Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 216

Chapter 216: Canyon (3)
They moved deeper into the canyon.

The light thinned. The wind vanished entirely.

And the monsters came.

Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just steady.

A low-slung crawler with bone plating—F-rank. It slithered from a crack in the canyon wall, jaws clicking. Elysia vaporized its head with a palm strike before it fully emerged.

A shadow-backed hyena-beast, baring spectral fangs—E-rank. It tried to flank them from a ridge. Elysia’s hand snapped once. A spear of compressed air slammed through its chest, pinning it to the rock.

Then two more—hybrid creatures. Strange, wrong in posture and pace. G+, maybe barely into F. She didn’t even use mana. Just steel. Clean. Surgical.

Damien said nothing through it all.

Watched. Tracked. Measured.

Each kill reset the canyon’s rhythm, but the tension remained. He could feel it winding tighter, step by step.

And then it came.

Pressure.

Real pressure.

They’d crossed some invisible line—another layer deeper—and the atmosphere thickened.

A pulse from the left. Not movement. Presence.

The creature emerged from the rock’s curve like smoke bleeding from stone.

D-rank.

Quadruped. Hulking. Its fur shimmered with a liquid black-blue sheen, and its eyes burned with low heat—aware, unlike the others.

This pressure alone made it clear. Or maybe it could be even stronger, but considering that Elysia didn’t look bothered, it was most likely a D-rank.

It didn’t roar.

It looked.

And bloodlust spilled like ink across the canyon.

Damien’s breath hitched. Vision blurred for a heartbeat.

“Don’t move.”

He mumbled, and waited a little.

‘This type of pressure is something I must get used to.’

While Elysia was an A-rank, and she could exert a pressure thousands of times stronger than a mere D-rank, the wildness of the beast was a different story.

That is why he wanted to make sure he was subjected to it a little more.

His knees didn’t buckle—but the instinct to step back lanced through his spine like a command.

Elysia moved forward by reflex.

Then after Damien deemed it enough….

He raised a hand—low, sharp.

“Yours,” he said flatly, voice thin from pressure.

And she moved.

One flash. One cut.

Its corpse fell in two clean halves.

The blood hit the dirt before Damien’s pulse fully leveled out.

His hands didn’t shake.

Not visibly.

But the air stuck in his lungs like cold iron.

He took one breath.

Two.

Three.

And then—

[Trait Activated: Does Not Bend]

The weight vanished.

His shoulders straightened. His jaw unlocked.

But the memory of that pressure still lingered in his spine—etched deep, like it wanted to root itself.

And Damien let it.

He didn’t try to forget.

He kept it.

‘Better,’ he thought, inhaling through his nose. The breath didn’t catch this time. ‘I’m getting better at using this.’

It wasn’t about resisting anymore.

It was about integration.

Pressure wasn’t an enemy.

It was an ingredient.

One he needed to learn how to burn slowly—usefully.

Because when the real test came, he wouldn’t be facing D-rank aura or half-wild instincts.

The vault would press back.

Harder.

Stranger.

Older.

And if he couldn’t survive a monster’s killing intent without cracking?

Then he didn’t deserve the inheritance.

He gave a slight nod to himself.

And kept walking.

Elysia fell into step beside him, silent again. Her blade was clean. Her cloak undisturbed. As if nothing had happened at all.

They passed a narrow curve in the canyon—walls rising close on either side, worn smooth by time and wind. The air shifted. Subtly. Clean. Light.

Too light.

Damien slowed.

His gaze flicked forward—across the open stretch.

There.

A silhouette.

Small. Low. Still.

A creature hunched over a broken ridge of stone—its back ridged with bone, its breath low and guttural, like a grinding whisper in its throat.

Not imposing.

Not dangerous by most standards.

But Damien felt it anyway.

That tug.

The one that didn’t come from threat, but from recognition.

G– rank.

Exactly where it needed to be.

Exactly what it needed to be.

He stopped walking.

His fingers flexed once at his side.

Elysia took one step forward, eyes narrowing as her mana flared—just faintly—to scan the creature.

A pause.

Then her voice, soft. Low.

“Confirmed. G-minus rank.”

A breath of wind passed between them.

And then—

“Master…” she began.

He cut her off.

“Don’t interfere,” Damien said flatly. “This one is mine.”

The words landed with weight, not raised in volume, but finality.

Elysia stilled.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

But she didn’t speak.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her gaze without softening.

“And put distance between us.”

A beat.

“No matter what happens,” he added. “You stay far. You do not move.”

Elysia hesitated.

Her eyes flicked to the monster again—then back to Damien.

She wasn’t doubting his intent.

She was calculating survival odds.

For him.

