Capítulo 6: The City's Night
Sofie took a step back, her eyes never leaving mine as the purple glow of the blade began to fade, the dojo plunging back into its natural dimness. She moved gracefully, as if a single misstep would shatter the fragile moment we were suspended in. With deliberate ease, she motioned for me to follow her to a low table in the center of the hall. She sat down, gesturing for me to join her.
"You've inherited more than just a sword, Zark," she said, her voice softening as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "You're stepping into a world that's been hidden in shadows for centuries, one that your father devoted his life to."
I slowly lowered myself to sit across from her, still clutching the hilt of the blade as if it might disappear at any moment. "What do you mean?" I asked, the confusion in my voice making her lips twitch into a small, almost wistful smile.
"The Demon Slayer Corp," she said quietly, the words reverberating through the dojo. "It was formed over three centuries ago, back when Europe was plagued by chaos. The first slayers were just bounty hunters—men and women who realized that the beasts they hunted weren't just natural predators. They were creatures of darkness, demons that had slipped into our world. The hunters banded together to fight them, and over time, they formed the Corp."
Her eyes shone with something akin to pride, and she continued. "It was never officially recognized by any kingdom, but the Corp's influence grew. They operated in the shadows, their existence known only to a few nobles and rulers who needed their services. Over the years, they refined their craft and began organizing themselves with structure and purpose."
She glanced down at the sword in my hand, the faint smile still lingering on her lips. "The Corp of Western Europe, which your father was part of, operates across the Kingdom of Denmark, the Roman Empire, the Kingdom of France, and the Kingdom of Great Britain. Each region has its own branch, but they all adhere to the same code, the same structure."
The weight of her words settled in slowly. My father had been part of a hidden organization spanning four of the most powerful realms in Europe. I stared at her, trying to make sense of it all. "And… what exactly is that structure?" I asked.
Sofie's smile turned sharper, a glimmer of excitement flickering in her eyes. "There are ranks within the Corp. Every Slayer starts at the bottom and must prove themselves before moving up. First, we have the *New Bloods*—the fresh recruits, usually untrained or with very basic skills. They're given simpler tasks, like tracking down weak demons or assisting in reconnaissance missions."
She paused, her gaze steady and unblinking, as if she were trying to see how this information would reshape my understanding of everything. "After them come the *Hardened Blades*. These are Slayers who have survived their initial encounters, the ones who have tasted the blood of demons and lived to tell the tale. They're the backbone of the Corp, taking on most of the hunting missions."
I leaned forward, hanging on to her every word. "And after that?" I asked.
"*Veteran Hunters*," she replied, a note of respect creeping into her tone. "Those who have risen through the ranks and earned a reputation for their skill and tenacity. They're given command over smaller squads and are entrusted with more dangerous hunts—demons that can bring down entire villages."
The intensity in her gaze deepened, and I could almost feel the weight of what she was about to say next. "Then come the *Death Walkers*. These are the elite warriors, the ones who have faced death and come back stronger. They often work alone or in pairs, taking on high-risk missions. Their names are whispered among the Corp, and their deeds become legends."
"And the highest rank?" I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear her say it.
"The *Elite Slayers*," she said softly, reverently. "There are only a handful of them, the best of the best. They've taken down the most powerful demons, the ones that can decimate entire armies or plunge kingdoms into chaos. Your father… he was one of them."
My throat tightened at the mention of my father. I glanced down at the sword in my hand, understanding dawning slowly. He hadn't just been a hunter. He'd been one of the best, someone who had faced unimaginable horrors and come out victorious.
"But how… how did he reach that rank so quickly?" I whispered, more to myself than to her.
Sofie's gaze softened, and she reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. "Your father was a prodigy, Zark. He joined the Corp when he was just your age—eighteen. And by the time he was twenty, he was already an Elite Slayer. He had a gift… a natural talent for combat, for understanding demons, for leading others. He climbed the ranks faster than anyone in the Corp's history."
Her words stirred something deep within me—a mix of pride, sorrow, and a burning desire to live up to the legacy he'd left behind. I looked up, meeting her gaze with newfound determination. "And now… I have to become an Elite Slayer too?"
Sofie nodded slowly, a serious expression settling on her face. "It's your father's will. He wanted you to take your rightful place, to carry on his work. But it won't be easy. You'll have to start from the bottom, as a New Blood, and prove yourself worthy."
"I'll do it," I said, my voice firm and unyielding. "I don't care what it takes. I'll become an Elite Slayer. For him… and for myself."
Sofie's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "I believe you, Zark. You have the same fire in your eyes that he did. And I'll be here to guide you every step of the way."
Her words washed over me like a promise, and I felt something shift inside me—a sense of purpose that hadn't been there before. I tightened my grip on the sword, the cool metal reassuring in my grasp.
Sofie leaned back on her heels, studying me with a calculating gaze before she finally broke the silence. "The official recruitment for new slayers is in a week," she said, her voice soft but carrying an edge of authority. "Until then, consider this your free day. Roam the city, get a feel for the Capital. Once the sun rises tomorrow, your training begins in earnest."
