The Martial God: Demonic Cultivator in a World of Magic [Isekai LitRPG]

Luciel barely had time to process what happened when Iskandaar moved. One moment his sword shattered, and the other, Iskandaar’s hand blurred, and in an instant, he delivered a powerful, downward punch aimed directly at his face. 

The impact was brutal, like the headbutt from a bull. Luciel’s nose crumpled under the force and blood sprayed into the air. He was sent crashing onto his back, the flood letting out a loud thud.

“W-whoa!” The crowd gasped in unison. Nobody could believe their eyes. “T-the trash just-!” But the Romani wasn’t finished. It was just starting. He circled Luciel, waiting for him to stand up. 

“You… you, how dare you!” The moment Luciel stood up, Iskandaar attacked again. He leaped onto Luciel, his movements fluid and precise, as he unleashed a 360-degree spinning hook kick. It landed square on Luciel’s face. “Argh!” 

Luciel was dazed, but still standing. The Romani gave him time to gather his bearings, just enough so that he could feel the next punch. Just enough time to digest the pain, but not sufficient to recover. 

– Bam!!

Each of Iskanandaar’s strikes was deliberate, targeting Luciel’s face, ribs, and liver with surgical precision. Luciel’s shock gave way to panic as he tried to defend himself, raising his arms in a defensive position, but it didn’t help. It was as if his arms were made of cotton as Iskandaar’s assault remained unrelenting. His fists moved with the rhythm of a seasoned fighter, letting out a sound similar to a drum, accompanied by the sickening crunch of bones breaking.

Kickboxing techniques flowed through Iskandaar’s body like water flowed through a river. He used powerful hooks to shatter Luciel’s cheekbones, sharp jabs to disorient him, and brutal uppercuts to send him reeling. Luciel struggled hard, but they grew weaker with each passing second. In no time, his once-pristine face became a bloody, swollen mess. 

That was what everybody focused on, what they didn’t notice were the brutal leg kicks that Iskandaar unleashed on Luciel’s legs. Every jab was followed by a low kick to the calf. By the next few minutes, Luciel’s leg had reddened and puffed up under his pants. 

From Nebula’s perspective, it seemed as if Iskandaar was playing with Luciel, that he could end the battle anytime if he wanted to—but he wasn’t. He was humiliating the little brat.

She watched in horror as Luciel tried to shout, begging for mercy, but Iskandaar’s fists silenced him. The nobles around them were in shock, wearing expressions of disbelief and fear. None of them had expected this—they were awe-struck. 

The "trash" of the Romani family was dismantling Luciel Carlstein with terrifying efficiency?!

Even Evelina, who had been so confident in her son’s victory, was frozen in place, her fan lowering as her eyes widened in disbelief. N-no way… What the hell? she thought, her mind reeling. She had underestimated Iskandaar, but there was no way her son could lose—he was caught off guard, that was all. Right? It had to be!

“I-! I yi-!” Luciel’s attempts to yield were drowned out by the sound of Iskandaar’s fists connecting with his flesh. 

Blood splattered across the marble floor, staining it a deep red, as if Iskandaar was a painter painting the canvas with red. In just a few minutes, the once-pristine ballroom was turned into carnage.

Finally, when Luciel was on the verge of losing consciousness, swaying on his feet, Iskandaar stopped. His hands were coated in blood, his suit stained, and his breathing heavy. He stood over Luciel, his expression cold and strict, as he unleashed one final attack at Lucein’s knee. 

Nebula gasped at what happened next. While all the broken bones so far could be healed easily with a potion or healer, what he did to Luciel next might as well make him limp for the rest of his life.

With a sickening crunch, Luciel’s knee hyperextended and broke. Luciel screeched and fell on the bloody marble floor. Iskandaar didn’t flinch at the sickening sound of Lucein’s body falling to the ground, as he groaned, holding his leg in pure agony. 

The nobles weren’t gasping anymore. They just stared in utter shock as Iskandaar simply walked up to him, grabbed a fistful of Luciel’s hair, and dragged him across the floor, bringing him in front of Nebula.

