Marc sat at the heavy wooden table, the cabin's sole point of light softly flickering over him. A glass of red wine (a small luxury he afforded himself) rested at his side, and he brought a strip of salted jerky to his mouth. After a few months, it had become his battle ritual, his signature snack. The "Marc's Jerky," as he had named it with an ironic wink, was the sole and most recurrent commodity between the two inhabitants of the forest. The rustic combination of salt, meat, and red wine was the flavor of his strange new life.
On the table lay the object of his intellectual pilgrimage, the symbol of twelve months of relentless discipline: the last volume of the hundreds piled in the bookshelf. Marc looked at it with the silent satisfaction of a conqueror. He had promised himself to devour every page, and he had accomplished it like an authentic demonic bookworm. He had found time and strength, even after Silas's infernal training sessions, which in recent months had escalated to a level of magical torture.
Finally, it's the last book! Once I finish it, I won't have to keep reading, at least for a good while. He allowed himself a deep sigh. This year has passed quickly, but at the same time, I already look upon my old life as a distant memory. I am accustomed to magic and its use as if I had lived with it all my life.
So many strange things have happened to me, and my adventure is only just beginning. A few years ago, all of this would have been madness to imagine: a new world, fantasy, mythological creatures, and magic, but above all, having to be a demon, and becoming a king.
The day before, Silas had asked Marc for an exhaustive demonstration of his power. A test in which he demanded that Marc summon all the magic he knew, from the weakest to the most powerful. Marc tested his attack against Silas, who attacked back with magic to test his defense. Silas also examined his skill with the sword and the bow, another weapon Silas had introduced to Marc's training as a way for him to learn to attack from a distance without resorting to magic.
It was an arduous demonstration, in true Silas fashion, that lasted all day. But by that point, Marc was so accustomed to that level of grueling effort that he had faced it with the resignation and efficiency of a veteran.
The old man was testing me yesterday, Marc pondered, sipping his wine. He told me my training would last twelve months. I don't know if that display of power was some kind of final exam, like those at the end of a course, but he didn't say it was my last training session.
Today marks exactly twelve months in this world. But I also don't believe Silas is so methodical as to end my training exactly on the twelve-month mark. Maybe the training will last a little longer. I doubt Silas is entirely satisfied with my current level; it's much better than it was months ago, but there is still a lot of room for improvement to face what lies ahead.
The last book lying on his table was a volume of basic alchemy, surprisingly applied to healing objects and cooking. It explained how, with alchemical magic along with certain ingredients, complex mixtures could be made to create healing potions, or manufacture objects that could be used in the field of medicine. Strangely, the same book dedicated a detailed section to how to create kitchen objects, from basic utensils to large cooking pots.
I guess I can say goodbye to the fear of running out of a pot or losing a fork. I'll be able to make my own, Marc thought with a touch of resigned sarcasm at the unexpected usefulness of the knowledge. However, his pragmatic mind quickly asserted itself: Although, now that I think about it, it will at least be useful when I start my journey. On the road, knowing how to craft a durable tool can be as vital as any spell. I'll take note of this. He nodded to himself seriously, the future demon king diligently deciding that utensil alchemy was an essential skill.
His reading ability was another notable improvement he had experienced that year. He now read and processed information much faster and more efficiently than before. He took precise notes on what he considered essential and important for the future, and the alchemy volume was no exception. His enhanced reading skill allowed him to finish the thick book in just a few hours, even with daylight still peering through the window. He had devoured the last manual in his library.
And here ends my time as a librarian, Marc thought, closing the heavy tome with a dry thud. The sensation of the last page read was almost as gratifying as a battle won. Now, the time for books is over. It's time to concentrate completely, without distractions, on training my magic alone. The determination in his eyes, reflected in the gleam of the wine glass, promised that the next phase of his training would be brutal.
But in that moment, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
A colossal shadow, which completely swallowed the sunlight pouring through the window, formed outside. What appeared to be a giant rock, strangely molded into the shape of a fist, smashed through the glass and frame with a deafening crash, and rushed toward Marc with terrifying speed.
"Uh?" was all Marc could articulate, the disbelief frozen on his face.
The fist struck Marc with unfathomable, devastating force. Thanks to his inhumane training, his reaction speed was that of a cat: by a hair's breadth, he had managed to summon an instant magical barrier around his body. The fist, which now revealed itself as part of a massive, stony arm, swept away the cabin in an explosion of splinters and debris, and hurled Marc through the air like a rag doll for several meters. He slammed painfully against the thick tree trunks at the edge of the forest, as the cabin collapsed behind him.
