The Second Life of Demon King

Episode 4: A Weak Body

Time passed slowly in the Ackerman household, like dewdrops reluctant to fall from a leaf. In the nursery scented with cinnamon and lavender, Isaac opened his eyes with short, heavy breaths. The morning sunlight crept gently through the lace curtains, touching his small, cold face.

“Once again... this body hasn’t changed,” he muttered inwardly, disappointed. “I can’t even roll over without my joints cracking like a starving rat.”

He turned his head slowly. His blanket—soft cotton with duck prints—trapped his tiny legs like a merciless snare. He squirmed, kicking in frustration.

“Ugh! Weak, pitiful, embarrassing. If my army saw this… No. They wouldn’t even recognize me.”

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Slow but steady. Evelyn entered, wearing a pale blue house dress. Her hair was loosely braided, and she carried a milk bottle like it was a crown.

“Isaac! My darling’s awake, huh?” she cooed sweetly.

No hugs. No kisses. I am the Lord of Shadows, not a human doll—

“Smooch first!” Evelyn kissed him enthusiastically, hugging him tightly. Isaac held his breath.

“…I hate this. But... it feels warm.”

Evelyn sat him on her lap, gently stroking his soft hair. “The sky’s clear today. Maybe we can take a little walk in the garden?”

Isaac gave a small nod. But his mind was already elsewhere—his father's training ground, the library, anywhere but this baby chair.

An hour later, in the manor’s back garden filled with fallen leaves, Isaac lay on a blanket, staring at the sky.

“I used to control thunderstorms with a snap of my fingers. Now? I’m scared of ants crawling near me.”

An ant actually passed by. He rolled away instantly.

“...Disgusting.”

Not far from him, two noble children from the neighboring family were playing with wooden swords. They laughed, shouted, and—by Isaac’s judgment—spit too much while talking.

“Isaac still can’t stand up, huh?” asked the girl, Lora, her hair curly and overwhelmed with ribbons.

“Not yet. Mom says he’s slow,” replied her chubby brother, Henry. “But he’s got a cute face.”

Isaac stared at them, unblinking.

“Slow? Cute? Ha. You don’t even know how to balance. Look at your footwork. A disaster.”

Suddenly, Henry dropped his sword and approached. “Wanna try standing? I’ll help you!”

“Don’t touch me, you cursed creature…”

But Henry had already grabbed his hand. Isaac winced—not from pain—but from pride collapsing just a bit more.

Henry helped him stand. Isaac trembled. His tiny body was unsteady, knees weak. But he tried to straighten his back, steady his breath.

“There. Stand like that. Straighten up!”

“He looks like a limping stork,” Lora laughed.

Isaac stared blankly. Good. Laugh at me. When I build my new empire, you’ll be the first to feed the dragons.

But then his knees gave out. He fell with a soft ‘ploop’ onto the blanket.

“Isaac fell!” Henry panicked.

Evelyn rushed over, face tense. “Isaac! Sweetie, are you okay?”

Isaac nodded weakly. He was sick of this. In pain. Exhausted. But more than that—he was ashamed.

That night, in the dim nursery lit by candlelight, Isaac opened his eyes again.

All was quiet. Evelyn had fallen asleep on a small sofa in the corner. Shadows from the candle danced on the walls.

Isaac slowly rolled off the bed. He landed with a soft ‘thud’ on the thick carpet.

“I must start from scratch. From the ground up. Like them. But faster. Harder.”

He stood—legs shaking, arms trying to balance. He mimicked the stance he’d seen from his father.

Knees bent. Hands raised.

One step. Two.

Suddenly—CRACK!

“ARGH!” He fell, biting his lip to keep from crying. His tiny hand was scraped from the carpet.

But he got up again.

“This body is not a prison. It is a new weapon. And I will sharpen it.”

In the small mirror on the wall, his reflection looked like an ordinary baby. But in his eyes—a glint of willpower.

A few weeks later...

“Isaac, you... you’re walking?” Evelyn stared in awe.

In the long manor hallway, Isaac walked slowly. His steps were shaky but steady. Reinhardt, polishing his sword outside, paused.

“He’s walking?” he asked quickly.

“Y-Yes! Look!” Evelyn pointed.

Isaac stepped forward. One after another. Then he stumbled, steadied himself, and kept going. All eyes were on him.

“My god…” Reinhardt entered the house. “That’s faster than the normal age. Much faster.”

“Our child is a genius!” Evelyn hugged him tightly.

Spring air drifted through the windows of the Ackerman family library. The scent of magnolia blossoms from the garden blended with the calming aroma of old paper and dust. Isaac, now one year old, stood frozen in front of the oak bookshelf, his tiny hand clutching the edge of his nanny's robe.

"Can I read that?" he muttered inwardly. It wasn't really a question. More like a command silenced by his small body.

He touched the leather-bound spine of a book, then gently pushed it until it fell to the floor with a soft thump. His nanny, Elinor, quickly turned around.

"Young master! Oh my, don’t drop books like that. These are old collections!"

Isaac gave a tiny wince, then pretended to stumble. He plopped down onto the dusty floor and pointed at the book with an innocent face.

“open?”

Elinor gasped. “Aww... You want to learn how to read? My goodness, you’re so smart! But this book’s for mages, you know? It’s super thick.”

“Mage...” Isaac echoed silently. “Perfect. I’ll start here.”

In his mind, Maximus Bloodthorn gave a bitter laugh. He used to destroy libraries with a flick of his fingers. Now, he had to strategize just to get permission to open a book.

His days at the manor turned into a hunt for knowledge. He observed, memorized, analyzed. Behind his wide, innocent eyes hid constant calculations about this world.

One afternoon, while he sat on his room’s carpet playing with wooden blocks, he overheard two maids whispering in the hallway.

“They say Lord Reinhardt nearly became a Holy Knight.”

“But he stepped down because of his wife… they said her magic’s unstable.”

“Well, women with magical blood are often hard to control their aura.”

Isaac leaned closer. Magical blood? So, his mother had high magic potential? Interesting.

That night, he crawled quietly out of bed. The manor was silent. Only the ticking of the old clock and the soft snoring of the outer guard could be heard.

Isaac sat cross-legged on the cold wooden floor. He closed his eyes and calmed his breath. He tried to channel mana. Slowly. Gradually. Like a leak dripping from a cracked roof.

“Focus… on the chest. Pull. Feel it…”

One second. Two. Three.

Flick. A faint vibration tickled beneath his ribs.

Isaac opened his eyes.

“There…! I felt it!”

He nearly shouted in joy, but bit his lip instead. He merely raised both his tiny hands into the air, a satisfied grin on his face.

The next morning, in the manor’s backyard, Reinhardt swung his greatsword without pause. Sweat dripped from his temples to the ground. Isaac stood behind a stone pillar, quietly watching.

“His right foot is too heavy,” he thought. “But Father’s aura flows steadily. He must’ve been an elite knight.”

Reinhardt stopped, turning toward the shadow.

“Isaac? Spying again, huh?”

Isaac hid his sly smile and sat down on the ground. He clapped his hands as if amazed.

“Pa! Pa strong! Pa great!”

Reinhardt chuckled and approached. He picked up Isaac with one arm and spun the small body in the air.

“One day, you’ll train like me too. Become a great knight.”

“Hah. Not just a knight, Father,” Isaac thought. “I’ll surpass you.”

In the afternoon, as heavy rain poured on the manor’s roof, Isaac sat by his window, lost in thought. Lightning flashed. He saw his reflection in the glass.

“This human body... so full of limits. But the system of this world has loopholes. And I’ll find them.”

He turned the page of a book titled Introduction to Combat Aura. It showed an illustration of a man sitting cross-legged, surrounded by blazing aura.

“If I can combine magic and aura, I could create something new...”

Suddenly, his door swung open.

“Young master! Time for your afternoon meal.”

Isaac quickly hid the book under his blanket. He pointed at the bowl of porridge in Elinor’s hands.

“Food?”

Elinor giggled. “Today we’re having roasted venison. Grow strong, okay?”

“Meat...? Hm. Protein. Muscle. Good.”

He scooped his porridge while eyeing the kingdom map on the wall. Eldoria sprawled wide—full of kingdoms, magic academies, and forbidden forests.

“Wait for me…” he whispered.

“This world has no idea who’s coming.”

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