The Second Life of Demon King

Episode 8: The Path to Power

Morning arrived with soft sunlight, sneaking through the high windows of Isaac's room, casting a golden shadow on the cold stone floor. The raindrops from the night before were still clinging to the glass, reluctant to let go of their trace. On the small mahogany bed, a two-year-old child slept soundly, his face still marked by exhaustion. Yet, even though his body was asleep, his mind continued to work—unraveling the events from the previous night.

Isaac slowly opened his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm the turmoil that disturbed him. There was something bigger moving, he thought. That figure from the night before was no ordinary intruder. There was something more... His thoughts paused briefly, and he squinted, recalling every detail. The subtle movement in the bushes, the familiar emblem, the footprints leading to an otherwise quiet place. The intruder knew something. They weren’t just random.

A thin smile appeared on his lips, revealing his restrained confusion. "Huh... so this is just the beginning," he muttered quietly. From beneath his eyelids, he observed his surroundings—it felt silent, as if the world was waiting for him to move faster, in line with his more measured steps. Isaac turned and got up from his bed. This morning was no longer just a routine for a regular child. Not anymore.

With light steps, he moved to the desk, opening thick books he had recently found in the library. The dusty books, long neglected, now became crucial clues. Among the yellowed pages, he delved into the history of the kingdom of Eldoria, the political shifts that had always been hidden behind feasts and smiles. The names that repeatedly appeared in the notes, the relationships between competing noble families, and the secret factions quietly manipulating power.

"Mother... Father... They don’t know anything," he whispered to himself, as if speaking to the shadow in the corner of the room. "But I do."

Though his body was still small, Isaac knew that what he was doing wasn’t just learning or playing. In silence, he observed everything—even the things adults ignored. Like his father, Duke Reinhardt, who practiced sword fighting every morning in the yard. Isaac watched closely, evaluating every movement, trying to absorb the technique even though his body wasn’t yet strong enough.

"If I can imitate his movements, little by little..." he murmured, his eyes still focused on his father practicing with a longsword, each movement executed with near perfection.

Isaac stepped closer to the window, his eyes following his father as he practiced with the longsword, each movement precise. Isaac raised his hand, attempting to mimic the motions. However, his body wasn’t strong enough yet. He smiled bitterly, realizing his limitations.

"One day, I’ll be able to," he thought, stepping back lightly.

Morning turned to afternoon, and Isaac began his daily routine with more caution. He continued to pretend to be the innocent child who knew nothing. Yet, behind that facade, he observed every conversation around the house—from the servants, the guests who came, to the guards always standing at the door. Every detail, every word, every movement, was recorded in his sharp mind. All of it mattered.

As night fell again, bringing the same silence, Isaac sat at the window of his room, watching the fog slowly creep into the yard. His heart began to race. The figure could return at any time...

He looked toward the place where the shadow had appeared the night before, recalling every trace it had left behind. "I need to be more careful," he murmured, though his lips were sealed tightly.

Outside his room, the faint sound of footsteps could be heard. Isaac knew the people in this house wouldn’t realize that something bigger was happening. They were all immersed in their routines, unaware that the world outside and inside the house was filled with unseen dangers.

But Isaac knew. And he couldn’t let this continue. "I need to move faster," he thought, feeling the urgency increase.

By midnight, Isaac returned to the corner of his room and began arranging small pieces of wood beneath the floor, ensuring each step would make a sound that could serve as a warning. The toys scattered on the desk were carefully arranged, ready to be used if necessary.

Outside, the moon hung high, its light dim, illuminating the quiet yard. But for Isaac, tonight wasn’t a time for sleep. Tonight was a time to prepare. Something was about to happen, and he would be ready.

At the same time, outside his window, the night wind began to blow stronger, bringing thicker fog. Isaac stared at the fog, focusing on every shadow that might appear. "I know you’ll be back," he thought, a faint smile etched on his face.