“I’ll say this once more,” Damien continued, tone steady. “If I vanish… don’t panic.”

Her pupils contracted.

Not confusion. Not fear.

Alarm.

The canyon was dead quiet around them, the only sound the soft rasp of the creature’s breath ahead.

Elysia didn’t move.

Didn’t respond.

So Damien stepped closer—just one pace—and said it clearly:

“It is your master’s order.”

The effect was instant.

She stiffened.

Then bowed her head once.

“Understood,” she murmured, voice low.

And with that, she turned, her figure gliding back into the shadows—no sound, no resistance.

Leaving Damien alone with the thing.

The test.

The key.

He rolled his shoulders once, the tension settling into muscle and memory.

Then took his first step toward the monster.

*****

The creature growled.

Low. Uneven. Almost hesitant.

Its shoulders hunched, claws twitching once against the stone. It hadn’t moved yet, but Damien could see the change—the way its head lowered, how its pupils flared wide, trying to map out Elysia’s retreat.

It had felt her. Even without understanding, the instinct was there. Apex recognized apex.

And now she was gone.

Damien stood alone.

The monster twitched again, the first thread of real tension snapping into place.

Then—

Grrrhhkkk.

The sound came sharper this time. The thing’s legs shifted. Its maw peeled open, thin trails of smoke-like mana bleeding from between jagged teeth.

Not strong mana. Not cultivated.

But raw. Feral. Faint traces of it rippled into the air like static.

Damien exhaled through his nose.

“Haaah…”

One breath.

Not for nerves. For focus.

SWOOSH!

The canyon air split as the monster surged forward, a blur of limbs and gnashing teeth. Its claws dug deep with every step, launching it like a spear through the canyon’s silence.

But Damien saw it.

Not in the way a warrior tracks an attack—not with instinct or experience.

He saw it in full.

The arc of its limbs. The angle of its lunge. The tiny, twitching error in its back leg—the half-millisecond delay where muscle and weight didn’t synchronize.

He saw the flaw.

Even as the creature howled past stone outcrops—WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP—kicking up dust in sharp bursts, its speed didn’t blur Damien’s vision. No. Everything slowed.

His pupils narrowed.

Neural Synchronicity: Engaged.

The world didn’t stop.

He just moved faster.

CLACK-CRACK!

The beast’s claws slammed down—right where he’d been.

But Damien was already gone.

A sidestep. One foot pivoted. His upper body twisted just enough. Clean. No wasted motion.

FWISH!

Air hissed against his coat as the creature’s fangs snapped past his ribs, close enough to feel the heat of its breath. But Damien didn’t retreat.

He rotated.

His right heel slid. Knee dipped. CRUNCH—his foot grounded, stabilizing just as the creature’s flank exposed itself.

Damien’s hand lashed forward. Not with a weapon—just fingers.

WHIP!

Four knuckles struck just beneath the beast’s jaw—a precise, angular strike. Not powerful.

Measured.

THNK!

A spike of pressure pulsed through the creature’s head, momentarily distorting its charge. Its legs stumbled mid-dash, momentum stuttering.

There it is.

It recovered too quickly—almost—but Damien didn’t follow through. Didn’t chase.

He stepped backward.

TCHK-TCHK

Boots tapped lightly as he created just enough distance.

The monster growled again, more confused than angry now. Its eyes burned hotter.

It lunged a second time.

WHAM!

Faster. Straight-line acceleration that tore the ground beneath it. Dust scattered like shrapnel.

Damien shifted weight. No panic. No wild swing.

SLICK!

A drop-step.

His left foot hooked behind his right, body gliding back—but just enough to shift his angle.

SWIP!

The monster’s shoulder passed within inches, and Damien’s elbow came up like a lever, snapping down on the base of its neck.

THWACK!

It yelped.

And spun—more rage now, less rhythm.

Damien took one breath. Haaah.

‘Sloppy.’

It attacked again—reckless. Wide.

CRASH!

Its claws slammed into the canyon wall—stone split like eggshell.

Damien circled it—body low, balanced.

He didn’t punch this time.

He just leaned in, watching.

Mapping.

‘It’s faster than her,’ he thought. ‘But slower in the places that matter.’

Its joints weren’t coordinated. Its power lacked refinement. Every motion wasted muscle, every recovery carried residual tension.

Speed without technique.

A blade thrown without spin.

The monster turned once more, head low, chest heaving, bloodlust flaring—but beneath it, confusion bled through. Its instincts screamed danger—but it didn’t understand why.

Why this prey didn’t run.

Why this thing could see it so clearly.

Damien’s hand lowered slightly.

And he smiled.

“Try again,” he said quietly.