The ruins of Ish'thar's Keep groaned with the weight of time. Moss-choked stones, fractured spires, and broken battlements whispered of a fallen legacy—once home to the demon lord, now nothing but bones buried beneath history's lies.
Beneath it all, in a chamber sealed by ancient sorcery, something stirred.
Frost cracked. A slow exhale filled the chamber.
Cedric's eyes snapped open.
The pain was immediate—like drowning in fire and ice. Every breath scraped his lungs. Every muscle screamed. He fought the pull toward nothingness—something was wrong. The system expected a corpse, not a man still clinging to life. His heartbeat, though fading, persisted.
The panel flickered in alarm:
> ERROR: VITAL SIGNS DETECTED.
UNAUTHORIZED ANOMALY: PRESERVING HOST.
INTEGRATION SEQUENCE: 30-YEAR STASIS.
Then came silence.
Thirty years passed in a dreamless blink. A lesser soul would have gone mad, but Cedric remained tethered—by rage, by betrayal, by purpose. When the stasis field finally dispersed, the chamber groaned open like a tomb disturbed.
He stepped into a world that had moved on without him.
---
The System's interface hovered before his eyes—only visible to him.
> SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE
HOST: CEDRIC OF AURIELL
LEVEL: 1
XP: 0/100
STATUS: PARTIAL INTEGRATION
AVAILABLE FUNCTIONS: Basic Status, Threads of Magic (Dormant)
NOTE: THREADS OF MAGIC FUNCTIONALITY REQUIRES SYNAPTIC ALIGNMENT (LEVEL 5)
He blinked. "Threads of Magic?" The phrase pulsed faintly in the corner of his vision, but no answers followed. Another mystery. The System felt alive—unlike anything he'd studied. A cursed gift.
He opened his Basic Status.
> HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
STRENGTH: 12
AGILITY: 10
INTELLIGENCE: 11
LUCK: 8
Hardly the numbers of a world-ending threat. His level had been reset to one. It seemed even as Demon Lord, he would have to claw his way up from the dirt.
Good.
---
Outside the ruins, night had fallen. The world had changed. Cedric watched from a crag above his ruined keep as a caravan moved through the hills—bearing the golden crest of the Church of Radiant Flame.
He nearly laughed.
They had no idea.
They thought him dead—slain during the battle against the last Demon Lord, martyred alongside seven "legendary" heroes. In truth, those very heroes had turned on him at the moment of victory. The system, they said, corrupted its wielder. Whoever struck the final blow would inherit the Demon Lord's soul, and the church would then send its blade to finish the transition. Clean. Controlled.
But Cedric hadn't died.
The system had preserved him. And unlike those before, he had not been reborn as a monstrous abomination. His face, though older and sharper, was still his own. No horns. No claws. No glowing red eyes.
And the church hadn't noticed the anomaly. Why would they? The usual Demon Lord resurrection took centuries. Thirty years was too soon. They were waiting for another creature to rise.
They would wait in vain.
---
Cedric scavenged from his ruined armory, pulling what pieces of armor remained intact: a chestplate, one gauntlet, a cracked pauldron. His old sword was dull but sturdy, its hilt worn smooth. It felt right in his grip—like an extension of the will they tried to bury.
The System chimed softly:
> QUEST: BEGIN YOUR RETURN
OBJECTIVE: GATHER XP / REACH LEVEL 2
REWARD: UNLOCK 'Skill Tree' FUNCTION
He set off under the cover of darkness, toward ElmHollow—a small farming village that once fell under Auriell's protection.
---
ElmHollow had grown. More buildings. Better roads. Even a small outpost for the Church of Radiant Flame.
He kept to the shadows, observing.
Children played by candlelight. Merchants loaded wagons under the eyes of a tired-looking town guard. His name had once brought hope to this place. Now, a wanted poster fluttered on the notice board beside the church doors.
CEDRIC OF AURIELL. TRAITOR. CHURCH-SLAIN. SPEAK NOT HIS NAME.
So they hadn't just buried him. They'd rewritten him.
He slipped into the woods as the sun dipped behind the horizon. He'd need XP before doing anything major. Fortunately, wild beasts didn't ask questions.
---
The first fight was clumsy. A horned wolf—skin taut with rot and hunger—sprang from the underbrush. Cedric parried with his sword, barely avoiding a tear to the throat. Its claws raked across his side.
He rolled, came up swinging, and managed to bury his blade in its neck. It thrashed, then stilled.
Panting, he wiped blood from his cheek.
> COMBAT COMPLETE
XP GAINED: +18
CURRENT XP: 18/100
NOTE: HOST DISPLAYS INADEQUATE TECHNIQUE. TRAINING ADVISED.
He barked a breathless laugh. "No kidding."
---
He hunted cautiously over the next two nights. More beasts fell. He foraged for healing herbs, memorizing terrain, sleeping beneath trees. No fire. No name. No trace.
On the fourth morning, the System chimed:
> LEVEL UP! Level 2
+2 Skill Points Earned
NEW FUNCTION UNLOCKED: Skill Tree
The screen unfolded with a pulse of red light. A branching network of potential paths appeared:
Martial Proficiency
Stealth Training
Basic Spellcasting
Dark Affinity (Locked)
Threads of Magic (Dormant — ALIGNMENT INCOMPLETE)
He chose Martial Proficiency and Stealth. Immediately, his stance adjusted—feet lighter, grip more precise. He could feel the difference. And beneath it all, the Threads function pulsed. Dormant. Waiting.
He stared at it for a long time.
---
Back in ElmHollow, chaos awaited.
Church guards were shaking down the innkeeper of The Fallen Lion. Cedric saw her face—fear, resignation. A silver-armored inquisitor spoke calmly, blade drawn. "You're sheltering traitors. You'll answer for it."
Cedric stepped into the light.
"Let her go."
The guards turned. "You're—impossible."
The fight was short, messy. He moved better now—dodging strikes, disarming the inexperienced guards, cracking skulls on timber walls. The inquisitor lasted longer, forcing Cedric to use every ounce of training to break his defense.
In the end, the innkeeper lived. The guards dead.
> XP +52
TOTAL XP: 70/100
She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're supposed to be—"
"I was," he said. "But not anymore."
---
That night, as he returned to the ruins, he opened his status screen once more. The Threads of Magic still pulsed faintly.
> THREADS OF MAGIC: INERT — ALIGNMENT AT 12%
SUGGESTED PATH: Engage in active spell construction. Observe raw mana. Unlock core alignment.
So. It wasn't just a passive skill. It was a path—a power no other Demon Lord had touched, locked behind his unique anomaly. He wasn't just reborn. He was different.
The church didn't know.
The seven betrayers didn't know.
He would grow slowly. Patiently. Gain strength. Learn why the System existed. Learn who built it. And when the time came…
He would burn the world that betrayed him.
One lie at a time.