Chapter 197 - 196 Ophalos Demon
Originally, Leon had only planned to take a look at Tassera, then maybe spend ten days or so losing himself in the chaos before moving on. He hadn’t expected to stumble upon something quite so interesting. Of course, Leon was just joking around. Even without a reward from Tassera, he wouldn’t refuse to help her—he might even volunteer to join in.
To lure a snake out of its hole is no easy task, especially when the target is a cunning Yugros demon—true to its name, its essence is embodied in craftiness. Similarly, we can infer a weapon creator’s personality and modus operandi from the style and characteristics of their weapon, which makes thorough planning indispensable.
Leon wasn’t the best at planning, whether for schemes veiled in shadow or laid bare in the open. To put it simply, he preferred straightforward strategies over subtle machinations. It wasn’t that he couldn’t make plans if he had to—he just didn’t like doing so.
Back in his school days, he had avoided becoming a class officer. Instead, he preferred being the grunt soldier, following orders without overthinking. His only concerns were dodging responsibility and sneaking in a bit of leisure when he could.
Even now, Leon had no desire to rack his brains over this matter. After all, it wasn’t his issue to begin with. If Tassera wanted to fight back, he’d lend a hand. If Tassera planned to run, he’d enjoy the quiet and do whatever work she assigned him without complaint.
Tassera paced back and forth, alternating between muttering to herself and asking Leon for his thoughts.
Leon merely listened, chiming in now and then with a word or two to stave off any accusations of indifference from Tassera.
It took Tassera an entire day of plotting—she even dreamed about it in her sleep—before finally handing Leon a task.
And so, on a gusty morning, Leon left Tassera’s lair, taking with him the cursed weapon—the Bloodsucking Sword—to a canyon.
The canyon resembled a crack in the earth, its steep cliffs so sheer that sunlight could barely reach through, scattering into dappled patterns on the wind-eroded ground below.
A band of sand bandits roamed the canyon. They wore tattered leather armor, and their rugged faces told tales of a harsh desert life. They had turned the canyon into their stronghold, using their familiarity with the terrain and cunning tactics to plunder countless travelers and merchant caravans passing through. In this stretch of desert, their name carried weight.