Capítulo 20: The Beginning
The ship sailed off. I leaned against the mast, eyes drifting over the deck. Less than half the recruits had returned, each hunched figure looking like a ghost of themselves. The scent of saltwater and blood lingered thick in the air. I stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, trying to piece together the questions that kept circling my mind.
Then I heard it. A voice from behind, cutting through my daze like a blade.
"At least you got more handsome."
I turned, and my gaze landed on her. She sauntered across the deck with a self-assured sway in her hips, each step measured and confident. The leather of her tight, black breeches clung to her legs like a second skin, highlighting every curve of her toned thighs and the enticing shape of her ass. Her black tunic, tailored just enough to accentuate the swell of her breasts, hinted at the firm, well-defined figure beneath. The fabric hugged her torso, tapering at her slim waist before flaring slightly at her hips.
A messer hung at her side, its hilt polished and well-worn, resting against her thigh as if it belonged there, as natural to her as an extension of her body. I couldn't help but notice the way her breeches stretched over her sculpted legs, the fine lines of muscle visible with every subtle shift. The top of her tunic was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of smooth, creamy skin at her neckline.
Her face was striking—a mix of sharp angles softened by full lips that twisted into a smirk as she caught me staring. Her hair was a dark, chestnut brown, pulled back in a loose, high ponytail that left a few stray strands framing her high cheekbones. She had eyes like amber, bright and sharp, flecked with hints of gold that caught the sunlight.
But it was her body that really held my attention, the way she filled out her clothes perfectly, all athletic curves and taut lines. Her shoulders were strong yet feminine, leading down to toned arms that flexed subtly as she rested a hand on the hilt of her messer. And then there was her chest—high, firm breasts pushing against the fabric of her tunic. Not too large, but more than a handful, enough to leave a lingering impression. She exuded a raw, almost predatory allure, a sense of both danger and temptation rolled into one.
"That scar looks good on you," she said, tilting her head slightly as she eyed the fresh wound on my cheek.
"Amhmm." I kept my voice steady, trying not to let her see how much her presence had shaken me.
"Not much of a talker, are you?" she teased, her lips parting in a grin that made her look even more dangerous.
"Depends on the company," I replied flatly, but I knew my gaze was betraying me, drifting down to take in the full length of her again. The narrowness of her waist, the roundness of her hips, the slight gap between her thighs as she shifted her weight.
"Clara," she offered without prompting, the name rolling off her tongue with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what kind of effect she had on men. "And you must be the famed son of Mikkelsen. Or should I say, the Mikkelsen family's last hope?"
I kept my expression neutral, but a flicker of surprise must have shown in my eyes.
"I suppose that's one way to put it," I muttered.
She chuckled softly, the sound low and almost sultry. "Word travels fast, even among recruits. You make an impression on people." Her gaze roamed over my armor, lingering on the deep purple tint. "Interesting gear you have there. Not every day you see a New Blood with something like that."
"It's just an old family relic," I said, keeping my voice dismissive.
"Mm-hmm, sure." She raised a brow, the skepticism clear in her eyes, then took a slow step back, turning on her heel. Her tight breeches emphasized the curve of her ass as she walked away, the leather creaking softly. She glanced back over her shoulder, her smirk widening. "Well, Zark, consider yourself lucky. Whatever happened on that island, you came back alive. And you came back stronger."
Her gaze flickered to the blade at my waist, then back up to my face, her eyes darkening. "We'll see what that strength is really worth soon enough."
With that, she turned away fully and blended into the crowd of recruits. Her figure was impossible to forget, all subtle power and feminine grace wrapped in leather and steel. Something told me I'd be seeing more of Clara—and that she was far more than she appeared.
The ship anchored at the docks of Helsignor as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the entire harbor in an eerie, orange glow. The air was filled with the salty tang of the sea and the distant hum of the city coming to life. As we disembarked, a line of caravans caught my eye, their drivers idly waiting by the reins, eyes scanning the recruits stumbling off the ship.
Without a word, the others—those who were still breathing, at least—moved to the nearest caravan. They shuffled forward in a daze, showing the drivers their hard-won Flowers of Xenus before being ushered into the carriages like cattle.