The soft twilight light slipped through the thin curtain gap in the window, casting a golden pattern that shimmered on the wooden floor. Isaac sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, his small body sinking into the thick silence. His breath was steady, each inhale and exhale following a rhythm of deep concentration, as if waiting for the right moment to step forward. His eyes were tightly shut, but his mind raced far beyond the physical world, diving deep into his still fragile body, searching for the hidden core of power within.

In that silence, his thoughts raced. "Mana... this energy, so simple yet complex... how can I control it? In the old world, its power came from immortality and destruction. This body, this vessel, is nothing more than fragile." But in this human world, power flows through a core that is built, slowly, with patience he never had as a Demon Overlord.

His mind spun, recalling the ancient books he had read.

"This is different..." he murmured inwardly. "Demons don’t have mana cores, there is no internal formation. We simply... dominate. Humans form it from within their bodies."

The books he read in the family library gave him some insight into how mana works. Human magic wasn’t something that could be forced, not like a burst of fire that could easily be manipulated. Mana was tied to physical growth and spiritual maturity. This... was a process that had to be developed from an early age?

Isaac sighed deeply, trying to calm his racing thoughts. Maybe it wasn't that simple. He recalled the basic principles he had once taught to his young demon soldiers, who still struggled to control their destructive energy. But this was different... I’m not a demon anymore, I’m human.

He began to adjust his breathing, following the meditation techniques he had learned. A deep breath, his body stretching slightly, feeling every flow of air touching his cold skin. His focus centered on the core of his body, beneath his navel, where the mana core should be.

Gradually, the sensation began to form. A faint warm feeling, like a thin thread of light, moving slowly along the path of his thoughts. This was it... the first flow...

His body trembled slightly, but Isaac forced himself to stay focused. With every steady breath, the flow of mana in his body began to form a pattern. Slowly, but surely.

However, the pain came shortly after. Isaac’s head throbbed, his muscles felt like they were being pulled to their limits. "Too fast..." he thought, feeling the pain spread across his body. He collapsed to the floor, trembling violently. No one heard him. The night was still silent. Only his heavy breaths and slowing heartbeat filled the air.

Each breath felt so heavy. Painful... but this wasn't the end, only the beginning.

Isaac closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his weary body. I have to endure.

Suddenly, a sound from outside the room caught his attention. Footsteps, the rustle of fine fabric. Isaac opened his eyes and quickly shifted to the window. His father, Duke Reinhardt, was walking outside, his sword drawn with slow, deliberate movements, as if practicing. Isaac watched carefully, squinting, observing every detail of his father’s movements.

"Training again, Father?" Isaac murmured to himself.

Reinhardt seemed absorbed in his morning practice, but Isaac knew, soon he would have to decide whether to get involved or remain a spectator. "But am I strong enough to spar out there?" Isaac thought. But the answer came quickly—"Not yet, I’m still too weak."

Isaac stood slowly, feeling every muscle still aching. He walked towards the window, carefully drawing the curtain closed so as not to attract attention. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of his father's focused face, his posture upright, despite the signs of age starting to show.

"I want to be like him." Isaac clenched his fist, holding back the anger that started to rise. "But, I know. This isn’t just about physical strength."

"Must be more patient..." he whispered.

Night came sooner than he had expected. Isaac returned to his room, sitting in the corner, resuming his meditation practice. Occasionally, pain struck—his head pulsed, his breath became shallow, and his body felt fragile, but he kept trying to control the flow of mana that was just beginning to form.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, but Isaac didn’t move. Every pain was an investment.

Then, a vague shadow appeared outside the window. Isaac froze. A figure flashed quickly behind the night fog. His heart raced. "Who is that?"

Without thinking, he jumped to the window and quickly opened the curtain. Empty. No one was there.

Isaac cursed himself. "Don’t get caught in paranoia. Focus on the mana core."

But the unease returned. "Who is watching?" he thought.

Once again, he shifted his focus. His small hand lifted, and he refocused his attention on the flow within his body. Every movement now felt more real. His mana core was beginning to stabilize, though only slightly.

"Wait for it, world... I’ll come with unexpected power."

Isaac smiled faintly, even though his body still trembled.