Amelia Duskleaf leaned back in her chair, her hands wrapped around the delicate porcelain cup. The warmth of the tea was barely noticeable against her fingers, not that heat would ever bother a dragon.
She kept her gaze steady, watching the ripples settle on the surface of the amber liquid as she collected her thoughts. Across from her, the Headmaster took a slow sip, his face grave. The usually calm office felt weighty now, all the recent happenings casting a shadow over even the cozy glow of the fireplace nearby.
“Too many incidents in too short a time,” he murmured, setting his cup down with a faint clink. “It’s as if they’re testing our defenses, those demons.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, her tone crisp. “Or testing our patience. We haven’t seen this level of activity for decades, yet it’s all happening within our borders now, just as our students begin their trials. I’m sure you’re aware of the fabled Greatest Generation, as much as I am. Could it be that the Demon King thinks this year is that prophesied year?”
“Interesting idea… It could be, yes,” he nodded, looking past her to the shelf of ancient tomes that lined the wall. “I’d wager it’s no coincidence.”
The silence stretched as both of them considered the implications, the unspoken worry thickening the air. Amelia took a measured sip, her draconic senses on alert. She didn’t want to admit it, but even she felt a trace of foreboding she couldn’t shake off.
Sometimes she wished she had inherited her father’s aloofness, that pride that towered over the tallest mountains of Vear'thia. He was an entity that never had to worry about anything. Unfortunately, even with his flawed traits, Amelia was far from the greatness that was her father.
Amelia sighed in her head, and then her thoughts were interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Amelia and the Headmaster exchanged glances before she straightened, set her cup down, and called, “Come in.”
The door opened, and Professor Lysandra Thorne stepped inside, her silver hair catching the light in a way that softened her steely expression. Her expression was unusually hard. The elf gave a nod of acknowledgment to the Headmaster and then looked to Amelia, her face taut with urgency.
“Apologies for the interruption,” Lysandra began, her voice low. “There’s news. We’ve found traces of demons.”
“Have you?!” Amelia set her cup aside, her fingers tightening reflexively on the arm of her chair. The news washed over her with relief. So they had found something.
The large-scale search announced for tomorrow was not false, but the announcement was bait. It was to lull their targets into complacency, that they’d be fine until tonight, having only to keep their guards up starting tomorrow. But the true search had already begun, quiet and contained in the night, led by the professors.
This was exactly the kind of result she had hoped for when she planned this.
Wait, just in case… Without a word, Amelia rose from her seat and reached inward, feeling the familiar spark of her draconic essence. She extended her senses, her voice barely a whisper as she incanted, “Dragon Tongue Magic: All-Seeing Gaze.”
A soft glow enveloped her irises, her vision sharpening as it pierced through the walls of her office, threading its way across the academy grounds. She saw through corridors and rooftops, her sight eventually falling upon the dormitories, finally honing in on the quarters of Year 1’s Class S.
And then her eyes darkened, her jaw clenching.
Iskandaar Romani’s bed was empty. His entire room was.
That fucking brat! A curse slipped from her lips, sharper than she intended. She turned to Lysandra, trying to mask the jolt of anger and worry rising within her. “Who—” she forced a calm into her voice, “who’s in charge of searching the city right now?”
Lysandra’s eyes met hers, calm but alert. “It’s Professor Katheran and Professor Valmyre. They’re both scouring the areas close to the last demonic traces.”
Amelia bit back another curse.
With those two, any demon—or anyone suspected of being a demon—would be facing merciless scrutiny. No matter if it was Iskandaar who had foolishly gone out there or the real demon from the dungeon incident, they were out for bad luck tonight.
She truly hoped it wasn’t Iskandaar, but it seemed like a fool’s dream right now. The two professors would be ruthless if he gave them any reason to suspect him, and he sadly did have enough reason already. Although by now it was probably too late anyway.
“I see. I’ll be going too,” she said abruptly, moving toward the window without another word.
The Headmaster’s voice rose in mild protest. “Are you sure? Katheran and Valmyre are more than capable. Your presence might alert the demons and make them flee.”
