The Lower Realm. A realm of verdant forests and winding rivers, of towering mountains that kissed the clouds and sprawling plains that stretched to the horizon. It was a world untouched by the cosmic battles of the Upper Realm, a place where spiritual energy, though present, was thin and gentle, nurturing life rather than fueling cataclysmic powers. Here, cultivation was a slow, arduous journey, often spanning decades to achieve even the most basic breakthroughs.
On the sprawling continent of Xylos, a land dotted with ancient ruins and nascent cities, power was traditionally held by eight great families. Among them, the House of Valerius once stood as a beacon of martial prowess and mystical insight, their ancestral lands encompassing fertile valleys and minor spirit veins. Their name, once synonymous with strength and influence, now evoked a sigh, a shrug, or a pitying glance. The Valerius family was in decline.
Their once-grand manor, though still imposing with its weathered stone walls and sprawling courtyards, bore the marks of neglect. Gardens were overgrown, training grounds saw less activity, and the number of retainers dwindled with each passing year. Their spiritual reserves, once abundant, had thinned, and their younger generations rarely produced cultivators of significant talent. They clung to their prestige by a thread, a shadow of their former glory, constantly fending off the encroaching ambitions of rival, rising families.
It was into this fading legacy that the consciousness of Lord Kaelen, the Demonic Sovereign, was thrust. He was given the name Valerius Ren, a traditional name within the family, meant to signify renewal. But there was no innocence in his rebirth, no blank slate awaiting the imprints of a new life. From the moment his tiny lungs drew their first gasp of air, Kaelen was fully, excruciatingly aware.
He felt the soft swaddling cloths, the unfamiliar warmth of a woman's embrace – his new mother, Lady Seraphina Valerius, her face etched with a mix of exhaustion and relief. He heard the deep, resonant voice of his new father, Lord Alaric Valerius, speaking words of welcome. Every sensation, every sound, every sight was processed through the lens of a mind that had commanded legions, shattered realms, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension.
The contrast was jarring, a cruel joke played by fate. He, the Demonic Sovereign, reduced to a helpless infant. His body, so fragile, so utterly devoid of spiritual essence, was a prison. He tried to sense the spiritual energy of this Lower Realm, and it was like trying to find a single drop of dew in a vast, parched desert. The air, once thick with vibrant spiritual qi in the Upper Realm, felt thin, almost suffocatingly empty.
His mind, however, was a vast cosmos of forbidden knowledge and ancient power. He possessed every memory of his past life: the intricate pathways of demonic cultivation, the secrets of the Abyssal Heart Secret Realm, the weaknesses of his countless enemies, the faces of his disciples, especially Lyra's broken spirit. The agony of her torture, the betrayal, the overwhelming might of the Upper Realm's combined forces – it all replayed with chilling clarity, fueling a cold, burning inferno of vengeance within his infant soul.
"This... this is the Lower Realm?" he thought, his infant mind struggling to reconcile the immense power he once held with the pitiful state of his new surroundings. "This fragile body... this meager spiritual energy... how am I to regain what was lost?"
He observed his new family with a detached, calculating gaze. Lord Alaric, a man of pride and fading strength, obsessed with restoring the family's honor. Lady Seraphina, gentle but burdened by the weight of their decline. The servants, few and mostly elderly, moved with a quiet resignation. The very air of the Valerius manor hummed with a subtle melancholy, a testament to their dwindling fortunes.
Kaelen quickly understood the predicament of the House of Valerius. Their spiritual veins were depleted, their cultivation techniques outdated, and their talent pool shallow. They were a once-mighty tree, slowly withering at the roots. This, he realized, was both a curse and an opportunity. A declining family would have fewer eyes scrutinizing his every move, fewer expectations to conform to. He could operate in the shadows, building his power unnoticed.
His immediate challenge was his new body. It was a blank slate, but a weak one. The cultivation methods practiced by the Valerius family, simple energy circulation and basic martial arts, were laughable to a being who had once devoured the spiritual essence of entire mountains. Yet, he knew he had to start somewhere. He couldn't simply unleash a demonic art; his infant meridians would rupture, and his fragile form would explode.
He began to adapt. Even as a babe, he would subtly manipulate his breathing, mimicking the foundational techniques he knew, but scaled down to an infinitesimal degree. He would try to sense the minute traces of spiritual energy in the air, a whisper that only his ancient soul could detect. He knew the principles of body tempering, the art of strengthening the physical form to withstand greater spiritual influx. It was a long, arduous path, but one he had traversed countless times in his previous life, albeit at a grander scale.
His parents, seeing their infant son often quiet and seemingly lost in thought, attributed it to his unusual intelligence. They would marvel at his early milestones, unaware that their child was a fallen Demonic Sovereign, meticulously planning his resurgence.
The path to vengeance would be long. The Upper Realm was a distant, unreachable star from this insignificant speck of a world. But Kaelen, now Valerius Ren, possessed an unyielding will forged in the fires of ultimate power and ultimate defeat. He would rise again. He would reclaim his strength. And he would make those who had shattered his spirit, who had violated Lyra, pay a price that would echo through all realms. The House of Valerius was merely his temporary sanctuary, a forgotten corner of the world where a new legend, born of ancient malice and burning ambition, would slowly begin to stir.