I nodded slowly, still holding the sword loosely by my side. The thought of having a whole day with no obligations sounded odd after everything that had happened, but I wasn't about to turn down the offer.
"Thanks," I murmured, turning the blade slightly to catch a glimpse of my reflection in its obsidian surface.
Sofie gave a slight nod, but as I began to turn away, she called out, "Be careful out there. The Capital might look grand, but the shadows here are deeper than you think."
Her words lingered in my mind long after I left the dojo. I wandered through the bustling streets of Copenhagen, taking in the sights and sounds of the Capital. Market stalls lined the cobbled roads, vendors shouting out prices and tempting passerby with fruits, meats, and fine silks. People thronged everywhere—noblemen in ornate carriages, beggars huddled in the alleyways, and mercenaries boasting their skills to anyone willing to listen.
But I felt like an outsider in it all. No longer just a wandering swordsman or a prisoner, but not yet a member of the Corp either. I could sense curious eyes following me as I passed, as if people could see the weight of the sword on my hip even through the folds of my cloak.
After hours of aimless walking, I found myself drawn toward the sound of boisterous laughter and rowdy shouts. A wooden sign swinging on rusted chains read "The Hunter's Rest." The tavern looked like it had seen better days, its paint peeling and windows stained, but the energy pouring out from its open door was palpable.
I pushed inside, the warmth and the smell of ale hitting me instantly. The main room was filled with men and women of all sorts—traders, blacksmiths, and farmers nursing mugs of ale as they exchanged gossip and stories. But it was the back of the room that caught my attention. A thick oak door stood ajar, guarded by two burly men with arms crossed over their chests.
I stepped closer, weaving my way through the crowd. As I approached the door, one of the guards stepped forward, blocking my path. He towered over me, his scarred face twisting into a scowl. "This area's restricted," he growled, his voice rough as gravel.
I glanced at the door behind him, then back at his face. I could feel the tension in my shoulders, the instinct to grab my sword rising. But before I could speak, the other guard—a shorter man with a thick beard—placed a hand on his companion's shoulder.
"Wait," the bearded guard said, his gaze dropping to the sword hanging at my side. His eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering across his face. "Let him pass. He's carrying *that* kind of sword."
The first guard hesitated, his gaze darting between me and the bearded man. Then, with a reluctant grunt, he stepped aside, allowing me through. I didn't wait for an explanation. I slipped past them and through the door, my heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and unease.
The back section of the tavern was a stark contrast to the rowdy main room. It was quieter, the voices low and controlled, the air heavy with an almost predatory tension. Men and women clad in armor lounged around tables, some cleaning their weapons, others poring over maps and documents. Every eye seemed to turn toward me as I stepped into the room.
The atmosphere was thick, charged with a kind of energy I hadn't felt in years. It was as if everyone here was constantly on the edge, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
I caught sight of a man leaning against a pillar, a sword strapped to his back and a mug in his hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. His gaze flicked over me, lingering on the sword at my side.
"New blood, huh?" he asked, his voice carrying easily across the room.
I nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say. His eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, welcome then. And consider yourself lucky. Drinks are on me tonight—I just got promoted to *Veteran Hunter* rank." He raised his mug in a mock salute, and the tension in the room seemed to ease a fraction as the others relaxed back into their seats.
"Thanks," I muttered, glancing around the room again. There were swords of all shapes and sizes, axes, and bows leaning against the walls. Some of the armor glinted with strange symbols, runes I couldn't understand, but I could feel the power radiating off of them.
The man pushed himself off the pillar, his movements fluid despite his size. He made his way over to me, extending a hand. "Name's Erik. Been with the Corp for about seven years now." He nodded at the sword hanging at my side. "That blade… it's something special, isn't it?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "It was my father's."
Erik's gaze sharpened, his smirk fading. "Your father…?" He seemed to search my face for a moment, then shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him. "Damn. If you're carrying a blade like that, then you must be someone important."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he waved me off. "Doesn't matter who you are right now. What matters is what you'll become. There's a lot of talk about new blood coming in. A lot of… expectations." He glanced around the room, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Just keep your head down and your sword sharp. This life… it's not for the faint-hearted."
I nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling in. "I understand."
Erik clapped me on the shoulder, the impact almost knocking me off balance. "Good. Now, let's get you a drink and see what kind of spirit you've got. It's tradition for the newbies to try and keep up with the rest of us." His grin widened, and he turned, raising his voice to address the room. "Oi! Drinks for the new guy over here!"
A chorus of cheers and laughter echoed through the room, and before I knew it, a mug was shoved into my hand. The ale was strong, burning its way down my throat, but I welcomed the warmth. It dulled the edges of my thoughts, pushing away the confusion and fear, if only for a little while.
For tonight, I'd let myself relax. But tomorrow… tomorrow, I'd begin to unravel the mysteries of this life I was now bound to.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder