The Second Life of Demon King

Episode 11: Disturbance in the Library

The sky had shifted to a grayish orange. Sunlight crawled slowly down through the stained glass windows of the Ackerman family library. Fine dust danced in the beams of light, creating an almost sacred atmosphere—if not for the deep sense of suspicion that lingered.

Isaac pushed open the large wooden door with a soft creak. He slipped inside, holding his breath. The scent of old leather-bound books and damp stone greeted him like an embrace from the past. He stood still for a moment, listening. Silence. Not even the mice seemed willing to wander here.

“Why does it always feel like I’m being watched every time I come here?” he muttered, almost as if talking to the mute rows of books before him.

His footsteps whispered across the stone floor. He approached the westernmost shelf, scanning the dark-covered books. His eyes narrowed.

“Gone again,” he whispered, his brows furrowing. “Mana Distortion Theory and the Codex Elementalis… both of them.”

A faint clink echoed from the corner of the room. Instinctively, Isaac turned his head, heart leaping to his throat.

“Who’s there?”

No answer. Only a shadow flitting by—too fast for an old servant.

Isaac bit his lower lip. “Okay, that wasn’t the wind.”

He crouched, placing a palm against the cold stone floor. A faint mana pulse spread from the surface—a resonance only detectable by the highly sensitive. And Isaac knew, this wasn’t normal human magic. This was… ancient.

“Feels like… an old house hiding a grudge,” he murmured, then let out a small laugh to himself. “Isaac, you’re starting to sound like a bad drama character.”

But the tension didn’t fade. He turned his gaze to the shelf on the right, noticing a small carving on the side of the aged wood. His index finger traced the pattern until it landed on an odd indentation—a small magical symbol hidden beneath the dust.

He pressed it.

Click.

The shelf slid aside slowly with a long creak. Behind it, a narrow stone passage opened, descending into darkness.

Isaac blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Why is there a secret passage in the family library?! This is so cliché!” he whispered, even as his body was already halfway through the entrance.

The air from below felt damp and colder than the night outside. A spiraling stone staircase led downward, swallowed by total darkness.

“Isaac, you know this is a bad idea, right?” he whispered to himself.

And of course, he kept going.

Each step down echoed like a confession through the stairwell. His heart pounded faster—not out of fear, but curiosity. He could feel the mana in the air—a deep, unstable hum.

Just a few steps in, a sudden sound startled him. Light footsteps, almost inaudible. But enough to trigger his old instincts.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Isaac turned, but his body was yanked back. The grip was swift and trained. His breath hitched as his back slammed against the stone wall.

“Wh-who?!” he hissed, eyes searching the shadows.

The figure didn’t answer. But the chill accompanying them stabbed like needles. Their breath was steady. One hand gripped Isaac’s shoulder firmly, the other slowly closed the hidden door behind them.

“The son of Duke Ackerman shouldn’t be here,” the figure finally said. The voice was low, calm… too calm.

Isaac swallowed hard. “You’re… not a servant, are you?”

The figure gave a soft laugh. It was thin, flat, mocking. “You should learn noble manners instead of sniffing around secret passages.”

“I was just lost!” Isaac quickly defended, though his tone bordered on performative. “My hand slipped and—”

“And you accidentally pressed a hidden magic symbol? What a curious accident.”

The figure nudged him back toward the stairs. Not roughly, but with a silent threat in every motion. Isaac tried to read his face—but could only make out the silhouette of a young man with silver hair falling over his cheek. Sharp eyes stared straight at him like blades.

Isaac raised both hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll go back. No need for threats. I’m a good kid, you know?”

The figure sighed. “You’re far too curious, Isaac Ackerman. That could get you killed one day.”

“And you’re way too mysterious. That makes you look evil when maybe you’re just a lonely introvert,” Isaac shot back, half-joking.

For a moment, the man’s eyes narrowed. Was that a flicker of confusion—maybe even amusement?

“…You’ve got a sharp mouth for a ten-year-old.”

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

A few minutes later, Isaac was pushed back into the upper level. The shelf closed behind them with a soft mechanical sound. The warm air of the library greeted them, in stark contrast to the chill of the passage.

“Don’t come back,” the figure said before disappearing into the shadows of the shelves.

Isaac stood still. His breath hadn’t fully recovered, but his eyes sparkled.

He looked at the now-ordinary-looking shelf. “Okay… who was that?”

His heart was still racing, but his mind was already analyzing. Who was that person? Why were they guarding the passage? And—more importantly—what was actually hidden down there?

Isaac sighed softly, then gave a crooked smile.

“I have to go back. But maybe next time, I’ll bring a flashlight… and snacks.”

He stepped out of the library, letting the twilight shadows wrap around his footsteps. But behind his light grin, his resolve solidified. That passage wasn’t done with him. And Isaac wasn’t the kind of kid who gave up just because someone grabbed his collar.

The ticking of the antique clock in the corner echoed like a hammer striking his skull. Isaac stood still, his small fists clenched beneath his worn-out night robe. Dust still clung to the collar. Duke Reinhardt’s gaze remained unchanged—cold, but not angry. It was more... calculated.