Pain coursed through Marc's entire body. The sudden attack disoriented him for a few instants, but he quickly forced himself to regain composure, his infernal training bearing fruit in the crisis.
He stood up, shaking off the dirt and splinters, and looked at the creature that had attacked him: a great Rock Golem, taller than the destroyed cabin, looming ominously in front of him and starting to move in his direction.
Marc didn't wait. He quickly summoned giant chunks of earth and rock that shot up from the ground, smashing at great speed against the Golem's chest. The impact was massive; the creature was pushed back, losing its balance and crashing with a deafening crack onto what remained of the cabin.
"Shit!"
The Golem let out a deafening, guttural scream as it rose, a sound so potent that it forced Marc to cover his ears with his hands, feeling the vibration in his chest. It stood up, and fierce flames were summoned from its entire stony body.
Can it summon fire magic? It's huge, and it also knows how to use magic, Marc thought with mounting panic. This must be a sick joke!
The flames devoured everything in a radius of several meters around the Golem, turning the last remnants of the cabin into ardent ashes. The smoke rose rapidly.
"I think I'll need to move. I hope insurance covers this," Marc quipped bitterly, trying to mitigate the blow, but at the same time, the sadness was palpable because his home, the only refuge he had known in this world, had just been reduced to cinders.
Marc's eyes glowed with great intensity once more. He summoned a large pool of water, and like an overwhelmed river, it lashed out against everything in its path. It engulfed the Golem, and its fierce flames were extinguished with a dramatic hiss. The current pushed the creature back a few meters, but this time, the Golem had adopted a better defensive posture, and the blow did not manage to unbalance it. It was adapting quickly to Marc's magic.
"You are a very strong son of a bitch, I'll admit that," Marc said. The test before him was greater than anything he had faced before, and a feeling of pure excitement and adrenaline coursed through his body.
Marc spotted Silas's magical artifact a few meters away. He quickly picked it up from the ground and imbued it with Earth Magic. He ran straight toward the Golem. The creature went into defensive mode, waiting for Marc to receive him with a punch. As soon as it had Marc within range, its fist lunged. But Marc was faster: he fanned the sword through the air, causing shards of sharp rock to shoot out from the blade, crashing into the Golem. This halted the creature's attack and forced it to take a step back.
Marc fanned the sword again, but now vertically, causing large fragments of earth and rock to erupt from the ground toward the Golem, which retreated even further. Giving it no time to react, he switched the magic imbued in the artifact to Wind Magic. He fanned the sword once more; from it burst large gusts of wind in the form of small tornadoes that caused the Golem to lose its balance, sending it crashing onto its back again.
Taking advantage of the momentum, Marc launched himself several meters into the air with Wind Magic. Mid-flight, he changed the artifact's magic once more, now to the Magma Sword. He spun in the air, facing upside down, and created an instant magical barrier that his feet could push off. Boosting his body with Wind Magic, Marc propelled himself with supersonic speed toward the Golem below him.
With great dexterity, he stabbed the sword into the Golem's chest, sinking it completely. He summoned the flames as he had with that assassin, and orange cracks, pulsing like lava—a reflection of the magma blade—formed across the creature's chest.
It seemed to be affecting the Golem: it let out a primary scream of pain, and raised one of its stony hands that struck Marc while he was still embedded in its body. The force was devastating; Marc was hurled through the air again, impacting the ground several meters away, feeling the air evacuate his lungs.
Marc thought he had landed the killing blow, but reality struck him as hard as the Golem. It wasn't enough.
The creature regained its strength and slowly began to stand up, ignoring the magma cracks in its chest. As the Golem rose, Marc noticed a bright red rock in the shape of a crystal, lodged between its neck and back, embedded within the rock.
That's probably its weak point, Marc analyzed, his mind racing at a frantic speed despite the pain. I just need to be fast enough and get behind it to shatter that crystal.
The Golem resumed its attack. It set off with surprising speed for a mass of its size, closing the distance toward Marc. Marc, in turn, prepared for his decisive move: to pass very quickly under the Golem, between its legs, and immediately push off to get behind the creature, facing the crystal.
