the longer reach to stab the brigand in the stomach.

  The chainmail stopped the bloodflame blade from penetrating too deeply, but a fair length of the sanguine weapon still thrusted through the armour and ripped into flesh.

  “Ho! So you can make other weapons too?!” The man laughed madly. “Incredible! Show me more!”

  Mana swirled around them. Eri cursed when he recognised them to be the signs of an incoming Art.

  [Enemy Arte detected!]

  [Sky Giant Artes, Second Form: Whirlwind Embrace]

  Gunther roared, the winds surging and throwing Eri into the air. The boy barely had time to yell, his feet off the ground, before an axe came swinging for his head.

  There was no way he could dodge. His limbs were held by roaring gales.

  Goddamnit, I really didn’t want to use this!

  [Bloodflame Demonic Arts, Third Form: Red Mist Fade]

  Eri exhaled — and his body burst apart.

  There was an explosion of heat, his body replaced by a crimson mist of scorched blood. Scarlet ichor hovered where he stood, each droplet swirling and hissing like molten rain.

  Gunther’s axe cleaved through nothing but burning vapour.

  Within the same heartbeat, the red mist streamed past the brigand’s flank, gathering behind the half-giant. The shape of the boy instantly re-congealed from the sanguine haze — first bones, then organs, flesh, and skin.

  Eri's expression was that of a savage madman — purple eyes crazed with agony, teeth bared wide, and ashen blood pouring from every facial orifice — as the boy summoned a giant blood spear and rammed it right into Gunther’s back.

  The tip burst out of the half-giant’s chest, right over his heart, before he could even turn around.

  Gunther fell to one knee, while Eri leapt away, only to collapse instantly. The boy distantly noted he was screaming, his mind detached as his body convulsed violently.

  The movement technique had almost killed him. He had never tried it before in this body, and for good reason: Eri wasn’t even sure if the technique would work on a human body. There was always that possibility he would have ended up as a half-formed pile of gore at the end of the teleporting Bloodflame Art.

  Thankfully, he survived. Hopefully, all of his organs had reformed in the right places.

  Though given how badly his body was reacting, he doubted that was the case.

  It took every ounce of willpower he had to pull himself together, his screams turning to muffled chokes as he wrestled his body under control. From his inventory, he desperately pulled out his medical supplies, the painkilling ampoules and healing potions spilling their contents over the scorched ground as he clumsily drank and injected them.

  It was only near a full minute later before Eri could stand. And when he did, he nearly collapsed again upon looking up.

  Gunther was still alive.

  The half-giant was grinning still, face pale and hands shaking as he finally tore out the burning blood spear that had impaled his heart. The man dragged it out from the front, pulling the entire length through his body before the bloodflame weapon finally came free.

  His hands were melted, waxing lumps, fingers barely recognisable as such.

  “How are you still alive?” Eri spat in disbelief. His spear had utterly destroyed the giant’s heart. With the Bloodflame curse in place, Gunther should not be standing.

  “Heheheh… I ask myself that… every day,” Gunther panted, rising to his feet. “But maybe, tomorrow… I don’t have to anymore. I can feel it. Death, so close…”

  The boy coughed out a glob of melted flesh. He summoned another bloodflame weapon from his opened veins. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to skewer you. Put so many weapons into you, you’ll never be whole again.”

  “Such pretty words…” Gunther shuddered. “C’mon then. Show me more. Do you have enough blood stored away to kill me, little monster? Because from where I’m standing…”

  The half-giant raised an axe once more, pointing at Eri. “You look like you’re the one about to die.”

  He was. Eri would not last much longer. The healing potions could only do so much; they were never made to repair the damage his Bloodflame Arts was dealing to himself.

  “It will be enough,” the boy rasped, his expression ash and blood. Monstrous. “Your regeneration is shattered. Your Core is drained. Magical energy keeps you alive, but with so much damage, not even Elder blood can save you. You're just an oversized corpse.”

  “Hmm. Good,” Gunther giggled. “But you are still trapped here with me. I’m not letting you run away.”

  “Run away?” the boy exhaled. “Why would I run? I’m not trapped here. I’m not the one out of cards to play. You are.”

  Eri raised his weapon. “And that’s why I’m going to kill you.”

  Gunther’s smile widened.

  The two came at each other in a storm of blood and fire.

  ~~~

  It could not be said to be a battle between humans.

  On one side was a half-blooded demi-giant, a holder of Elder blood and ancient magic. The Artes Gunther used were old, older than the First Men. His existence harkened to a bygone age. His strength was decidedly abnormal, even for a Gold Core.

  And on the other side…

  On the other side… was a spawn of Fire and Blood.

  Bleeding. Burning. Dulcina could not tell where the boy’s flesh began and the sanguine inferno ended. It was as if the two were fused as one, creating a creature wholly dark and inhuman, yet undeniably rapturous to look upon.

  The savagery of his self-inflicted mutilation, so entirely at odds with the beautiful way he weaved his Artes and slashed with his blood-forged weapons…

  Dulcina could not look away.

  Time passed. Perhaps it was an hour. Perhaps it was only a minute.

  But somehow, witnessing the clash of greater power, Dulcina was left with a sinful thirst for the battle to never end, such that the brutality of it all would quench the long-buried, primal desire for violence.

  But alas, as all things do, even a battle like this must have its conclusion.

  And it finished with yet another spear impaled into the half-giant’s flesh.

  Dulcina lost count of how many weapons there were. Five, ten. A dozen. Two dozen.

  She only knew that the half-giant's body was riddled with blades, burning and boiling his flesh.

  Gunther, immortal brigand, finally fell to his knees.

  And for the other… That white-haired boy of purple eyes…

  He fought so recklessly. His wounds, all entirely self-inflicted, were a horror to behold.

  But rather than agony, there was a terrible, unstoppable emotion swirling in those hell-coloured purple eyes of his.

  It was not rage. It was not hate.

  Dulcina did not know what it was.

  But even so, looking at him now…

  Dulcina yearned to understand him.

  Eri White saw his opponent fall, never to stand again.

  The boy deactivated his burning arts. He dropped to his knees, arms limp and blood-blades slipping from numbed fingers. He tilted his head back, each breath steeped in pain and exhaustion.

  Over the winter ground marred by blood and fire, the dawn began to rise.

  The first rays of sunlight came. They shone upon the field. They shone upon Eri.

  Somehow, looking at him…

  Covered in fresh wounds. Stained in ashened blood. Sat beneath the brightening skies, panting like a beast…

  It was both painfully solemn and beautiful.

  A Hero…

  Dulcina knew she would never forget that scene for the rest of her life.