“So, you found it,” the Duke finally muttered, his voice deep, heavy, and nearly devoid of emotion.

Isaac swallowed hard. “I just wanted to—”

“A ten-year-old child wouldn’t be curious about ancient magical symbols behind a hidden shelf,” Reinhardt cut in, locking eyes with his son. “Tell the truth, Isaac.”

Isaac thought quickly. If he told the truth, deeper questions would follow. If he lied, his father would know.

“I felt something was... missing,” he said softly. “Books about mana inheritance disappeared from the shelf. I was just... looking.”

Reinhardt stepped closer, his strides firm against the Persian carpet. “And if you found them, then what?”

Isaac held his gaze, trying to sound innocent. “I want to know why our family has a hidden corridor. Why we have forbidden books. And why you hide them from me.”

Silence. The Duke stopped right in front of him. Isaac could smell the scent of aged leather and the distinct incense that always burned in this room—the scent he had hated since childhood.

“You’re not ready,” Reinhardt said firmly. “It’s not time.”

Isaac looked up. “Then when? When I’m old enough to be controlled like one of your puppets?”

That hit a nerve. The Duke’s shoulders tensed for a split second.

“Enough,” he said flatly.

Oops, Isaac thought. Too far?

But Reinhardt only exhaled slowly, then turned around.

“Return to your pavilion. Starting tomorrow, your lessons with Orland will be extended by an hour.”

“A punishment?”

“Protection.”

Isaac stepped back, still watching his father’s back. “Are you afraid I’ll learn something I’m supposed to forget?”

No answer. Only the groan of old wooden doors creaking open. A servant stood in the doorway, looking awkward. “Young Master Isaac… shall I escort you?”

Isaac snorted quietly, then followed the servant out—but not before stealing another glance at the massive painting on the wall—an Ackerman ancestor holding a pitch-black magic staff. His face looked eerily… like his own?

---

That night, inside his small pavilion, Isaac tossed and turned on his bed. His pillow had been kicked somewhere across the room. One hand supported his head while the other scribbled in a small notebook hidden beneath the floorboards.

“Reinhardt said I’m not ready. Funny. Does he think I’m some ordinary kid?” he muttered.

He redrew the symbol he had seen earlier—a circular line with three eyes in the center. He squinted.

“I’ve seen this before... not in this world... but... back when I was Maximus…”

His brows furrowed. “But why would a demonic symbol be in a human study? In my own home?”

The night wind hissed through a slightly open window. The thin curtain swayed softly, and Isaac glanced up.

“I need to know who pulled me back earlier. Not a servant. Not a guard. Who’s strong enough to restrain me... and not kill me?”

A sudden knock echoed from the window. Isaac jumped and nearly fell off the bed.

“Isaac,” came a soft whisper from outside. A girl’s voice?

He walked slowly, pulled back the curtain. A girl stood outside, short brown hair, wearing a maid’s uniform—but clearly not an ordinary maid. Her eyes were sharp, filled with warning.

“You need to stop digging,” she whispered, “or you’ll become part of the secret itself.”

“Who are you?” Isaac asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Alisha. And I know more about this family than you do.”

Isaac raised a brow. “You know about the corridor in the library?”

Alisha’s face stiffened. “That’s not just a corridor. It’s a seal. And seals aren’t made to be seen. They’re made to hold something back.”

Isaac fell silent. Then chuckled quietly. “Hold what? A ghost? A jilted ancestor?”

“To hold you, Isaac Ackerman.”

That slapped Isaac’s logic hard. “What do you mean?”

Alisha stared straight at him. “You’re not the only descendant in this family who’s... special. But those who were special before you... didn’t last long.”

Isaac’s heart seemed to slow. “They... died?”

Alisha didn’t answer. She stepped back, her figure fading into the night mist.

“You don’t have enough power yet, Isaac. And when you do, they’ll fear you more than you fear them.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” he demanded.

Alisha only gave a faint smile. “Because I’m sick of watching children being locked in lies.”

Then she was gone.

---

The next morning, Isaac sat in the dining room, staring blankly at a steaming bowl of porridge. Evelyn, his mother, was arranging flowers in a vase. Warmth always followed Evelyn’s steps, but this morning felt... cold.

“Isaac, you look pale. Bad dreams?” Evelyn asked gently with a soft smile.

Isaac shrugged. “Weird dream. About this house. About a dark corridor.”

Evelyn’s hand, mid-placement of a flower, froze in the air. “Corridor?”

Oops again.

“But maybe it was just a dream,” Isaac added quickly.

“Yes,” Evelyn muttered, her lips tightening for a second. “A dream.”

But Isaac didn’t miss the quick glance she threw at the door—as if afraid someone might be listening.

So... Mother knows too, Isaac thought. Everyone knows. Except me.

He gave a small smile as he sipped his tea.

“Wait for me, dark corridor. I’ll be back... in style.”