Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest
Chapter 62: The Martial King (1)

Chapter 62: The Martial King (1)

It was a week later when Zain and old man Hobbren finally made it to Draemir territory. Zain was exhausted from the journey—not just from traveling, but from constantly watching his back around the old man. Every time Hobbren looked at him, Zain felt like he was being measured for a coffin.

That’s when Renard’s letter arrived. The message was short and to the point- come to Gia’s Castle in Grace territory, and bring the old man.

Zain stared at the letter and wanted to cry.

The old man had been like a storm cloud hanging over him for weeks. Every morning, Zain woke up wondering if today would be the day Hobbren decided he was lying and slit his throat. Now he had to take this walking nightmare even further from home.

And there was more bad news in the letter. Renard wanted them to gather weapons—whatever the old man requested—and bring them along. Zain had no idea what that meant, but knowing Hobbren, it probably involved a lot of sharp, deadly things.

But Zain really didn’t have any choice in the matter. When the heir to House Grim gave orders, you followed them. So they gathered supplies and started the long journey toward Grace territory.

***

After squeezing money out of Eleanor, Renard had holed up in a tavern near Gia’s Castle to wait. The place was nothing fancy—just a two-story building with cheap rooms and decent food. But it was far enough from the main castle and was comfortable enough for him to stay for a few days.

Renard wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of person Eleanor was. She might smile sweetly and act like a proper noble lady, but underneath, she was as ruthless as any of the great family heirs. There was no way she’d just let him walk away with her money and her secrets.

Right now, she was probably planning something nasty. Maybe hiring more assassins, or thinking up some clever way to make him disappear without it tracing back to her. She had the resources and the connections to make his life very difficult.

Too bad for her that Renard had no intention of making it easy.

Before leaving the main house, he’d sent two letters back to Draemir territory asking for backup. The first was for Zain—if he’d made it back with the old man, then they should come immediately. The second was for his grandfather, asking for Kasim and some knights if Zain wasn’t available.

His grandfather would be angry about the whole situation. The old man hated when family members created problems that could affect House Grim’s reputation. But Renard had been careful to mention he was in danger, and family was family. Someone would come.

While he waited, Renard didn’t just sit around. He spent hours each day training in his small room at the tavern. The Wild Heart techniques required constant practice to master, his young body was yet to fully adjust to it and he worked on circulating his essence through the new pathways the awakening had created.

He also did physical exercises—push-ups, sword forms, anything to keep his body sharp.

The other guests probably thought he was crazy, hearing all the movement from his room. But Renard didn’t care what random people thought.

On the third day, his patience finally paid off. He was eating breakfast in the tavern’s common room when he saw two familiar figures walk through the door.

Zain looked tired and stressed, like he’d aged five years in the past few weeks. The old man beside him still looked like a drunk who’d crawled out of a gutter, but Renard could see the difference. There was alertness in those bloodshot eyes, a tension in his movements that spoke of coiled violence.

Renard quickly activated his Prajna ability to get a read on them.

Zain’s information came through clearly—still at peak Essence Zone.

Although he is reaching a stage where he would reach Master zone anytime. But when he looked at the old man, all he saw were question marks.

[Name: ???]

[Zone: ???]

[BloodCrest: ???]

[Crest Abililities: ????]

Name, Zone, Crest, abilities—everything was hidden.

’Interesting,’ Renard thought. ’His power level is way beyond what Prajna can read.’

After asking around, Zain and Hobbren eventually found their way to Renard’s table. Zain gave a polite bow to his young master, relief obvious on his face. Finally, his job was done, and he could hand this dangerous old man over to someone else.

But Hobbren had other ideas.

"He’s just a kid," the old man said, looking at Renard with clear disappointment. His voice was rough and gravelly, like he’d been shouting for hours.

The old man turned to glare at Zain, anger building in his eyes. All this time, all this traveling and hoping, and this was what he got? Some fourteen-year-old boy playing games?

But Renard didn’t let Zain take the blame.

"Well, does it matter?" Renard said calmly, meeting Hobbren’s stare without flinching. "Do you care who I am, or do you care more about your daughter?"

The words hit like a slap. Hobbren’s mouth snapped shut, and the tavern went quiet around them.

"Your guard said that you know my daughter is alive," Hobbren said after a long moment. His voice was deadly serious now. "Is that the truth?"

"Yes," Renard answered simply. No explanation, no dramatic speech. Just the truth.

"Where is she?" The old man leaned forward, his hands gripping the table edge.

"In a place that’s very hard to reach," Renard said carefully.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. A cold, killing aura started pouring out of Hobbren like water from a broken dam. Zain’s hand shot to his sword handle, his face going pale. Even Renard felt chills run down his spine. This wasn’t just anger—this was the presence of someone who had killed many, many people.

Other customers in the tavern started looking around nervously, though they probably couldn’t identify what was making them uncomfortable.

"Do not play games with me, boy," Hobbren said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m not playing games with you," Renard replied, forcing himself to stay calm. "I really do know where your daughter is."

The old man studied his face for several heartbeats, then slowly pulled back his threatening aura. The normal sounds of the tavern gradually returned.

"What do you want?" Hobbren asked.

He wasn’t stupid either. Nothing came free in this world, especially not information about lost daughters.

Renard smiled slightly. Time to lay his cards on the table.

"Be my guard for two years. Protect me at all costs."

Hobbren’s eyes narrowed as he considered this. Two years was a long time.

"What about my daughter?"

"I’ll tell you where she is, but it’s impossible to rescue her alone."

"She’s being held hostage?"

"Sort of." Renard couldn’t explain the full situation without revealing too much about his regression.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes."

"Will she be safe?"

"She should be."

"How can I believe you are telling the truth?" Hobbren’s voice carried decades of disappointment and betrayal.

Renard leaned back in his chair. "Surely, Martial King Hobbren knows how to see through lies."

The effect was immediate. Zain’s eyes went wide, and he nearly choked on his own spit.

Martial King? This old man?

He looked back and forth between Renard and the old man as if he had seen a ghost.

Hobbren just stared at Renard in complete silence. Very few people still knew his true identity—especially now, after so many years of inactivity.

It had been even longer since anyone had called him by that grand title.

If Renard knew who he truly was and had still approached him with an offer of help, then the boy standing before him was far from ordinary.

He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Hobbren’s aura. In fact, he remained calm—even while knowing the weight of the name he faced.

’To think the Grims have been raising a talent like this...’

But all of that meant little to Hobbren.

There was only one thing he cared about now.

His daughter.

"I want to see my daughter. Now," Hobbren said finally.

"We’ll go to save her once I make some preparations."

"What preparations do you need when I’m here?" There was confidence in that question, which seemed almost arrogant.

"Can you take on one of the eight great houses alone and guarantee your daughter’s safety?" Renard asked.

That shut him up. Even a Martial King had limits, and the great houses had resources beyond what any single person could handle. Moreover, he didn’t want to put his daughter in any kind of danger.

"There are some people on my tail right now," Renard continued. "You help me, I help you. It’s a fair deal."

Hobbren was quiet for a long time, thinking it over. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"I will believe you... for now. If anything you’ve said is a lie, I will take your life with my own hands. And remember, I don’t care if you’re the heir of House Grim or not."

The threat was delivered calmly, matter-of-factly, which somehow made it even more terrifying.

With that settled, the three of them prepared to leave Gia’s Castle and head back toward Grim territory. They all knew there would be trouble waiting on the road—Eleanor wouldn’t just let them walk away. But now Renard had a Martial King at his side.

Let her try something. Hell, he actually wanted her to try.

---***---