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Caron looked at the demon before him with a bored expression.
Even if it was a different kind of dark mana than usual, possessing dark mana still made one a demon. And demons were the enemy.
That was why Caron couldn't let his guard down.
Moreover, the language that demon was speaking was the human language—specifically, the language of the empire—but its intonation was different. There were also a few words Caron couldn't understand.
"If I had to guess, it's similar to the northern dialect of the continent from three hundred years ago. The root of the Imperial tongue," Gratia's voice brushed through his mind via telepathy. "And he's using a translation spell. He must have realized there are some differences in our languages."
There were only two choices here: Either to cut the demon down now, or to continue the conversation.
Looks like they were in the middle of a fight, Caron noted.
The demon wore a thin, full-body suit of armor. It wasn't bulky at all, clinging instead to his form, its surface glinting faintly as though made from some creature's scales. Streaks of green blood marked it in several places.
…And he brought up the Founder's name, Caron mused.
Perhaps it was best to speak first.
Tightening...
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