The Author's Viewpoint-Chapter 132 - The Brew Before the Storm

"What’s the problem?" Tave snapped. "I was just watching. Making sure you’re not tossing weird crap into the mix. Someone’s gotta check if you’re not screwing it up."

Scum-Brew hesitated, eyes flicking between Tave and the brew. "No... I mean..." He dipped his finger again and tasted it once more. freewebnoveℓ.com

His brows furrowed.

Slowly, he descended the ladder and leaned against it, rubbing his chest.

"Why does it taste stronger now? Like... sharper. It’s hitting harder than before." He paused, then murmured, "My body feels... heavy. Like it’s draining me. Are you sure you didn’t add anything?"

"Shut the crap." Tave shrugged, arms crossed. "Your mess, not mine. I didn’t touch your sludge."

Scum-Brew stared for a second longer, confused, then gave a strained little laugh.

"Haha... well, whatever it is, it’s actually better now. Stronger. Maybe it needed something weird. Want another sip?"

"No. One was enough. Let the others drink it tomorrow and decide for themselves."

Tave exhaled, leaning his head back for a moment. His thoughts drifted.

The liquid Tave had poured into the brew was made from Lunaris Bloom.

But not the usual kind.

It was a more potent variant, one with a reddish hue, deeper and richer than the common purplish blossoms they had first encountered. This rare cluster of red Lunaris Bloom had been found deeper within the cave system they had explored earlier. There hadn’t been much of it, just enough to spark suspicion in someone who knew what to look for.

And Tave knew.

He’d recognized its properties instantly. So, he asked the others to help him process it. To refine it into a concentrated liquid form. Dangerous, reactive, and potent. And that was the very same substance he had poured into the massive drink just now.

Surely, it would have the same effects, only stronger.

If those demons drank this brew during their feast, they wouldn’t just be drunk.

They’d be vulnerable.

But still... Tave could feel the pressure tightening in his chest. The mental weight was suffocating.

What was he supposed to do if it worked?

These were demons. There were hundreds of them.

Even weakened, even scattered. It was still an army.

Could he really do anything if this concoction only weakened them?

He could wait. He could hold out until the Rift began to collapse, using the chaos to strike.

But no.

There would never be a better opportunity than this.

So now, he needed a plan. Something sharp. Precise. One shot, no waste.

He had to think beyond just surviving. He had to figure out how to use this moment to break them. To free his allies. And escape.

Escape... again?

They had done that before. It didn’t work.

They ran, and the demons found them like it was nothing.

How?

He needed answers.

So Tave spent the next while continuing to chat with the Scum-Brew, who was still fussing over his brew with glee, utterly convinced he’d stumbled into genius.

Tave kept the conversation casual, pushing for information wherever he could, asking questions with the tone of a demon simply curious, irritated, or bored.

The demon didn’t lie, he simply didn’t know much. It was just... stupidity.

But even from those loose fragments, Tave was able to stitch together more than he expected.

More than enough.

Tave could feel it now. His heartbeat, thudding heavy in his chest like war drums echoing from the inside out. It had been pounding ever since he stepped into this place, but now it was becoming painful.

His body was tense, his thoughts strained, his breath shallow.

Seriously, he needed rest.

He stood slowly, scanning the room for a place less exposed. With a sharp breath, he strolled to a quiet corner, his steps lazy and loud, keeping the demon act intact.

"I’m done. I need sleep. Don’t let anyone bother me, and don’t you dare tell them I’m crashing here," he snapped.

The Scum-Brew just laughed, waving him off with stained fingers.

"Hah! After what you added to the brew, Skarn? You gave me the best drink I’ve ever made! Take your time. Tomorrow night’s going to be a damn celebration!"

Tave grunted in reply and slumped into the corner, carefully observing the area. His eyes darted around, searching for anything he could use, until he spotted it.

A pile of filthy cloth. Old, soaked rags likely used for wrapping ingredients or wiping down barrels.

He grabbed a few and tossed them over his head, adjusting them just enough to cover the visible part of his horn. With a quiet exhale, he leaned back against the wall, body tense beneath the disguise.

He had to be careful. If they caught even a hint of that horn, of what he really was. No.

Not now.

He pulled the cloth tighter, curled slightly into the wall, and finally let his eyes drift shut.

He really needed to sleep.

**

Tave’s eyes snapped open, heart hammering in his chest.

The cloth that had covered his head had slipped off, fallen behind him.

Damn it!

He quickly yanked it back up, instinctively checking his forehead. The horn was gone.

His disguise had dropped during sleep.

He glanced toward the other side of the room, where Scum-Brew was still tinkering, distracted by his brewing obsession.

Without wasting another second, Tave activated his sigil. A sharp pulse of energy surged through him, and the demon horn returned to its place with a faint shimmer.

Did he see anything?

Did he notice the horn was gone?

He had been exhausted and completely drained from the day before. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out completely. If not for sheer mental discipline, the disguise would’ve failed completely. But even then, his energy had limits.

From now on, he’d have to conserve every ounce of strength he had, save it for when it truly mattered.

He glanced toward the light filtering through a crack in the wooden wall. Judging by the shadows... It was already the next day.

He had slept all night.

"Oi, trash! Finally awake? Sleeping like spilled guts on the floor, figures you’d let your team die while you ran off, coward!"

Scum-Brew’s voice rang out from across the room, laughing sharply as he approached.

He was holding a wooden cup, sloshing with a different kind of liquid this time.

"Here, drink this, moron. You didn’t like the brew, but this is good. Trust me."

Tave squinted at the cup. The liquid inside was clearer. This wasn’t the same crimson brew as yesterday.

"What is this? I don’t drink flaming piss."

"Shut up. It’s just water."

Tave rolled his eyes, took the cup, and sat down again, letting the cool liquid run down his throat. It was refreshing, clean, crisp, not poisoned or fermented for once.

He took a breath, steadying himself. His fingers brushed his face again, checking the mask. Still there. Perfectly molded.

It clung to his skin like it had always been part of him.

Good.

For now, the demon disguise was held.

Tave remained inside the brewing room for the rest of the day, carefully keeping to himself while subtly prodding Scum-Brew for more information.

Occasionally, when Scum-Brew stepped outside, rambling something about fetching ingredients, Tave would quickly deactivate his sigil, the horn disappearing from his forehead. It was the only way he could conserve energy now. Every second counted.

He avoided leaving the room entirely.

The daylight hours were dangerous.

Too many demons wandering about in their sluggish, half-asleep state, lounging and watching. Suspicion would be sharper now, ironically, not because they were alert, but because they’d notice anything moving too much.

So he stayed put.

And then, as the sun faded and night blanketed the fortress again, the mood shifted.

The sound of drums began to echo from the outside.

Followed by howls and cheers.

The celebration had begun.

"Get out of here, you useless slug!" Scum-Brew shouted from across the room. "Lord Kimaris is about to start the feast, and you’re not needed in this hole!"

Tave froze.

Wait, Lord Kimaris?

Marquis Kimaris?

He hadn’t heard that name mentioned by Scum-Brew once until now.

His fingers curled into a fist, trembling slightly.

Why now? Why only reveal that name now?

Because that wasn’t just some powerful demon...

That was a Named Demon.

His mind raced. If memory served, Kimaris ranked somewhere in the 60s on the official Demon Codex.

And he was here. In this Rift.

Named Demons weren’t just stronger, they were command-tier entities.