“Apologize to her,” Iskandaar commanded, his voice low and filled with menace. “Tell her the truth. Now! And don’t you dare act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Nebula looked down at Luciel’s face with shocked eyes. He was barely recognizable, his eyes swollen, and his nose broken and bleeding. He struggled to form words, pain burning each part of his body. “S-sorry…” he croaked, his breath hitching with pain. He hesitated, and Iskandaar held his hair tighter. Luciel moaned out, “Argh, Edric! Edric! He… he lied… on my orders… because I… wanted to… humiliate both of you…”

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd at Luciel's confession. The nobles, who had been so quick to judge Iskandaar, found themselves questioning their ears. What the hell is he saying? 

Faces that were once filled with disdain now showed surprise and confusion. Whispers spread like wildfire as they realized that Luciel, the honorable heir of the Carlstein Barony, had staged this entire scenario. That Iskandaar Romani was not that trashy of a man.

Iskandaar’s gaze shifted to Edric. Everyone did. They looked at Edric, who had been watching the fight with mounting terror. The moment their eyes met, Edric’s bravado evaporated. “A-ah!” He stumbled back, his face draining of color.

The crowd murmured in disbelief, their attention focusing on the man. He had been the one to instigate this entire ordeal, but it was all fake? A few gasps of indignation spread through the crowd, and some of the nobles exchanged glances. In a matter of seconds, their disdain was redirected toward Edric.

"Unbelievable," someone whispered, shaking their head.

Another noble, who had been one of the loudest critics of Iskandaar, now stood with a look of utter disgust, muttering under his breath, "To think we were so easily deceived..."

“Just like his father,” one noble whispered harshly, his voice laced with contempt. “Always involved in some shady business. Nobody should ever trust him. He needs to be banished!”

Another noble nodded, adding, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, my friend. Baron Vayne has always been corrupt—everyone knows that. He’s been skimming off the top of the border taxes for years. And now his son’s following in his footsteps, dragging decent families into his schemes. Tsk, tsk.”

A woman nearby scoffed, her lips curled in disgust. “Of course he is. The Vayne family’s been rotten to the core for generations. They’re nothing but trouble, always stirring the pot for their own gain. And now he was trying to pull down the prestigious Romani family with him.”

“He’s lucky his father’s position keeps him safe,” someone else muttered. “But after this? Even Baron Vayne won’t be able to shield him from the consequences.”

The atmosphere grew heavy with the allegiances that shifted from one person to the other. They now knew the truth. Luciel and his mother’s plan had backfired spectacularly, and the court of public opinion, always fickle, was quick to turn. Such was nobility, filled with a bunch of hypocrites.

Edric tried to back away, but his legs betrayed him. The Baron’s son tripped over his own feet, falling onto the marble floor. “E-eek!” His eyes were wide with terror as he looked up at Iskandaar, who now loomed over him like a vengeful spirit. The once cocky noble was reduced to a quivering mess, his confidence shattered by the brutality he had just witnessed.

Iskandaar didn’t even need to speak. The weight of his gaze was enough to crush what little composure Edric had left. The noble fell onto his back, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to stammer out an excuse, but no words came. 

“H-hey! Listen! I- I just did what he told me to-! Please, it's not my fault- akk!”  The fear in his eyes was tangible, and when Iskandaar took a single step toward him, the final vestiges of Edric’s courage crumbled.

With a pathetic whimper, Edric’s bladder betrayed him, a dark stain spreading across the front of his trousers as he wet himself in sheer terror. The smell of urine filled the air and the nobles who had been watching recoiled in disgust. 

“Ew! Gross! Someone call the guards!” the nobles shouted. “Guards! Knights!

At their call, guards and knights from outside rushed in, stopping when they found their young lord bloody and beaten. They stood there confused until some of them noticed Edric. The baron’s son’s humiliation was complete, and Iskandaar’s lip curled in disdain as he scoffed, the sound loud and derisive.

He released Luciel’s head, letting it drop unceremoniously to the floor. The young Carlstein heir was barely conscious, his body trembling from the pain. His head hit the marble floor without any resistance, and just like that Luciel lost consciousness. But before anyone could react, a shrill voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Guards! Knights! Seize him!” Evelina finally regained her senses and made a decision. Her voice was filled with fury and panic as she descended the stairs, her fan discarded, her elegant facade shattered by the sight of her son’s bloodied and broken form.