She paused, glancing back at him, her gaze hard. “I know. But they might endanger the civilians if their Level is around those two professors. I should be there. Just in case.”
With a nod to Lysandra and the Headmaster, she pulled the window open, spread her wings, and launched herself into the night.
The cool night air rushed around her, and she didn’t hesitate, her flight swift and silent as she made her way toward the city, her senses spread wide.
****
“Hsss…” The smell of boiling blood hung heavy in the air, thick with an iron tang that made Nebula’s stomach churn. She watched Iskandaar from a few feet away, watching the man hiss in pain, feeling as if he was both familiar and a complete stranger.
The ritual had turned his skin a raw, angry red, yet he sat cross-legged in the bowl, unmoving, his face locked in focus. Every hiss and wince that escaped him made her fingers twitch, and yet he didn’t flinch—didn’t hesitate.
He pushed through it all, sinking deeper into the blood.
Iskandaar Romani, loser son of a count, human trash. Her fiancé. At the start, he’d been nothing more than a political pawn to her, a title, a convenient alliance between families. And now here he was, submerged in blood, invoking powers she’d only read about in forbidden texts. What in the world had he become?
Since their arranged engagement, she’d known him as nothing more than a mere name—the third child of a noble house, crippled by weakness and destined for nothingness. Useless, even by aristocratic standards.
She’d never bothered to understand him because, frankly, there hadn’t seemed to be anything to understand. She remembered his duel with her brother—how he’d thrown away the sword as if to look cool but then ultimately winning with his fist alone, breaking Luciel’s blade with his bare hands as if it was little more than a twig. It was a surprising incident, and she was greatly pleased by the sight, but still, that wasn’t the end of the world. It didn’t mean he was a powerhouse. Luciel was just Level 18 back then.
It was a bit more bizarre when he returned from the Wraithwoods unharmed, but… she had just assumed he lied about ever having stepped into the mist.
Nebula never thought of him as someone outstanding.
Until the first day at the Waybound Academy, she thought he was just a lucky young man who awakened his mana and experienced some quick level-ups. But now…?
Here he was, surrounded by mysteries as thick as the blood swirling around him, every shadow seeming to deepen the longer she looked.
Her mind raced with questions she hadn’t dared to ask aloud. What exactly was he? All the encounters they’d had since he came to the academy had challenged her perception of him. Until all of it turned upside down when he slew a Holy Knight.
Are you really Iskandaar Romani? she thought, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach.
And then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked at her. There was something strange in his eyes—something neither pain nor fear could drown out. Determination. He raised his voice, hoarse but unwavering. “Solara,” he called, his voice scraping out like it had traveled across hot coals. “Pour the fire. Start now.”
Nebula stiffened, her breath catching as Solara’s wings flickered to life, filling the room with a blaze that cast wavering shadows against the walls. Solara hesitated, taking in a deep breath. Nebula could see the flames reflected in his eyes, dancing over him, yet he didn’t look away or shield himself. Instead, when she raised her palms at him, he closed his eyes, letting the fire sink deeper into him as if he were made for it.
This man—no, this thing—was not the Iskandaar Romani she had known. He couldn’t be. There was no way. But what did that mean for her? For their engagement? Watching him now, she couldn’t shake the sense that he was becoming something she might never understand, even if she asked a thousand questions.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling of Solara’s flames against his breathing. At that moment, Nebula felt more alone than she ever had.
She wanted to ask him—demand answers for all the secrets he carried. What was his purpose? What power was he striving for, and why did it look like he’d die reaching for it? But she kept silent, unwilling to break the strange rhythm of the ritual. In her chest, though, her heart thudded a quiet, restless beat, one that echoed the unspoken fear and growing tension.
Was this still her fiancé—or had he already become something else entirely? And if so… what would that mean for her?
Nebula Carlstein found herself lost in the flickering flames.
****
The pain was the price of power. There was no avoiding it, no bargaining with it.
The Heavenly Demon Body Technique wasn’t just a method of cultivation—it was a path carved in blood, in agony, in the raw will to endure the unendurable. It would be a part of me, all of me, for it’d be my body by the time I was done learning it.
