Darkness.

An endless void stretched beyond sight, a place where time had long since lost meaning. The world had crumbled, civilizations had risen and fallen, and yet, within this abyss, a slumbering force remained. Forgotten by history. Erased by the victors.

But fate was cruel.

A sudden pull. A whisper of ancient power stirring from its sealed state. Then, pain—searing, blinding pain. The sensation of flesh, of form, of breath.

And then—sight.

Golden eyes snapped open. The scent of blood filled the air. The weight of a fragile body pressed against cold stone.

A sharp gasp tore from his lips.

This body…

Memories surged—both old and new. The memories of a Demon King, once feared by gods and monarchs alike… and the memories of a boy, the youngest prince of a crumbling dynasty.

For a moment, he remained still, hands trembling as he processed the impossible truth.

He had been reborn.

A cruel joke.

The once-mighty ruler of darkness, the conqueror of realms, had been reborn as a powerless child, a prince without a future. His body was weak, frail from sickness and neglect, abandoned even within his own palace.

So this is what the heavens decided? To trap me in a decaying kingdom, left to rot in the shadows?

A smirk ghosted his lips. How ironic.

Then, the sound of steel clashing reached his ears.

Beyond the cold chamber walls, a battle raged. Screams echoed, flames crackled, and the scent of death filled the air.

His mind sharpened. An attack.

Then, he remembered—this was the Night of the Purge, the moment his so-called family would be slaughtered by their rivals. A coup orchestrated in shadows, a betrayal that would mark the fall of the dynasty.

Except, this time…

He was here.

He forced himself to move, ignoring the weakness of his new form. Power. He needed power. Even if this body was frail, his soul was not.

As he reached for the dormant force within, a spark ignited deep inside him. His smirk widened. Yes.

The seal on his power was incomplete.

The fools had tried to erase him, bury his existence—but they had failed.

The world had long since forgotten him.

He would make them remember.

He rose from the cold stone floor, his golden eyes gleaming as the first embers of his power flickered to life.

And outside, as blood painted the halls, a dark legend awoke once more.

A Forgotten Prince, An Unseen Power

The heavy scent of smoke and iron thickened the air as the boy stepped forward, his bare feet silent against the freezing marble floor. The grand palace—once a symbol of the empire’s might—now trembled under the weight of its inevitable fall.

Cries of agony rang through the corridors. The metallic scent of fresh blood mixed with the acrid burn of torches as flames devoured tapestries and wooden beams.

The boy—no, the reborn king—closed his eyes briefly. This is where the history of the Althion Empire should have ended.

A kingdom betrayed from within. Slaughtered. Burned. Forgotten.

But history had already changed the moment he opened his eyes.

A figure burst into the chamber. A soldier, clad in dark armor, his blade already dripping with the lifeblood of the royal family. His gaze locked onto the small boy standing in the center of the room, alone and unarmed.

A sneer twisted the man’s face.

“The last rat of the Althion bloodline.” The soldier’s grip tightened on his weapon. “Tch. Looks like even the sickly prince wasn’t spared.”

The prince did not move. He did not need to.

The soldier stepped forward, lifting his sword. “No hard feelings, kid. Orders are orders—”

CRACK.

The air shifted. The temperature dropped as an invisible force coiled around the room like a predator rising from slumber.

The soldier froze.

The boy tilted his head, golden eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

“Do you fear death?” His voice was soft, almost curious.

The soldier shivered. “W-What—”

He never finished.

Dark tendrils erupted from the floor, black as the abyss itself, twisting around the soldier’s limbs before he could react. A strangled scream left his lips as the darkness pulled, sinking into his flesh, draining the life from his body.

His sword clattered to the ground. His body followed moments later, now an empty husk.

Silence.

The boy exhaled slowly. His fingers twitched. The taste of power—even a mere fraction—was exhilarating.

Yet, his body trembled. The physical form of a weak prince could not yet contain his full strength. Not yet.

His time would come.

For now, he needed to disappear.

His golden gaze swept over the burning palace, the cries of dying nobles echoing in the distance. The empire had betrayed him.

He would let it crumble.

The world thought it had buried him in history.

They would soon realize their mistake.

And when they did—

They would kneel.

Chapter 2: The Prince Who Vanished

The flames raged.

The once-magnificent palace of the Althion Empire crumbled under the weight of betrayal. Fire licked at the ornate tapestries, turning history to ashes. The scent of burning wood, metal, and flesh thickened the air, suffocating all who remained.

