Fallen Demon Lord

They soon reached a secluded hill behind the estate, where the golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a gentle glow. A cool breeze rustled the tall grass, and a single, ancient butifull tree stood tall, its twisted branches spread wide like a guardian watching over the land. Beneath it, a weathered stone bench sat in silence—an old witness to the history of House Valemorth.

Lord Darian came to a calm stop near the bench, folding his arms behind his back. His cloak barely stirred despite the wind, his posture regal and still. Kaelen followed behind him, wooden sword in hand, eyes focused.

"I want to show you something," Kaelen said, his voice firm but laced with the weight of expectation.

Darian turned slightly, giving a small nod. "Then show me."

Kaelen inhaled deeply, his gaze sharp as flint. He stepped forward, the wind catching his hair, and in a blur of motion—he struck.

One. Two. Three slashes.

Each slash carved the air, bursts of crimson mana erupting from the blade like thunderclaps. The air cracked violently, and the ground shuddered beneath the force. Dust spiraled around them. Even the leaves on the old tree trembled at the edge of the storm.

And yet…

Lord Darian didn't move.

Not a single step. His robes didn't flutter. His hair didn't shift. It was as if reality itself refused to disturb him.

Kaelen blinked, stunned. He hadn't held back. That was one of his strongest strikes—and still, nothing.

He lowered his sword, panting lightly. "You didn't even flinch."

Darian finally turned his full attention to Kaelen, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You've made remarkable progress," he said, his tone even. "But trying to shake a mountain with noise is futile. You struck with power. Not with purpose."

Kaelen clenched his fists. He was strong—far stronger than he had been weeks ago. And yet, his father… Darian hadn't even raised a hand.

This is what it means to stand at the summit, Kaelen thought. I couldn't move him an inch…

"I won't question where you learned that technique," Darian continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But power alone means little. Control, Kaelen—that's what separates a storm from a warrior. Learn to temper your force, and you'll learn to rule it."

Kaelen bowed slightly, humbled. "Yes, Father. Thank you… I understand now. I still have far to go. I can't let our house seem weak—not because of me."

A rare warmth flickered in Darian's expression. "That is the right thought."

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows as the two stood in silence under the old redmoon tree. Father and son. Teacher and student.

Later That Night – In Kaelen's Chambers

The moon was high when Kaelen finally returned to his room, its silver glow seeping through the tall windows. He sat at his desk, the wooden sword resting beside him, untouched.

He stared at his hands—hands once soaked in war and blood in a past life. Now, they trembled not with fear, but with pressure. Responsibility. Burden.

"In this life… I've been given too much," he thought. "But the path I've chosen… it won't just endanger me. If I walk it carelessly, it'll swallow those around me too."

He stood and pulled a small chest from beneath his bed. Inside, wrapped in old cloth, was an ancient scroll—the Body Reforging Technique. Banned. Forgotten. Dangerous. And perhaps… his only way forward.

"This technique will make me stronger. Strong enough to protect what matters. But it needs rare ingredients… mana-rich roots, beast blood, crystal dew. None of it exists here."

He looked out the window toward the dark horizon. "The academy is six months away. I can't wait until then."

Kaelen sat cross-legged on the floor and closed his eyes. Breathing slowly. Steadily. Letting the world fall away.

"If nothing else," he murmured, "I can start with meditation."

In the silence, he let his mind reach inward. Not just to mana, but to something deeper—older. The art of cultivation, abandoned by the modern world.

"Today's world teaches only flashy techniques," he thought. "But 500 years ago, meditation was the foundation. It heightens your senses… calms your mind in the face of danger. It lets you make the right decision when it matters most. No one cares about it now. No one even knows what meridians are."

He gritted his teeth. "The gods changed history to keep us weak. They erased the ancient ways. They don't want anyone strong enough to oppose them."

Hours passed.

Kaelen sat still, sweat dripping down his brow. He pushed inward, past pain, past resistance, until he found it.

A spark.

The first meridian opened.

Then another.

And another.

By dawn, he had unlocked three of the ancient channels. His body ached. His breathing was shallow. But his eyes glowed with quiet determination.

The path forward had begun.