Demon Evolution System

Chapter 32

Without wasting time, Miles dashed forward toward the knights without hesitation.

He met the next Death Knight head-on, blocking a downward strike with his dagger—and holding it. Shock rippled through the undead warrior as Miles shoved the blade aside and plunged his dagger into its knee joint.

The knight staggered.

Miles leapt, slashing upward, severing the neck.

Another kill

[Ding: Host have slain a B rank monster]

[4 stats points gained]

Another notification appeared 

The battlefield shifted instantly. Where before Miles had been overwhelmed, now he pressed forward. His movements became sharper, more precise. He anticipated attacks, countered faster, struck harder.

Still, the Death Knights fought viciously.

A halberd pierced his side. He broke the shaft with brute force and killed its wielder with a brutal thrust to the throat.

An axe buried itself in his back. He endured the pain, spun, and decapitated the knight mid-swing.

Kill after kill.

The lich’s laughter died.

“No… impossible,” the lich muttered, eye flames flaring wildly. “You should not grow stronger! That power—what are you?!”

Miles didn’t answer.

He was too busy surviving.

By the time the fifteenth Death Knight fell, Miles was a storm incarnate. His body moved with terrifying efficiency, blending desperation with newfound dominance. Every kill fed him. Every blow made him stronger.

The battlefield no longer resembled a place of combat—it had become a graveyard sculpted by violence. Fifteen Death Knights lay strewn across the cracked earth, their once-imposing forms reduced to lifeless husks of armor and bone. Necrotic energy leaked from their remains like dying embers, dissolving into the air.

Only five remained.

They stood in a loose semicircle around Miles, weapons raised but bodies unnaturally still. For the first time since their creation, hesitation crept into their movements. Their glowing visors flickered, as though the necromantic commands binding them were struggling to reconcile what stood before them.

Miles straightened slowly.

Above them, the lich hovered in silence.

The azure flames within his eyes burned erratically, no longer calm or amused. His skeletal fingers clenched around his staff, runes along its length pulsing brighter as he unconsciously poured mana into maintaining control over his remaining knights.

“This is not possible,” the lich hissed, his layered voice strained. “You should be broken. Exhausted. Dead.”

Miles did not reply.

The five Death Knights moved at once.

They attacked with disciplined precision—two from the front, blades crossing in a scissoring strike meant to trap and dismember, while a third lunged from the side with a halberd aimed at Miles’ spine. The final two circled wide, seeking to cut off any path of retreat.

Miles stepped into the attack.

Steel screamed as his dagger deflected the first sword just enough to slide past his ribs. He twisted, allowing the second blade to scrape harmlessly across reinforced armor, then ducked low as the halberd tore through the air where his head had been.

In one fluid motion, he drove his shoulder into the halberd-wielding knight, the impact powerful enough to dent the blackened plate. Before the knight could recover, Miles slashed upward, his dagger biting deep into the gap beneath the visor. The blue glow within the helm sputtered and vanished as the body collapsed.

Four.

The remaining Death Knights adjusted instantly. One brought its greatsword down in a crushing overhead strike. Miles met it head-on—blocking.

The ground cracked beneath his feet.

The knight faltered.

That alone was enough.

Miles surged forward, strength exploding through his frame, and wrenched the sword aside. He plunged his dagger into the knight’s exposed armpit, twisting violently. Bone snapped. The knight convulsed once, then fell.

Three.

A mace slammed into Miles’ side, ribs screaming in protest as he was thrown several meters across the battlefield. He rolled to a stop, breath hissing through clenched teeth as pain flared white-hot.

The lich laughed—sharp, desperate.

“Yes! Bleed! You are not invincible!”

Miles pushed himself up.

The pain faded as regeneration surged, flesh knitting, strength compounding. His gaze locked onto the two remaining Death Knights charging toward him in perfect unison.

They struck together—one high, one low.

Miles leapt.

The low blade passed beneath him. In midair, he hurled his dagger.

It pierced the visor of the knight attacking high.

Two.

He landed hard, rolling as the final Death Knight roared and brought its weapon down in a frenzied assault. Blow after blow rained upon Miles—each one heavy, relentless, driven by a command bordering on panic.

Miles blocked. Parried. Gave ground.

Then he stepped in close.

He caught the descending blade with his bare hand.

The lich’s eyes widened.

“No—!”

Miles crushed the weapon’s haft, splintering enchanted steel through raw force alone. He seized the Death Knight by the helm and slammed his forehead forward. The impact echoed across the battlefield.

The knight collapsed.

Silence fell.