Fallen Demon Lord

The skies above House Valemorth were clear, yet within the stone walls of the training arena, a storm was brewing — not of wind or thunder, but of legacy, power, and expectation.

Kaelen stood at the center of it all, a boy cloaked in silence and intent, facing down a knight twice his age. His blade, though wooden, pulsed with something far older than technique — something reborn.

High above, in the shaded upper gallery, two figures watched.

Lord Darian Valemorth and Butler Albern.

Albern frowned. "Should we stop this? He just recovered."

Darian shook his head, curious.

"Let him be. I want to see what my son learned in that library."

Below, Kaelen and Kael stood face-to-face. The wind picked up slightly.

Then — steel clashed.

Kaelen parried. Dodged. Struck.

His reflexes were sharp, his stance impeccable. Kael attacked again — but Kaelen slipped past him like a shadow.

The crowd tensed.

Then, something incredible happened.

Kaelen's wooden sword glowed crimson as mana surged into it.

Gasps rippled through the arena.

"He's… infusing mana?" one knight whispered.

"But he's just a boy!"

Lord Darian sat forward. "Impossible…"

Kaelen spoke, his voice low.

"To use mana, you must understand it. Not just sense it. In my past life... I mastered it completely."

Kael lunged.

Kaelen moved.

A flash of red — and suddenly, Kaelen slashed his sword forward.

One. Two. Three.

Three slashes in a single swing.

Each slash echoed with a burst of mana — like a thunderclap tearing through the silence.

Three crimson arcs exploded toward Kael, knocking him to the ground. Dust settled.

Silence.

Kaelen stood tall.

The knights were stunned.

Even Master Veyron — once Kaelen's most critical teacher — was speechless.

Lord Darian's eyes gleamed with something rare: awe.

"That wasn't Redmoon," he muttered.

"It was more… evolved."

He knew the Redmoon technique well — had trained in it himself. But even he couldn't produce multiple slashes at once. And this ten-year-old had done it effortlessly.

Down below, Kaelen lowered his sword.

"This is only the beginning…" he whispered to himself.

"I'll reach even higher."

He looked at Kael and offered a respectful nod. The older boy, panting and bruised, returned it.

Up above, Lord Darian stood in silence.

His son — this strange, reborn Kaelen — was no longer just an heir.

He was a force that could change the fate of the world.

The dust of the training ground had barely settled when Lord Darian Valemorth rose from his seat in the observation gallery. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes... they burned with something unfamiliar — a mix of pride, curiosity, and calculation.

Butler Albern, standing beside him, spoke softly.

"My lord… this technique he used… I've never seen anything like it."

Lord Darian didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the boy below.

"It was Redmoon," he said slowly, "but twisted — evolved. Even Ardyn Velmorth, the man who created Redmoon Annihilation, never demonstrated such control."

Albern hesitated.

"Do you think... young master Kaelen has inherited something beyond the bloodline?"

Darian finally turned toward him.

"He didn't inherit it." His voice was firm.

"He forged it."

He stared down again at Kaelen, now speaking calmly with Kael and the other knights, unaware of the storm brewing in his father's mind.

"What did you learn in that library, my son?" Darian thought.

"Three days... and you return with a technique I could never master, even after decades."

He remembered his father — Ardyn Velmorth. The man hailed as a revolutionary, a warrior whose sword could split mountains and silence kings. A man who vanished at his peak.

And now Kaelen, barely ten, was walking the same path — no, perhaps creating his own.

Lord Darian exhaled deeply.

"This child... might be something far greater than an heir."

He turned to Albern and nodded once.

"Prepare the council. House Valemorth must be ready."