At her command, the several knights who had walked in turned to Iskandaar, their swords drawn, ready to subdue the man who had just beaten their young lord into submission. Their heavy boots pounded against the marble floor as they closed in on Iskandaar, who stood calmly, his bloodied hands hanging at his sides.

They were about to reach him when Lilian jumped in front of him, but Iskandaar didn't look worried. Because a commanding voice boomed across the ballroom, freezing them in their tracks.

“Stand down!” The voice was deep, authoritative, and laced with a tone that left no room for argument.

All eyes turned toward the grand staircase once more. This time, the figure that walked down was much more menacing than the other two before. The imposing figure of Lord Alistair Carlstein, Nebula’s father, walked into the ball. 

The room’s atmosphere shifted, the man’s breath seemed to fill the room with an aura of control and power. He was a man who had seen countless battles, and his mere gaze could command respect from even the most hardened soldiers.

The Baron’s sharp eyes scanned the scene before him, taking in the sight of his bloodied son. Then they moved the trembling Edric, and lastly at the knights who had hesitated at his command. He did not bother to look at his wife. His expression was stern, but there was no anger—only cold calculation.

“Why are my knights drawing their swords in my hall?” he demanded, his voice powerful. “The duel was just and fair, was it not? So how dare you pull your sword?”

The knights exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to respond. How troublesome. They had been following Lady Evelina’s orders, but Lord Alistair’s authority far outweighed hers. Slowly, they began to sheath their swords, the tension in the room eased slightly. They retreated.

“My lord!” Evelina’s face contorted in rage. “My lord, this—this… boy has beaten your son to a pulp! Are you just going to stand by and let this happen?”

The Baron’s gaze didn’t waver as he met Evelina’s frantic eyes. “What? The boy challenged my son to a duel, and my son accepted. The outcome was decided the moment the duel began. It would be dishonorable to interfere now.”

His words were sharp and left no room for argument. Evelina could only sputter in frustration. Her carefully laid plans had crumbled before her eyes, and she could do nothing to save it. She couldn’t even avenge her son! Then again, she had never anticipated that her son could lose, let alone be humiliated so thoroughly in front of all these nobles.

Iskandaar turned to the Baron, his expression unreadable as he inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “Thank you, father-in-law,” he said, his voice steady despite the blood and sweat that covered him. “I appreciate your fairness.”

Of course, the man who missed his first wife more than anything also loved the child she left behind more than anything. Although he wore a hard expression, the Baron was incredibly happy in his mind—happy seeing that he hadn't sold his daughter to a useless man, but a powerful one. He was proud, if anything.

The Baron's gaze lingered on Iskandaar for a moment longer he nodded, turning to his son, who lay groaning on the floor. There was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, but he said nothing as he turned to address the gathered nobles.

“Let it be known that the duel was conducted under the watchful eyes of all present. Iskandaar Romani has proven himself as the victor, and the matter is settled.” His voice carried across the room, silencing the whispers. “This is my decree, and it will be respected.”

With that, the Baron turned and walked back up the stairs, his figure fading into the shadows of the upper floors. Everyone watched him go, and seeing his figure vanish, the tension in the room began to ease. Yet, the shock lingered.

“Phew,” Iskandaar took a deep breath. He processed what had just happened for a moment, and then his attention shifted to Nebula, who was standing motionless. The girl’s face was pale, and her blue eyes were wide with confusion.

His expression softened as he walked toward her, bloody hands still dripping beside him. “I think I need a shower,” he said, his voice low. “Won’t you show me around?”

Nebula blinked, her mind struggling to catch up with the rapid turn of events. In the back, her stepmother barked orders to take Luciel to the medic, while she just looked at Iskandaar. Nebula hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. “Y-yes… of course,” she managed to say.

Iskandaar offered her a small, reassuring smile before turning his gaze to the crumpled form of Luciel. Without another word, he stepped over the beaten young man, leaving him in a pool of his own blood, and walked past the stunned nobles. 

Lilian the maid followed closely behind, humming to herself.

The ballroom, the suffocating place filled with two-faced nobles who were whispering insults on Iskandaar’s back earlier, was now eerily silent as they watched him and Nebula leave. They were too shocked to speak, their heads spinning from the whole situation they had just seen.

The heavy doors of the ballroom closed behind them as Nebula glanced up at Iskandaar with a question in her mind. 

Who are you, Iskandaar Romani?