That was what it had always been, in the game at least, ever since the first Heavenly Demon walked the earth, and it hadn’t changed. The body wasn’t meant to house this kind of power, but the technique forced it to. It transformed the body into greatness. It demanded that the practitioner strip away the mortal coil, layer by layer, until what remained was something not human but something else. Something more.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Something demonic.
I knew that going in.
This technique was the reason the Murim world feared those who mastered it. Few managed to do so, only the Heavenly Demon of each generation. Transforming the body into a demonic vessel wasn’t just about strength or resilience. It was about becoming an entity above humanity, invincible to normal weapons and resistant to the spiritual forces that others wielded.
The Heavenly Demon Body Technique was a powerful and feared cultivation art, divided into five stages for it was impossible to master at once. If I had to put it on paper like how the System put things, it’d look something like this:
-
1. Iron Flesh Stage: At this stage, the practitioner develops a dense layer of muscle and flesh, making their body highly resilient to physical damage.
2. Stone Bone Stage: The bones are hardened to be as tough as stone, enabling the practitioner to withstand blunt force impacts.
3. Demon Core Stage: The cultivator forms a core of demonic qi within their body, reinforcing their organs and circulating energy through their body to bolster their defenses. The Demonic Core also grants multiple other powers, such as free energy control.
4. Dark Qi Fusion Stage: The practitioner begins fusing dark qi with their body's cells, turning their flesh into a substance resistant to both magical and spiritual attacks.
5. Heavenly Demon Stage: At this final stage, the body is transformed into a true demonic vessel, capable of regenerating immensely fast and becoming impervious to nearly all forms of attack. You’re also able to break your body’s limits temporarily by tapping into powers greater than yourself.
-
The first two were kind of basic, although still very impressive, but starting the third stage, things took a supernatural turn. Forming the core of demonic qi inside the body would bolster everything—flesh, bones, organs—all of it. The practitioner would no longer have to rely on normal qi and no longer be constrained by the flow of qi.
It might sound a little confusing since I could already use demonic qi, but to put it in simpler terms, if all this time I was taking the energy in the air and swirling it into my core in the rhythm of the demonic arts, it’d change to me being able to produce demonic qi naturally. Of course, that’d also mean I’d appear more ‘demonic’ to people’s senses, but I might have a fix for that.
Lastly, at the fifth stage, I’d go through the Great Demonic Rebirth. My body would basically reconstruct itself, and it’s a process that can regrow limbs with ease. That was why I wasn’t worried about finding a way to regrow my hand; I already had a way, but it’d just take a bit of time.
“Hnn…” I could feel the blood boiling around me as I sat cross-legged in the metal bowl, the heat radiating from Solara’s flames shooting through the liquid like a furnace. The demonic qi flowed through me, through every inch of my skin, circulating and refining the body I was trying to forge anew. The pain lanced through me, searing my muscles and threatening to break my concentration. But I endured.
I had no choice but to endure the Body Tempering Ritual.
My breath came out in harsh bursts, the air around me thick with the energy of the ritual. I could feel every pulse, every movement of qi under my skin as it tried to reshape me from the inside out. The demonic energy coursed through my veins like fire, but I welcomed it. I wanted it to burn away the weakness, the fragility. I wanted it to change me.
And change it’d bring indeed, for the price of pain and sacrifice. This was the Body Tempering Ritual, and it was what the Heavenly Demon Body demanded.
-
Body Tempering Rituals
* Baths in Demonic Essence: Soaking in pools filled with demonic herbs, monster blood, and enchanted minerals that fortify the body. These baths break down and rebuild the muscles, hardening them with every session.
* Hellfire Tempering: The body is exposed to a special demonic flame, which gradually refines the skin, bones, and organs. Practitioners undergo this by entering controlled areas filled with these flames and meditating within them for as long as they can withstand them.
* Scarification Rites: Ritualistic cuts are made on the practitioner’s body, and demonic energy is injected into the wounds. This strengthens the flesh, while the scar tissue becomes resistant to future wounds.
