The first month of training was agony.
Even with a Demar body far stronger than a human's body, high-gravity conditioning pushed me to my limit.
Every step, every push-up, every breath felt like my muscles were about to rip themselves apart.
I began with basic drills, push ups, sit ups, 10 km running, and core exercises.
In my old life, I had avoided physical exertion at all costs. But here? Power was survival. And I intended to live a long time and rule even longer.
Xeroth, ever efficient, crafted a personalized regimen from thousands of archived texts and knowledge imported from the Celestial Court.
I had given it a name: the Outer Body Forging Method.
It was brutal, but if followed properly, it would push my body to the Pinnacle of Mid-Tier.
Eventually, I had Xeroth created a simplified version distributed to my legion commanders to raise the strength of our soldiers.
In the future, this method would be a cornerstone of House Valeborne's military might.
Once I gained a baseline level of conditioning, I could begin channeling etheric power into my body, the true foundation of the method.
Training in hand-to-hand combat was added to my daily regimen. I didn't want to rely solely on magic.
If magic ever failed me, I needed fists that could break bone and skill to match.
After a full month, I saw real changes. My physical strength and agility had improved.
But vitality… remained stubborn. Xeroth explained that even Sovereign-Class Demar often struggled to raise their vitality above fifty. It would take time.
[Your current progress allows for the next phase of the Outer Body Forging Method: skeletal infusion. Begin channeling etheric power into your bones. Absorption will take months and cause intense pain.]
"Like the Celestials' cultivation disciplines?" I asked aloud.
[Conceptually similar. Different method. Same purpose—bodily refinement.]
The Celestial Court practiced their own strange arts—Vital Essence Focus and Life Force Mastery.
Though secretive, they were powerful beyond measure. Even a single unit of their warriors could crush a legion of Demar.
That reality haunted me, and it was part of why I needed to raise the strength of my race, once I had full control of it.
With a deep breath, I sat cross legged and followed the method's instructions, weaving etheric energy through my bones.
The pain was immediate and overwhelming. I gritted my teeth and activated a sound-suppression barrier, no one needed to hear me screaming like a dying beast.
Time passed slowly.
Weeks blurred together. I rarely ate. I didn't sleep much. But I could feel the difference as my bones grew denser, stronger.
Pain faded into numbness, and numbness became strength.
After nearly two months, Xeroth confirmed what I already sensed.
[Bone reinforcement complete. Initiate muscular infusion. Caution: unstable control may cause muscle rupture.]
"Okay. Also report. Where am I now, physically?"
[Strength: +16. Agility: +9. Vitality: +5. You are now officially Mid-Tier in physical attributes. Congratulations.]
I stood up, rolling my shoulders. Every limb felt heavier,compacted and solid. My stance had more weight. Even my posture had changed.
I looked stronger.
I felt unbreakable.
And for the first time in years, I actually felt... good.
"Time for a long, long bath," I muttered with a grin, glancing at the sweat-soaked clothes sticking to my frame. "And a full week of rest before we move to Phase Two."
The next day, I decided to pause my physical training and devote myself entirely to magic.
My current mastery of the Demar Arcanum was pathetic I'm barely at Adept level and my Northern Rune Magic was worse, stuck at Novice with only a basic Lightning Rune under my belt.
One benefit of being Head of House Valeborne, besides the authority to act freely, was the freedom to skip wasteful social events.
I had no interest in attending gatherings like the Young Heir Assemblies, where spoiled nobles showed off borrowed power and bloated egos.
Before I reached the library, I found someone waiting outside: General Korbe.
Korbe was a middle-aged Demar with black hair, a brutal scar across his eye, and a gaze that radiated cold authority.
He was one of my top commanders, a battle-hardened warrior who carried himself like a true general.
"My Lord," he said with a respectful bow.
I ran a quick scan through Xeroth:
[Name: Korbe Gaan
Race: Pure-Blooded Demar (Gaan Line)
Rank: General of the Valeborne Legions
Tier: Sovereign-Class
Etheric Power: 196
Strength: 72 | Agility: 69 | Vitality: 50]
Despite specializing in magic, his physical stats were in the High-Tier range. He was among the strongest warriors under my command—one of five at Sovereign-Class.
"How's the legion training going with the Outer Body Forging Method?" I asked.
"Very well," Korbe replied. "I estimate that within five years, we can raise even low-tier soldiers to Mid-Tier. Preparations on your other orders are also in motion."
"Good. Begin acquiring factories that produce weapons and enchantments. When war breaks out, we'll control supply chains. Also, continue strengthening the borders. We're closest to the Skyborn. When battle erupts, we'll take the first hit."
The Great War loomed on the horizon. Twenty years might seem like a long time, but few noble houses were preparing. Only a handful, like King Markez, Archduke Agar, and a few others had begun military drills. They saw the signs.
This war would be more than conflict, it was an opportunity. An opening to seize control, gain wealth, and reshape the structure of power.
I was already pouring every Soul Coin I had into acquiring foundries and crafting halls. When demand for weapons and armor soared, House Valeborne would hold the monopoly.
"Fortresses are going up at key passes," Korbe continued. "We've started raising Magic Towers throughout the domain."
Satisfied, I dismissed him and entered the library. I checked out twenty volumes on Demar Arcanum and ten on Rune Magic, then shut myself away to study.
Despite its ease of use, Demar magic had its flaws. Without technique, it was wasteful.
A novice might cast a simple fireball for one unit of etheric power, but a master could do the same or better for a fraction of that.
That was why true mages spent years refining their casting models, internal diagrams, and efficiency.
Mastery wasn't explosive. It was repetitive, structured, and calculated.
I spent fourteen hours a day buried in texts, memorizing casting sequences, dissecting runic arrays, and recording all of it into Xeroth's archives, which were also linked to my soul.
Ten days passed in relentless study. I lost track of time until I finally returned to the practice hall.
I began testing the elemental spells I had refined.
"Xeroth, check my output."
[Consumption reduced by 300%. Proficiency rating: Expert-Level.]
"How long to reach Master-Level?"
[Estimated five years of continuous study and practice. Even with your built-in cheat.]
"You're not a cheat. You're me. Just the more irritating part."
[Incorrect. The irritation lies with organics. Emotional. Illogical. Weak.]
"And yet you're bound to one. Guess you're stuck with the flesh, you smug pile of circuits."
I smirked. Our banter might be cold and clinical, but it kept me grounded.
Magic and might, both would grow in tandem. And when the war came, House Valeborne would be ready to strike first... and last.