In a noble residence that bore neither splendor nor grandeur, there stood only a modest two storey house upon a stretch of fairly wide land. Before it lay a small garden, simple and unpretentious, with merely two patches of earth where grass and a handful of flowers grew in quiet persistence.
The morning sun reached them from the east, bathing the petals in a gentle glow, while bees and butterflies came and went as if keeping an unspoken rhythm with the passing breeze.
Within that small garden rested a white iron table set directly upon the grass, accompanied by a pair of matching chairs whose legs sank slightly into the soft ground.
Click.
The faint sound of a cup meeting its saucer broke the stillness, a delicate note that hinted at life within the calm.
And indeed, seated there was a young man, reading a book while sipping tea, his gaze moving with careful patience from word to word, letter to letter, as though each line held something precious.
He had hair of golden blond, almost shimmering like sunlight itself, and eyes of the same hue.
His features were striking and refined, suited well to the noble coat draped over his shoulders and back.
Though young in appearance, there was a quiet composure about him.
As he read, a faint smile formed upon his lips, and without realizing it, he murmured softly.
"The Demon King truly was remarkable."
The book in his hands was a chronicle and biography of the Demon King.
To the world, the Demon King was a figure of hatred, remembered only for the great invasion he once unleashed before being stopped by the allied forces.
That was the tale most often repeated, spoken loudly and confidently, as though it were the whole truth.
Yet the truth, as he had come to believe, was not so simple.
People despised the Demon King, yet few had truly searched for the full story.
He, however, was not one to accept tales at face value.
He read, compared, and sought fragments of forgotten records, trying to understand the life of the Demon King before that great invasion.
What he found offered a very different perspective from the one the world held, even though the Demon King had been dead for fifty years.
In the early years of the demon kingdom's founding, the Demon King had been attacked repeatedly by neighboring forces, despite committing no offense.
Kingdom after kingdom had taken turns invading his land.
Even an ordinary man would grow furious if his home were assaulted time and again without cause.
Yet such information was difficult to find, as though history itself had been deliberately veiled, as though the kingdoms of old had chosen to forget that they were the first to strike.
In those ancient times, kingdoms waged war against one another endlessly.
Unity was but a distant dream, a word spoken more often than it was ever practiced.
And still, amidst their own conflicts, they found the will to attack the Demon King.
Was their hatred truly that deep?
Many questions lingered unanswered.
What reason had driven them to despise Demon King so greatly?
Nowhere in the records was it written that the Demon King had struck first.
The greatest mystery remained the same.
What had compelled him to launch that massive invasion?
Was it nothing more than rage, or was there another truth that history had chosen to bury?
One thought came to him again and again.
At that time, when kingdoms were tearing each other apart and bloodshed was everywhere, perhaps the Demon King had chosen to invade not out of madness, but to unite the continent by becoming a single, common enemy.
His lips parted as the thought escaped him in a quiet voice.
"Does he truly have such a noble purpose?"
For when the invasion began, all the kingdoms set aside their feuds and formed an alliance to oppose him.
Yet the moment the Demon King fell, that alliance crumbled.
Old wounds reopened, and war returned to the continent as though it had merely been waiting.
Lost in his thoughts, he lifted his cup and drank the last of his tea.
Feeling he had read enough for the morning, he gently closed the book.
Soon after, the sound of approaching footsteps reached him, the steady weight of polished shoes pressing against the earth.
A man came to stand beside him and extended an unopened letter, holding it out respectfully as he spoke.
"A letter from the kingdom, young master."
He immediately opened the envelope and began to read its contents.
The letter began with the usual formalities of the court, the kind of elaborate greetings and ceremonial words he found tiresome, so his eyes quickly searched for the heart of its message.
And there it was.
The kingdom had decided to wage war against a neighboring Kingdom.
Why would someone from the capital trouble themselves to send such news directly to him?
Because he was not merely a distant noble receiving a report.
He was one of those who would stand at the very front of the coming conflict.
The young noble seated in the garden, now reading the letter with a tightening expression, was Gregory, the head of the Marquis Lamont household.
Though still young, the burden of leadership had fallen upon him after both of his parents passed away, leaving him to guide the family and its lands alone.
His territory lay along the northern border, a place destined to become a battlefield once more, all because of the careless decisions of the royals in their dealings with the neighboring kingdom.
He governed a large city and several surrounding villages alongside a few lesser nobles under his authority.
Yet his lands were far from prosperous.
Most merchants avoided the region, for it had long been known as a place where wars were fought and peace was only temporary.
The only true wealth his territory possessed came from a handful of iron and gold mines.
For years, his domain had been used as the kingdom's spearhead in conflicts with other nations.
As a result, the economy that turned within his lands revolved almost entirely around the military and the endless preparations for war.
And yet, because of this role, his family was highly respected within the kingdom.
They had even been given a title spoken with both pride and expectation.
The Lions Guard of the North.
Still, he could not hide his resentment.
The royals made decisions as they pleased, and he was expected to follow without question.