-
There were many ways to do this, but in my current state, these three were the most accessible to me. I was planning to only do the first two in the beginning, but doing the third one would help too. I heaved out a breath, circulating the demonic qi from the bowl and into me.
At some point, I opened my eyes, the heat of the room blurring my vision. Nebula stood nearby, watching. She seemed torn, unsure if she should help or if she even could. How could she help a screaming man who had jumped into the fire on his own?
“Use your blood claws,” I rasped, my voice hoarse from the strain. “Cut my skin. Start light… increase as needed.”
Her hesitation was palpable. I didn’t blame her. This wasn’t a normal request, even for her who had exsanguinated a Holy Knight. “But…”
“Do as he says,” Lilian muttered from behind, her tone sharp. She wasn’t hiding her frustration anymore. She too wanted to help, but there was little she could do in this ritual.
Nebula swallowed her reluctance and nodded. With a flick of her wrist, arcs of blood shot toward me. The first slice cut shallow, a stinging pain that added to the already overwhelming sensations, but it was necessary. It had to be this way.
I gritted my teeth as more cuts followed, each deeper than the last. Each time, the demonic qi responded, swirling around the wounds, integrating the blood and energy into the flesh, hardening it, transforming it.
I hissed, my body screaming in protest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. This was part of the ritual, part of the process, and I had to embrace it to speed things up. It’d also help me spend the blood bowl more efficiently, I could achieve more with less blood.
The Iron Flesh Stage—I could feel it solidifying now, my skin growing tougher, thicker. The demonic energy was turning it into something that no normal blade could cut. And then, deeper still, after what felt like hours, I could feel it pressing against my bones. That wasn’t supposed to happen this soon.
I had entered the second stage. The Stone Bone Stage.
I wasn’t expecting to reach it tonight. I had planned for this to take months, years even, but somehow the materials we gathered, the blood of the beasts, the fire of Solara, and my own relentless will—somehow it was pushing me through. Perhaps there were other factors too that I was unaware of. The Holy Knight’s blood? Or maybe the herbs were better at this job than I guessed they were. Perhaps it was the Phoenix Fire, I didn’t know.
The pain intensified as my bones began to shift, hardening under the pressure of the demonic qi. I felt them solidify, each one becoming a weight unto itself.
It was agonizing, but I embraced it. It was a great opportunity.
I had to. This was the path I’d chosen. And now, standing at the edge of the next stage, I wasn’t about to slow down. If I could push through to the Demon Core Stage, I had to take that chance. The core of demonic qi was the center of power that would make me invulnerable and unstoppable.
Most practitioners of the Heavenly Demon Body formed it in their dantian, overlapping it with their existing qi core, but I wasn’t like them. No, I was aiming for something more. I was aiming for what the main character of the Chronicles of the Heavenly Demon God, the most recent Heavenly Demon, had achieved.
A second core. In the chest.
It would separate the demonic qi from my normal qi, allowing me to control both independently. In that way, I could purify the core of my lower abdomen and use it to pretend to be a normal person. The Heavenly Demon from the game had infiltrated the orthodox faction multiple times thanks to this, for nobody could see through his demonic nature.
However, it was a hard thing to learn. Few dared attempt this method, most failed, but if it worked… the benefits were endless. The possibilities were limitless.
I heaved out a breath. I concentrated all the demonic qi I had into my chest, focusing, forcing it to condense. The energy surged, and I felt it burning me from the inside out.
Blood sprayed from my mouth immediately. I coughed, splashing into the liquid around me as my body shook under the strain. The pain was unbearable, but I couldn’t stop now.
“I-Iskandaar…” The girls looked on in horror, as did Solara who had been blasting this bowl with fire. She almost stopped, but I shook my head, gesturing to her with my eyes to let me continue. Solara sighed and then her fire roared higher, and I let the demonic energy pour into me, let it break me down, and rebuild me in its image.
The pressure was mounting, but I endured, clinging to the last thread of control I had left. Then, finally, I felt it.
The Core.
It formed in my chest, a swirling mass of red energy that pulsed with power. I gasped, the pain receding as I felt my body stabilize. The energy flowed smoothly now, circulating through every fiber of my being.
