Chapter 4 : rise

The Underbelly of Ironclad

The city pulsed with life, a beast of metal and stone that never slept. Ironclad City, a place where criminals, mercenaries, and exiled warriors thrived in the shadows. No empire ruled here. No king sat on a throne. Only power dictated survival.

And in this lawless chaos, he walked—unassuming, draped in tattered black robes, a Shadowfang prowling at his side.

His golden eyes flickered under the dim lantern light, taking in the streets bustling with traders of stolen goods, assassins whispering behind veiled masks, and gamblers exchanging their last coins for another chance at fortune.

But his mind was far from the filth of this city.

He had come here for information.

He had come here to rebuild.

And before long, the world would know that the forgotten Demon King had returned.

A Meeting with the Devil

He strode through the winding streets until he reached a towering iron structure, its walls lined with skulls impaled on spikes. A fortress of death and ambition.

The Blood Den.

The headquarters of Veyrin the Red, the warlord who ruled Ironclad.

The guards tensed as he approached. One stepped forward, gripping the hilt of his blade. “Halt. This is no place for—”

The Shadowfang let out a low, guttural growl.

The guard froze, sweat forming on his brow. He recognized the beast for what it was—a monster of the highest order, one that only a true master could tame.

And if this boy had tamed it…

The guard swallowed. “Y-You may enter.”

He smirked beneath his hood and stepped through the iron gates.

Inside, the stench of blood, sweat, and alcohol filled the air. The hall was lined with mercenaries feasting like gluttons, women draped over their laps, weapons scattered across the floor.

And at the very end of the room, upon a throne of iron and bone, sat Veyrin the Red.

The warlord’s crimson eyes gleamed as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. “So, the kid returns. I was wondering when you’d come crawling back.”

The boy lowered his hood. His golden eyes met Veyrin’s unflinchingly. “I don’t crawl.”

The warlord chuckled. “You’ve got guts. But guts don’t mean much in a city like this. What do you want?”

The boy stepped closer, his voice smooth, unwavering. “I want control.”

The room fell silent.

For a moment, Veyrin simply stared. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. “Control? You? A kid barely old enough to hold a sword?”

His men joined in, their laughter echoing off the stone walls.

The boy remained still. Unmoved. Unbothered.

Then, with a flick of his wrist—

CRACK!

A sudden burst of pressure erupted through the room, the air itself turning heavy.

The laughter ceased.

The floor trembled.

The air crackled with energy, as if something ancient, something monstrous, had awoken.

Veyrin’s smirk faded. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. “What the hell…?”

The boy took another step forward.

The Shadowfang beside him bared its fangs, its firelit eyes glowing brighter, as if responding to its master’s command.

And then, the boy spoke, his voice barely above a whisper—yet it carried through the hall like a decree of death.

“You misunderstand something, Veyrin.”

A sharp gust of black energy coiled around his fingertips, swirling with an eerie, unnatural glow.

“I am not asking.”

The candles flickered.

The very shadows twisted at his feet.

And in that moment—Veyrin knew.

This was no ordinary boy.

This was no arrogant child playing at power.

This was something far worse.

The Blood Oath

Veyrin was no fool. He had seen many monsters in his time. He had fought against warlords, assassins, and beings that defied nature.

But the thing standing before him?

It was different.

There was no hesitation in his golden gaze. No fear.

Only the chilling certainty of a king reclaiming his throne.

Veyrin exhaled slowly. “Alright, kid. You’ve got my attention.”

The boy smirked. “Good. Then listen well.”

He raised a single finger, and the swirling energy at his fingertips condensed into a single black flame.

“I don’t want your throne. I don’t care about your men. What I want… is loyalty.”

Veyrin’s eyes narrowed. “And if I refuse?”

The boy snapped his fingers.

BOOM!

A wave of black fire exploded from his hand, engulfing the nearest pillar.

The stone didn’t just burn—it disintegrated.

Nothing remained. Not even ash.

The hall was dead silent.

Veyrin clenched his fists. He had seen many terrifying abilities in his life, but this…

This was something else.

And so, with a slow, grudging nod, he did the one thing he never thought he would do.

He bowed his head.

“…I understand.”

The boy’s smirk widened. “Good.”

He stepped forward, placing a single finger on Veyrin’s forehead. A pulse of dark energy flowed from his touch, branding the warlord with an invisible mark.

A seal of absolute obedience.

Veyrin’s eyes widened as the magic took hold. “What did you—?!”

The boy tilted his head. “Don’t worry. It won’t kill you. Unless you try to betray me.”

Veyrin clenched his teeth.

Then, after a long, tense moment… he let out a sigh. “Fine. I don’t know what the hell you are, but I’ll play along… for now.”

The boy simply smiled.

It wasn’t a smile of kindness.

It was the smile of a conqueror.

The First Step Towards Dominion

That night, word spread like wildfire.

A new power had emerged in Ironclad. A shadow from the past had returned.

And before long, the entire underworld would tremble.