The knight took his time washing, taking advantage of the large volume of clean water to remove all of the dirt and grime that had been on him previously, along with the disgusting brew of shit and daemonic corruption that he'd been soaked in. He took half an hour to himself to wash properly, and sent his steed out to go do its thing once he had declared the lizard clean. From there it was just a matter of cleaning out his gear. He started with his mount's harnessing and such, figuring it would be smart to be able to ride around, if necessary. He wasn't terribly worried about that, though, so he took his time once more. Thankfully, leather didn't soak up disgusting things very well, and it wasn't long before all of his steed's gear was cleaned and nicely oiled.

Then he started on his own things. Unfortunately, he had been going far too slowly. He got his sword and knives clean before he was interrupted. But the cavalier wasn't sure it was going to be enough, considering what was going on. Just down the hill, off the road, was a forest of sorts. But a swath was being mowed through the trees like they were weeds, and not massive evergreens. Suddenly he saw a figure dashing from the trees, and apparently heading straight for him. The commotion was what had gotten his attention, though. The way the trees were being hewn to matchsticks was deafening, even at this distance, and the noise was getting louder. It wasn't long before he realized why. A rage daemon, or something like it, was headed right for him. Or rather, it was running down the poor bastard who had bothered it. The thing was massive, half again as tall as any man, with blades protruding from its back like spines, a veritable forest of edges sprouting along its spine. Its joints were all guarded by more bladed spines, and it seemed to possess a collection of flexible razors, rather than fingers or toes. Even its mouth was filled with daggers, instead of teeth. The goat-man was surprised the beast did not literally stare daggers at its prey, but prepared to fight it all the same.

He held onto his sabre, and selected his bowie knife to accompany it. A monster like this was going to take some slaying. With no lance, and no lizard, it would be a feat. But he'd just completed two thirds of a hattrick, he saw no reason why he couldn't finish the job. Still completely devoid of clothing, with the reason females seemed to so adore his kind swinging freely in the wind, the satyr used the strengths his kin had given him, and he hopped nimbly onto a pile of ruined stone that had once been a wall around the pond. It was probably as tall as he was, give or take, so he felt he might have some advantage at this height. Beasts as large as this probably knew nothing of fighting those taller than it. The knight was entirely unprepared, and the fresh adrenaline pumping through his system had him ready to puke up his lunch. He was pretty sure he had already done that, however, so he fought back the urge, and prepared to do battle. The monster and its prey were approaching more rapidly now, despite the slope, and he sank into a crouch atop the mound of rock. He thought he would try for a leaping strike on the beast. If his blades could hurt the thing, he supposed it would be enough. Rage daemons knew no pain, but he had done his research, and women were the only creatures capable of bleeding for their entire lives, and not dying. With that in mind, he figured he could win this fight if he played the long game. No one could win the short game against something like this.

Determination, and what lifetime he could remember dedicated to slaying creatures such as this strengthened the cavalier as he leapt. He let out no battle cry, indeed, he made no sound at all, simply lifted into the air as the poor unfortunate soul that his quarry was preying upon drew the beast close enough. The rage monster was so focused on its prey, that it didn't even notice the blade slice into its flesh as the goat-man passed over its head. It barely registered that it was bleeding profusely from a wound carved so expertly between the blades on its back. What it did register, though, was the sound of two hoofs crashing into the ground, and it seemed to know that such a noise was only made by prey. It wheeled on the daemon slayer, but the satyr showed no fear. He gnashed his fangs and twirled his sword eagerly, wondering how hurt this thing would have to get before it would die.

In another instant, the daemon launched itself at its new opponent, but the warrior was already leaping away, bounding like the mountain goat that was part of him. He didn't stop there, though. He continued to hop, with violence in mind. He dodged behind his enemy, sweeping below its back-full of blades and slicing at its legs, hacking pieces off of it like the monster was some kind of bloody perversion of a living cake. This thing was certainly not safe to eat, however...