Fallen Demon Lord

Deep within the ancient library of House Valemorth, silence reigned like a sacred vow. The scent of aged parchment hung in the air, and shelves stretched endlessly in every direction, cradling knowledge lost to time.

Kaelen's crimson eyes locked onto a weathered tome — its leather cover cracked, its title nearly faded into oblivion:

"Redmoon Annihilation — Supreme Swordsmanship."

He pulled it from the shelf with trembling hands. His heart pounded, a storm of curiosity and longing surging within. As he flipped through the fragile pages, something stirred behind him.

A soft thud.

Then a voice — smooth, ancient, and eerily calm.

"That technique… it belongs to the man who once shook the heavens. Your ancestor."

Kaelen turned sharply to find Ravethis, the three-eyed white cat, perched atop a wooden table, its pale fur glowing faintly under the library's ethereal light.

"You know this sword style?" Kaelen asked.

Ravethis nodded, eyes narrowed.

"Redmoon Annihilation was crafted by Ardyn Velmorth — your grandfather. One of the few mortals who dared defy the gods. This technique... is powerful. But the book is incomplete."

Kaelen clenched the tome tighter, frustration boiling beneath his skin.

"So this was written by him…" he thought. "And he disappeared before finishing it."

"My father — hailed as a hero — couldn't uncover anything. Even with all his strength."

He glanced at Ravethis with irritation. "You knew my grandfather. So why won't you tell me what happened to him?"

Ravethis simply blinked, giving no answer.

Kaelen growled internally. "Why is this damn cat so smug all the time? Just say something useful for once!"

Returning to the book, Kaelen's frown deepened.

Some of these sequences... they matched his past-life sword techniques.

But merging them wouldn't be easy. His old techniques were from another world entirely — based on precise mana control and deadly aura manipulation. And here, using them openly would expose him too soon.

He had no choice.

"I'll have to reshape my style... evolve it," Kaelen muttered. "Even if it breaks me."

Two Days Later

He didn't leave the library.

Day and night blurred as Kaelen poured over the Redmoon texts, combining them with memories from his past life. His body ached, his mana burned, and still — he continued.

Ravethis, watching from the shadows, merely smirked.

"Stubborn little heir… just like him."

At last — success.

Kaelen shut the tome, sweat dripping from his brow, and whispered:

"It's done… a new path forged."

Training Grounds – House Valemorth

Sunlight gleamed off polished stones as Kaelen stepped onto the training field. Soldiers halted their drills, turning to see the boy who once lay broken in bed — now standing tall with unreadable eyes.

Waiting for him at the center was Master Veyron, his longtime instructor — a towering man with gray at his temples and iron in his gaze.

"Back from the dead, are we?" Veyron grunted.

But there was pride in his eyes.

Kaelen bowed lightly. "I'm ready to train."

"You've been bedridden for a year," Veyron cautioned. "Let's begin with basic drills."

Kaelen shook his head.

"No drills. I want to duel — against one of your knights."

Veyron blinked. "Are you sure? You're not even—"

"I've already reached Foundation Awakening: Stage Six."

Kaelen's voice was calm. "And I've forged my own sword technique. I need to test it."

Still hesitant, Veyron eventually relented, ordering the weakest knight forward.

Kaelen and the knight faced each other across the sand-dusted floor.

Kaelen narrowed his eyes.

"They think I'm weak," Kaelen thought, eyes narrowing.

"If I fight like this, I won't learn anything. I need to provoke them… push them until they show me real strength."

But was that the only reason? Or was he testing something deeper — something hidden within his blade?

What kind of swordsmanship needs anger to awaken?

As the duel began, Kaelen moved — fast. Too fast.

One strike. That was all it took.

The knight collapsed before he could raise his guard. A whisper spread through the onlookers like wildfire. The frail boy had just defeated a trained knight in a single breath.

Kaelen turned toward the others, his voice laced with disdain.

"Is this all you're capable of?" he said coldly. "Beaten by a ten-year-old child?"

The knights shifted uncomfortably. Their pride had taken a hit.

"I thought you were warriors. But you're just a pack of weaklings wrapped in armor."

Fury flared behind disciplined expressions, but none dared speak against the heir.

Above, the family head watched from a high balcony, his expression unreadable.

"What is he doing?" he muttered. "Why provoke them like this?"

Kaelen raised his hand again, this time pointing at a taller, older boy.

"You. Kael."

Kael, vice-captain of the knights, sixteen and already a seasoned fighter, tensed.

He had already been on edge — Kaelen's insults had wounded their pride. But still, he kept his composure.

"You're still recovering, young master," Kael said politely. "I'd rather not—"

Kaelen cut him off with a smirk.

"Excuses. Typical of the weak. That's why you refuse — because you're afraid."

Kael's eyes narrowed.

That did it.

He stepped forward. Sword in hand. Pride in flames.