The massacre continued outside—soldiers in black armor flooded the halls, cutting down nobles and servants alike.

But deep within the shadows of the collapsing palace, a lone figure moved unnoticed.

The boy—no, the reborn king—stepped through the destruction with quiet precision. His once-white robes were stained with blood and soot, but his golden eyes gleamed in the darkness, focused and calculating.

I need to escape.

The body he now inhabited was weak, fragile—unworthy of the soul it carried. He could feel the weight of his sealed power pressing against his core, a caged beast yearning to be released. But his body could not yet withstand it. Not in this state.

He needed time.

And time required disappearing.

The Path of Survival

The burning palace stretched endlessly before him, corridors twisting into chaos. The royal family was being slaughtered one by one—their cries of agony a fitting end to a dynasty that had once thought itself untouchable.

The boy smirked.

If only they had known.

This empire had built its foundations on his grave, believing him dead, erased from history. Their rulers had thrived in his absence, their so-called ‘greatest warriors’ had prospered in a world where he no longer existed.

How amusing.

And how pathetic.

The flames roared louder as he moved through the halls. His body ached, his breaths shallow, but he continued forward. He would not die here. Not like this.

Then—voices.

“…Secure the inner chambers. The youngest prince should be here.”

A sharp spike of killing intent filled the air.

The boy stilled, pressing himself into the shadows. His golden eyes flickered as he recognized the voice.

Commander Velka.

A loyal hound of the empire’s enemies. A man who had sworn allegiance to the rising faction that orchestrated this massacre.

A fool who thought himself powerful.

Boots echoed against the marble floor.

“The king, queen, and their heirs are dead,” another soldier reported. “Only the youngest prince remains unaccounted for.”

Velka scoffed. “He was a sickly brat. Even if he survived the fire, he won’t last the night.”

The boy smirked. Oh?

Velka’s arrogance would be his undoing. But now was not the time to entertain vengeance. Not yet.

The boy slipped past the advancing soldiers, moving silently despite the burning wreckage around him. His knowledge of the palace’s hidden pathways was his greatest advantage.

And soon, he reached it—

A secret passage beneath the throne room.

Escape into the Unknown

The hidden tunnel was cold, damp, untouched by the flames above. The scent of earth and age-old dust filled his lungs as he descended into darkness.

He had no torches, no weapons, no supplies—only himself.

But that was enough.

The tunnel stretched for miles, leading beyond the palace grounds, past the city walls, into the wilderness beyond.

As he walked, his mind sharpened. Survival was no longer his goal.

It was reclamation.

This world has forgotten me.

They believe their rule is absolute.

They have no idea what has returned to them.

A shiver of power curled within him. Though the majority of his strength remained locked, he could feel it—waiting, simmering beneath his skin.

With time, he would regain it.

With patience, he would rise again.

And then—

The world would kneel before its forgotten king.

For now, he walked into the unknown, a shadow lost to history.

But soon, the world would remember the name it had buried.

And they would fear it once more.

Somewhere Beyond the Empire…

A storm raged over the distant mountains. The winds howled, trees bending under the force of nature’s wrath.

And within the depths of an ancient forest, a group of figures gathered beneath the darkened sky.

Clad in robes of black and gold, their faces were hidden behind ornate masks, their voices hushed in reverence.

A single figure stood at the center, his presence commanding, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow.

“…It is as I have foreseen,” the figure spoke, his voice filled with something close to anticipation. “The cycle has begun.”

The others bowed, silent.

“The king has returned,” he murmured. “And soon, the world will tremble once more.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

And far away, walking through the darkness, the boy—the reborn demon king—felt the first stirrings of fate calling to him.

End of Chapter 2.

The Howling Forest

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the sky a sea of darkened clouds threatening rain. Towering trees stretched toward the heavens, their ancient branches whispering in the wind. This was The Howling Forest, a place feared by the common folk—where myths spoke of creatures lurking in the shadows, of ghosts that preyed on the living.

To the boy, it was nothing more than a place to regain his strength.

He stepped forward, his bare feet sinking into the wet soil. His once-white royal robes were torn and stained, his body aching from exhaustion. Yet, despite his weakness, his golden eyes gleamed with something far beyond human.

He had left the empire behind, its ruins crumbling under betrayal. But his journey was far from over.

His past life’s power was still sealed. His body was still too fragile.

But time…

Time would change everything.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, his senses sharpened. The air was unnaturally still. No birds, no insects—only silence.

Something was watching him.