Even now, he did not know the true motive behind this coming war, though it would directly affect his land and the people he was sworn to protect.
As he continued reading, thoughts clashed and churned restlessly in his mind.
At last, he spoke, his voice low but filled with frustration.
"Damn those royalists, they order us to fight yet offer no help at all."
With a sharp motion, he threw the letter onto the table before him, the paper striking the surface with a harsh sound that echoed his frustration at the weight newly placed upon his shoulders.
He then turned his gaze toward the man standing beside him.
"What should we do, in your opinion, Sebastian?"
Hearing this, the servant paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow slightly.
His name was Sebastian, the head butler of the Lamont family.
His hair, white with age, was neatly styled in a slicked back manner, matched by a mustache and beard of the same color.
He had served the Lamont household for many years, long before Gregory was even born, and had worked under the family through generations.
He was not merely a head butler.
Beyond his duties in the household, Sebastian had long acted as Gregory's advisor, guiding him in matters of economy and offering counsel in times of conflict such as this.
And as this would be the first time Gregory led his territory through a war as its lord, Sebastian's presence beside him felt almost like that of a guardian watching over him.
Sebastian finally spoke, his voice calm and steady.
"Young master there is nothing we can do. All that remains is to prepare our forces to meet the enemy when they arrive."
Gregory lowered his gaze slightly, the weight of those words settling upon him.
"Do you think this territory is still strong enough to hold them back?"
Sebastian hesitated, the answer weighing heavily even before it was spoken.
"As for that I do not know, young master."
Gregory exhaled softly, his eyes drifting back to the letter lying upon the table.
"I see."
Silence settled between them, heavy and unmoving.
Neither of them felt any sense of optimism, for they both knew the condition of their territory had been declining for quite some time.
Many soldiers had already left, tempted away by better offers from other kingdoms and lands that promised greater rewards.
The region's constant focus on military matters, paired with a stagnant economy, had slowly drained the spirit of its people.
Some had even chosen to remain in the barracks, content to receive their wages without ever stepping onto the battlefield.
Suddenly, a loud clap of thunder rolled across the sky above them.
When they looked up, the heavens had already turned a deep shade of gray, swallowed by thick clouds that promised rain at any moment.
"Let us go inside, young master, before the rain begins," Sebastian said calmly.
Gregory rose at once from his seat, taking with him the book he had been reading, the story and biography of the Demon King.
Sebastian gathered the cup and saucer from the table, along with the letter Gregory had thrown aside moments before.
Together, they made their way back into the building.
As they entered, they were greeted by a young maid who approached Gregory with a warm and polite smile.
"Would you like to take a bath, my lord? If you wish, I can prepare warm water for you."
Gregory looked at her for a moment, though his mind was far away, tangled in thought.
He forgot to return her smile and replied shortly.
"No need, Rika. I will spend some time in my room. Please inform the others not to disturb me while I am there."
"Yes, my lord," she answered, bowing her head before quietly walking away.
Rika was a new servant in the household, a young woman with gentle features, brown hair, and faint freckles across her cheeks.
There was an innocent warmth about her, like a kind hearted girl from a quiet village.
Gregory then excused himself from Sebastian and made his way to his chamber.
Not long after he entered, the rain began to fall, visible through the window.
Lightning flashed across the sky again and again, followed by the deep rumble of thunder that shook the air.
He removed his coat and lay down upon the bed, letting his body sink into the mattress.
Yet even as he rested, his thoughts continued to turn restlessly in his mind.
"what should I do… to stop the army that will soon attack?"
His thoughts drifted back to the story of the Demon King, to the time when other kingdoms had marched into his land and attacked him within his own home.
Without realizing it, another question slipped from his lips.
"What would the Demon King do if he were in my position right now?"
He deeply respected the Demon King, a figure seasoned by war and hardship, unlike himself, who was only beginning to bear such burdens.
Because of this, he did not think it wrong to see the Demon King as a figure worthy of admiration, especially after learning what he believed to be the truth behind those distant events.
As he continued to dwell on the weight pressing upon his heart, a gentle drowsiness began to take hold of him.
His awareness slowly faded, the comfort of the bed wrapping around him.
In that quiet state between waking and sleep, something strange appeared before his eyes.
It was like a window filled with words, floating in front of him, utterly absurd and completely out of place.
[ System Activated: Legacy of the Demon King ]
Congratulations.
You have been chosen as the successor of the Demon King.
You will inherit the power and ability of the Demon King.
Gregory frowned slightly, his voice weak with fatigue.
"What is this? Am I hallucinating?"
As soon as he spoke, the words shifted and rearranged themselves into new lines.
[ Synchronization process will begin ]
[ 5% ]
[ 25% ]
[ 50% ]
He let out a quiet breath.
"I must be more tired than I thought to see things like this."
After saying that, he chose not to think too deeply about it.
He simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.
Unaware that as he slept, the numbers continued to rise.
[ 75% ]
[ 95% ]
[ 100% ]
[ Completed ]
[ Synchronization process finished ]
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