My body had absorbed everything—the blood, the demonic energy, all of it. I sank deeper into the liquid, letting it cool my skin as I sighed in relief. Solara stopped the flames, and the girls rushed toward me, their faces filled with concern.
Nebula swallowed hard, “Iskandaar?”
“Young master, how do you feel?”
“This is…” Only Solara noticed the change in the bowl. The blood that had once filled it was gone, its red hue replaced by something clear, something… pure. It looked just like water now, for all of its essence had been absorbed by me. That was an insane success, for usually, the liquid would have remained reddish.
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking the relief into me. I… I had succeeded. Since I’ve transferred my demonic affinity to the Demonic Core in my chest, I could switch between Star Affinity and Destruction Affinity with ease in my normal Qi Core in my abdomen. Plus thanks to the benefit of the Demonic Core, the free control over my own energy, I’d stepped into a higher realm of power immediately.
I opened my eyes. “Stand aside for a moment,” I said, rising from the bowl with a renewed strength that thrummed in every limb.
My body felt lighter, yet every muscle was drawn tighter. I looked at it to find each line of my flesh and curve sculpted with a new, hardened precision. I raised my left hand and ran it through my hair, slick with blood and sweat that traced down the sharper angles of my face. My torso, lean but more defined than before, was marked with faint patterns of residual energy that pulsed like embers along the surface of my skin.
Every breath I took was smoother now as I watched the girls exchange glances.
Nebula’s eyes were wide, her lips parted as if caught between shock and something else—maybe fear, maybe awe. She stood frozen, her blue eyes locked on me, on the transformation that had taken place before her very eyes.
She had seen power before, but this must have been something different—something darker. I hope she didn’t assume I was an evil demon after this and would allow a conversational explanation later on.
Lilian was silent, but her expression said everything. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides as if resisting the urge to reach out to me. “I… I thought the ritual would heal your arm,” she said.
“It will, at later stages,” I confirmed, watching her relax. “But for now, it’s better to have this stump.”
“Huh?” Even Solara, who had kept her composure throughout the ritual, couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise that crossed her face. “Ah, yes, girls let him walk out at least,” Solara said and took a step back, her wings twitching. The other two stepped back alongside her.
The air around us was different. Heavier. The demonic energy lingered, thick and suffocating, an echo of what I was becoming.
As I stepped out, the world itself seemed to recognize the birth of something new. The air trembled. The walls of the secret chamber, once steeped in dark magic, now hummed with a strange, unnatural stillness.
Water dripped from my moist hair, trickling down my skin. I raised my severed arm, pointing the stump at Sir Likard’s remains. The thought of dealing with his body had been bothering me for a while now, but now, I did have a way.
My bicep clenched, and a dark spot formed in front of my severed elbow. It was the qi of Destruction Affinity. I could easily pour it out since my meridians were ‘open’ at the stump. It was like freely firing a plasma gun. And that was exactly what happened.
A humming beam of blackness, screaming with power, shot forward, landing on the dead body and vaporizing in an instant.
His armor melted and vaporized, golden mist filling the room for a moment before Solara dispersed it with a flap of her wings. The three girls watched in awe as the Holy Knight was reduced to nothing, the remnants of the battle erased in a single moment.
I stood tall despite the exhaustion that clung to me, looking at Nebula. My voice was calm but filled with the weight of what I had become. “I owe you an explanation, so allow me to reintroduce myself,” I said the words slowly.
“Iskandaar…”
“Yes. I am Iskandaar Romani, that's true. But at the same time… I’m the Leader of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, a reflection of the Demon God himself. And although I’ve yet to attain my true powers, I’m the strongest under the heavens.”
And soon, above it.
A low hum filled the air, a sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It reverberated through the walls, through the blood-soaked floor, through the very bones of the earth beneath us. The echoes of my words lingered, and with them, the unspoken promise of what was to come.
This was the beginning. The world didn’t know it yet, but something had shifted. I had embraced something major that made the Heavenly Demon what it was. And soon, very soon, the heavens themselves would tremble beneath the weight of what I was about to become.
Starting with the two rats I smelled dwelling outside this mansion.