A low growl rumbled through the trees.

His gaze flicked to the shadows.

Then, from the underbrush, a massive beast emerged.

It was unlike anything from his modern memories—a wolf the size of a warhorse, its fur black as night, eyes burning like molten fire. A Shadowfang.

A beast of legends. A creature that thrived on human flesh.

The boy exhaled, flexing his fingers. “Tch. Weak body or not, I don’t have time for distractions.”

The beast lunged.

A blur of fangs and claws.

And yet, before it could reach him—

BOOM!

The ground trembled as an unseen force crushed the air itself.

The wolf froze mid-leap, its body seized by an invisible grip. Its fiery eyes widened in shock—then fear.

The boy’s golden gaze darkened.

Even in this body, even at his weakest—he was still a king.

He raised a single hand.

The wolf whimpered, struggling, but the force holding it tightened. Its massive form trembled as a surge of pure darkness coiled around it like shackles.

Then, silence.

A moment later, the beast collapsed, its body limp, breathing ragged.

The boy approached, crouching beside it. His fingers hovered over its forehead, feeling the last remnants of resistance before it submitted completely.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “I see… You recognize a master when you see one.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the darkness sank into the beast’s core—binding it.

The wolf’s eyes widened, its fire dimming as its will was overridden.

A moment passed.

Then, it bowed its head.

The boy chuckled, running his fingers through the beast’s thick fur. “Good. You’ll be useful.”

The first of many to serve him.

The Watchers in the Shadows

Unbeknownst to the boy, he was not alone.

Deep within the treetops, hidden in the darkness, two figures watched in silence.

“He tamed a Shadowfang…” one whispered, voice laced with disbelief.

The other, a taller figure clad in a hooded cloak, remained still. His sharp violet eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadow of his hood. “No… He did more than that.”

The first figure swallowed. “Then… is it truly him?”

The taller one exhaled. “There is no doubt.”

For centuries, they had waited.

For centuries, they had searched.

And now, the one they had sworn to follow—the one who had been erased from history—had returned.

The taller figure stepped forward, the wind shifting around him like a whisper of fate. “We must report this at once.”

His companion hesitated. “And if he is not ready?”

A smirk played on the taller man’s lips. “Then we will prepare him.”

Then, like phantoms, they vanished into the night.

The City of Rogues

Days passed.

The boy—now cloaked in a tattered black robe, with the Shadowfang by his side—arrived at a place where laws held no power.

Ironclad City.

A lawless domain where criminals, mercenaries, and fallen nobles sought refuge. A place where secrets were traded like currency.

The streets were alive with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and deceit. Danger lurked in every corner.

The boy smirked. Perfect.

He walked through the bustling streets, ignoring the wary glances thrown his way. Even as a child, even without his full strength, his presence demanded attention.

The Shadowfang padded beside him, its burning eyes sending a clear message—he was not to be touched.

His goal was simple: Information. Power. Connections.

And Ironclad City had all three.

But before he could take his first step into the underworld—

A voice stopped him.

“Well, well… What do we have here?”

He turned.

A man stood before him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in dark armor, with silver hair and piercing crimson eyes that gleamed like blood in the moonlight.

A warrior. A killer.

And judging by the presence radiating off him—not an ordinary one.

The man smirked. “A kid… with a Shadowfang? Now, that’s not something you see every day.”

The boy tilted his head, unbothered. “And you are?”

The man chuckled. “Veyrin. The one who runs this city.”

Ah.

So this was Veyrin the Red, the infamous Lord of Ironclad—a former warlord who had carved his way to power through blood and steel.

A useful pawn.

Veyrin pushed off the wall, stepping closer, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You’ve got a dangerous look for a kid. Where’d you crawl out from?”

The boy’s smirk deepened. “Where do you think?”

Veyrin froze.

Then, realization flickered in his crimson eyes. His smirk faded.

For a long moment, he simply stared—as if seeing a ghost from a forgotten era.

Then, finally, he let out a low, amused chuckle.

“…Hah. So the rumors were true.”

The boy said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Veyrin shook his head, stepping back. His gaze held something between wariness and intrigue.

“Well then, kid…” His lips curled into a smirk. “Welcome to Ironclad.”

The boy simply smiled.

Let the game begin.

The Beginning of a New Era

Beyond the city walls, forces stirred.

The world had long since moved on, believing the Demon King to be a relic of the past.

But fate had other plans.

He had returned.

And soon, the entire world would kneel before him once more.

End of Chapter3.