The black skin didn’t break, but the demon’s entire rib cage seemed to crumble. His chest caved in under the push from Liam’s elbow, reaching depths where the heart was.

The injury was for all intents and purposes fatal. Grace had basically died of something very similar, and Liam even heard the heartbeat stop now.

That should have been the end, except that it wasn’t. The sense of danger didn’t diminish at all, and Liam had committed too much to the attack to stop what was coming.

The demon closed his arms around Liam, and he barely had the time to lift one before an inescapable hug caught him. Claws dug into his back, stabbing him deeply. Liam’s free hand was also busy squeezing his opponent’s chin since those fangs were aiming for him.

After years, Liam had actually seen someone else trying to use teeth. Sadly, he couldn’t feel any kinship since he was the target of those attempted bites.

There was no time to waste. The claws were continuing to dig, and it was unclear when the demon would decide to tear Liam’s back apart. He had to do something, but he didn’t exactly have many options.

The hug had caught one of Liam’s arms, which was partially why the claws were meeting some opposition. He was fighting against the black limbs pressing on him, but the best he could achieve was a delay.

Liam needed his other hand on the demon’s face, too. Those fangs were long, and his neck was too close. His back was big and broad, so the claws could dig through a lot without killing him, but his jugular was something else altogether.

As things stood, Liam could jump, which wouldn’t achieve much. Even if he slammed his opponent on the wall, chances were nothing would happen.

Liam could also wait. No matter what suicidal products, item, or art was involved, the demon’s skin was still rotting away. He would die on his own, and his caved-in chest would accelerate the process.

Lastly, Liam could break his limitations and fight seriously. He wouldn’t even need to rely on any flashy martial art. His hand was already there after all. Whatever empowerment the black skin featured, it didn’t extend to the bones, meaning Liam could crush the demon’s jaw by simply squeezing.

Liam wasn’t sure what would happen, but merely spitting some poison on the demon’s face might work, too.

Still, there was some stubbornness to Liam’s being, or maybe a stupid sense of pride that wouldn’t accept failure. As bloody as the experience was, that remained training, and he had always been quite serious about it.

There was no room to attempt launching kicks or even raise knees. Liam’s arms were busy, and his teeth definitely didn’t have enough range to be of any use. That left only his head.

Liam squeezed the demon’s chin, but only to keep his head steady so that he could bash his own into it. Blood spurted everywhere as the impact broke the black nose, but Liam wasn’t done.

A second headbutt followed, and then a third. By the fourth, the demon’s face still had all its skin, but its skull had lost its structural integrity. It was mushy, its entire front hanging, and the hug’s pressure finally receded.

Liam spread his arms, breaking free of the hug. Blood flowed down his back as the claws left it, but the black cultivator also fell lifelessly on the floor, his skin continuing to rot despite his death.

A white chunk stained with blood fell alongside the corpse. A diagonal piece of the upper part of Liam’s mask had broken, revealing his forehead and right eye, but his hand was already covering it, hiding his features.

The rotting process picked up speed. It didn’t take long before Liam found himself standing in a pool of blood, the corpse at his feet unrecognizable, being nothing more than a skinned mess of broken gore.

Honestly, the sight could very well serve as a wake-up call. The division between orthodox and demonic arts wasn’t just for show. It had real meanings, embodied in that hideous corpse.

Liam knew those meanings well, too. All his greatest victories had come from pushing himself beyond what he could endure, by reaching the point where he would break without dying.

The demonic arts were Liam’s solution to his impossible odds, and he had even made them his norm with his body-enhancing pills. Yet, if he didn’t tread carefully, he could easily end up like that corpse.

Nevertheless, Liam didn’t second-guess himself. Even as blood rained down his back, his abdomen hurt, and marks from just-healed injuries filled his view, he remained confident in his approach.

That was to be Liam’s path, his faults lying in his own impossible desires.

Besides, even at the mere beginning, the plan was working.

’There’s much I can improve on,’ Liam acknowledged, already reviewing the battle. ’This was the right choice. To think I could use my body like this.’

Of course, a single battle wasn’t enough to achieve anything. In the past, Liam had approached his training through endless repetition, and that would still be the case now, but alchemy had taught him to see a deeper insight.

Just like with ingredients, Liam first had to learn what he could do, how he reacted to external inputs, before steering those properties into a specific direction so that a recipe could come to be.

As for what that recipe had to be about, the answer was simple. Liam had to be unbeatable before the very concept of Perfection, a concept that actually existed in the world and now ruled the Kingdom.

The product even had a name already. The great Horace Rauret had decided it for Liam. He would concoct the most dreadful fiend in the world, using each aspect of himself as if they were distinct ingredients.

And as new waves of cheers washed over Liam, he had to look inward, focusing not to let his desire to fight again reveal his Qi’s true nature and color.

Like that, six months passed.