I stood there, watching. Something twisted in my gut. Had I missed something? Was there some ritualistic process to all of this no one had bothered to mention? Just as I was about to step forward and wing it, a familiar voice came from behind, cutting through the noise.
"Seems like no one told you about the process," Clara drawled, a hint of amusement in her tone.
I glanced back to see her leaning casually against a wooden post, her arms crossed over her chest. There was something infuriatingly nonchalant about her, like this whole ordeal was just some minor inconvenience. Before I could open my mouth, she pushed off the post and gestured for me to follow.
"Come on, this way," she said.
We made our way past the bustling crowd to the last caravan in line, its horses pawing impatiently at the ground. Clara approached the driver—a grizzled man with a scar running down one side of his face—and held up her Flower of Xenus. I followed suit, displaying mine.
The driver's gaze shifted between the two of us, then nodded. "Get in."
The caravan was empty, a hollow shell of what I assumed would've been packed shoulder-to-shoulder if things had gone differently. The silence inside was almost suffocating, a stark reminder that less than half of us had returned from that hellish island. We sat on the worn leather seats opposite each other, the carriage jolting into motion with a rough start.
Clara leaned back, stretching her legs out. "We'll be given Ravens once we're back at the Corp. They'll serve as our messengers, eyes, and ears. Useful little bastards if you train them right."
The mention of Ravens stirred something in my mind, and I recalled the one perched on Agnes' shoulder back at the tavern. the bird's unblinking eyes boring into me. "Like a pet?"
"Exactly, You'll get used to having one around soon enough."
Curiosity nipped at me, the questions I'd been biting back for hours finally bubbling to the surface. I eyed her, taking in the casual posture, the air of ease she carried despite the bloodbath we'd left behind. "What's someone like you doing here, anyway?"
Clara glanced out the small window of the caravan, a faint smile tugging at her lips as if amused by some private joke. "My mom was a whore," she said flatly. "After she couldn't sell herself anymore, she sold my older sister instead."
There was no bitterness in her tone, no anger—just a simple statement of fact. I waited, not sure how to respond, but she continued on without missing a beat.
"She tried to do the same with me. But I decided I wasn't going to spend my life spreading my legs for anyone who had a few coins to spare." She turned back to me, amber eyes glinting in the dim light. "Demon Slayer Corp sounded like a good way out. Better than rotting in some brothel, at least."
"Why a Demon Slayer?" I asked, genuinely curious now. "Why not run away to some town and start fresh?"
"Because it sounded fun," she said with a grin. "Better than whoring, right?"
I couldn't argue with that. "Who trained you?"
She shrugged. "No one. Self-taught, mostly. Learned what I could from watching others."
"No one?" I frowned. "How did you even get the blade?"
Her eyes darkened, and her voice dropped to a lower, more serious tone. "Found it on a dead Demon Slayer's body."
"Where?"
"By a waterfall. The body was gone, but his hand… his hand was still there, clutching the hilt for dear life." She shook her head, lips curling in distaste. "Poor bastard probably thought it'd keep him safe."
Silence fell between us, the kind that weighed heavy with unspoken words. The caravan trundled along, the wheels creaking against the cobblestone roads of Helsignor. Soon, we slowed to a halt, the horses snorting and stamping the ground.
"Guess we're here," Clara muttered, standing up and adjusting her tunic.
We stepped down onto the ground, greeted by the sight of a sprawling compound. The Demon Slayer Corp headquarters was far grander than I'd imagined. High walls rose up around the perimeter, guard towers stationed at intervals, and in the distance, a series of tall buildings loomed against the skyline.
A man stood waiting for us, his attire far more refined than the worn uniforms of the other Corp members. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face stern but not unkind, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.
"Welcome back," he said, his voice carrying an air of authority. He glanced at the sparse group behind us, a faint frown tugging at his lips. "I see this year's selection has been… unforgiving."
There was no trace of pity in his gaze, just a cold acknowledgment of fact.
"Follow me," he ordered, turning on his heel.
Clara and I exchanged a glance before falling in step behind him, our boots crunching on the gravel path leading deeper into the compound.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder