After the Fall of the Demon Race, Reincarnated as a Demon Girl - Chapter 15

Elburd’s heavy body collapsed, the sharp blade piercing his heart with deadly precision. Just like that, cradled in the arms of his guards, he closed his eyes forever.

Lance didn’t hesitate—he reached out toward Schubert. Schubert gripped the offered hand tightly, using Lance’s strength to pull himself up.

With Elburd’s lifeless body before them, the surrounding guards descended into chaos.

Most threw down their muskets, some even abandoning Elburd’s corpse entirely, scattering like startled birds. Seizing the opportunity, Lance and Schubert quickly picked up the waterlogged guns from the ground.

Schubert wasn’t skilled with firearms—in fact, he had never even held one before. Today was his first time.

Of course, these guns were completely unusable.

But he knew that in this dog-eat-dog world, even a useless weapon was better than none. Without something in hand, he’d forever be prey under someone else’s barrel.

At the very least, it might help him bluff his way through.

Schubert glanced at Lance and asked,

“Do you still have any scrolls left?”

His peripheral vision caught Elburd’s corpse, and his grip on the gun trembled slightly—but he quickly steadied himself.

A man like that deserved no pity.

Lance reached into his pocket and pulled out two scrolls. One was [Exploding Flame], capable of active attack, and the other was [Earth Trap], which could set up an ambush. These two scrolls were their last remaining lifelines.

“Let’s go find Roean.”

Lance tucked the scrolls back into his pocket and proposed the plan. After all, Roean had blown up the eastern breeding farm’s wall and was likely being hunted by the transmigrators. As Roean’s closest friends, they had to lend him a hand.

Schubert agreed, but before that, they needed to prepare.

…..

Meanwhile, Roean was sprinting desperately across the vast, open wilderness.

Every step was frantic, as if slowing down even slightly would let the earth beneath him swallow him whole. He didn’t dare stop—stopping meant death.

He risked a glance behind him. Nothing. Only the howling wind. Yet the fear in his eyes clung like a stubborn parasite, refusing to fade.

The suffocating pressure was relentless. He could feel it—that terrifying presence was still right behind him.

But no matter how hard he ran, he couldn’t shake it. Sweat poured down his face, drenching his clothes, dripping onto the parched earth where it vanished instantly—just like his dwindling hope of survival.

“Why keep running? You know you can’t escape.”

A sharp, glass-scraping voice suddenly rang out behind Roean, icy fingers of dread crawling up his spine.

His heart lurched. His steps faltered, but he pushed himself to run even harder. Yet no matter how much effort he poured in, the shadow behind him stayed glued to his back, impossible to lose.

“Alright, I’ve had my fun.”

A crisp click sounded behind him. From the moment the breeding farm’s wall exploded, Roean had been running for nearly an hour. For an ordinary man, his endurance was astonishing.

The horizon was beginning to lighten. The cat-and-mouse game had grown stale. Time to wrap this up, capture him alive, and claim credit from Baron Elburd.

With that thought, the man leveled his revolver at Roean’s calf.

A fraction of a second later, his finger tightened on the trigger.

BANG.

A searing bullet tore through Roean’s leg like lightning.

Agony lanced through him. He crashed forward, slamming into the ground. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the earth beneath him a vivid crimson under the dawn’s glow.

The transmigrator finally stepped out of concealment, his pace unhurried, a smirk playing on his lips.

When Roean saw him, his pupils dilated in shock.

The man looked utterly unruffled—not a drop of sweat, his breathing steady as if he’d just taken a leisurely stroll.

“See? All that running was pointless under my [Pursuit].”

“I… can’t die yet… I have to get back to them.”

Roean struggled to rise. The man’s smirk vanished, replaced by an icy glare.

Without hesitation, he raised the revolver again and fired five rapid shots.

Two bullets struck Roean’s arms, forcing them to slump uselessly. Two more buried themselves in his thighs, making his legs buckle. The last two punched into his stomach, the impact bending him double as he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“I didn’t want to make this messy. You brought it on yourself.”

Blood pooled beneath Roean. His vision blurred.

The man grabbed Roean’s collar and dragged him backward like a sack of meat.

Roean’s body scraped against the rough ground, leaving a smeared trail of blood in the grass.

“Damn it!”

The man scanned the wilderness. Every blade of grass looked identical—he had no idea which direction he’d come from.

In other words, he was lost.

His [Pursuit] ability let him shadow a target relentlessly, but it didn’t help him retrace his steps.

And Roean had run far. In just over an hour, he’d left the village and breeding farm completely out of sight.

Now he was stuck.

BANG—

Gunfire echoed across the plains, shattering the silence.

He paused, then grinned.

Only one person in these parts carried that distinct hunting rifle.

If he found Giroth, he could get back to the village.

…..

Meanwhile, Renith, having dealt with Leya, raced across the grassland on currents of magical energy. Her next target was the lone wolf among the transmigrators—Giroth.

Whether as a hobby or a profession, Giroth hunted in the same fields every day.

Right now, he was draped in deep green cloth, fresh leaves artfully arranged atop it, blending seamlessly with the environment.

His hunting rifle steady, his gaze sharp, he tracked a bird diving from the sky—its beak curved and glinting gold in the sunlight.

BANG.

The shot rang out, the recoil jolting his shoulder slightly. But his eyes never left the bird’s falling trajectory.

A clean hit.

Giroth stood, ready to retrieve his prey—

—when a sudden, unnatural gust whipped at his clothes and hair.

His instincts screamed. He spun around.

A figure stood behind him, one hand holding a book, the other clutching a searing, fully-formed fireball.

Renith.

In the blink of an eye, she hurled the fireball.

Giroth dodged like a seasoned predator, throwing himself sideways.

BOOM!

Flames erupted, devouring the grass where he’d stood, leaving only charred earth and acrid smoke.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The blast’s edge caught him, scorching holes in his coat. He clutched his arm, pain flashing across his face.

Renith turned, her cold eyes locking onto him.

“Who the hell are you?” Giroth growled through gritted teeth, setting his rifle down slowly—while his other hand crept toward the revolver at his hip.

“Your death.”

Renith gave him no time. Her grimoire glowed faintly.

“Scripture, Page 179: Wind Magic—Wind Cutter.”

Invisible blades of air slashed toward Giroth.

He didn’t understand—but his instincts screamed again.

In one fluid motion, he drew his revolver and rolled left, firing twice mid-movement.

BANG! BANG!

The bullets tore through the air—

“Scripture, Page 103: Water Magic—Aqua Barrier.”

Moisture condensed around Renith, forming a translucent shield.

The bullets hit—slowed, deflected—but still broke through, embedding in her shoulder. Blood bloomed across her robe.

At the same time, her wind blades found their mark, slicing Giroth’s ankle open. Blood poured out.

Neither had come out unscathed.