He boosted his body once more with Wind Magic. Marc became a blur of motion. He quickly closed the distance, but it was as if the Golem had read his mind: the creature crouched with unnatural agility and, with its intact hand, blocked his path at ground level, closing off his escape route.
Marc had no time to think. Without enough time to react properly, he instinctively fanned the sword vertically, unleashing a clean cut of magma. The searing edge sliced the Golem's rock arm into two symmetrical halves, victoriously clearing his path and passing beneath the amputated creature.
Marc stopped dead in the Golem's rear and began to gain momentum to launch himself at its neck. He achieved it with great precision and speed; his sword blade was ready to embed itself in the crystal. But just as he neared victory, a sudden burst of flames shot directly from the Golem's back. Marc managed to cover himself with his magical barrier again, but the pure, scorching force of the blast threw him back several meters before he could consolidate his attack.
The Golem was already turning toward him again, ominously rotating its rock body and hiding its weak spot from Marc's sight and attacks.
"You weren't going to make it easy for me, huh?" Marc said, catching his breath. His voice was an echo of his renewed determination. "But it doesn't matter, I'm ready. Compared to the old man's training, this is like a walk in the park."
Marc launched himself toward the Golem with a new, intense dose of adrenaline, determined to end the fight. The creature responded by embedding its remaining hand in the ground and extracting huge chunks of earth and rock that it hurled like projectiles at Marc. But Marc, with feline speed, rose into the air with the help of his magic, gaining the height and momentum needed to flank and get behind the Golem.
However, the rock creature was not slow: it spun around with great skill, predicting Marc's direct trajectory and protecting the crystal again.
"I've got you!" Marc yelled, cunning fiercely shining in his face.
With perfect execution, he employed the same move as before: he spun abruptly in the air and halted his initial trajectory with a magical barrier, using it as an invisible foothold. Hanging upside down again, he propelled himself with renewed force on a direct and diagonal course toward the Golem's unprotected back. The core was seconds away from his grasp.
The creature, now desperate, summoned the flame burst from its back one last time. But Marc was no longer a novice; he was already counting on that trick. In a fluid motion, he summoned a gust of hurricane Wind, not to attack, but to deflect the stream of fire. The torrent of flames was violently swept aside, sparkling harmlessly into the trees, creating a safe corridor for his advance.
The magma sword blade found its target: it stabbed with surgical precision into the red crystal, sinking into its glowing heart. Immediately, Marc invoked the maximum fury of the artifact's flames, injecting pure fire directly into the weak point.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic. A loud, sharp whine emanated from the crystal, like the lament of the earth. The red rock cracked, fissures expanding across the gem and the Golem's body. The creature let out a final, bestial scream of agony that echoed through the forest. The crystal, on the verge of shattering, emitted a great blinding red light, a release of pure energy that forced Marc to instinctively close his eyes.
Upon shattering completely, the magic imbued in the crystal exploded, throwing Marc several meters through the air. When he could open his eyes, the Golem no longer existed; it had dissolved into a silent pile of inert rock pieces, its mission finally complete.
Marc slowly sat up. A feeling of triumph washed over him. "Ha! That's what you get for messing with me... stupid rock ball. You should have thought twice before attacking the strongest demon in this county... or forest, whatever you want to call it." He lay back down on the ground, taking a well-deserved rest and catching his breath.
His brief joy, which had just been born, vanished as quickly as the smoke. Marc turned, and the weight of reality struck him. Before him stretched the smoking remains of the cabin, now a simple bed of gray ash and charred beams. The garden, which he had tended and where he had found a trace of normalcy, had also not survived; the ground was trampled by the Golem's gigantic footprints and scorched by its fierce flames. It was total destruction, a brutal reminder that his quiet life had ended in an explosion of rock and fire.
That Golem really screwed me over in so many ways, Marc thought, as he began to analyze the situation carefully. Wait... what a coincidence that the Golem arrived just as I finished reading the last book, when I no longer had any reason to stay in the cabin.
The synchronization was far too suspicious, and rage began to swell in his mind. It must have been that damned God or that bastard Silas to prevent me from staying longer in the cabin and force me to start my journey! Goddammit, they didn't have to go to this extreme!
His eyes glowed with rage—an intense indigo color—and he stood up, clenching his fists. He was about to head to the temple in search of Silas, ready for a confrontation. But he restrained himself and began to relax while taking deep breaths, channeling his fury.
Stop, Marc. You won't gain anything in this state, he told himself harshly. I'm already exhausted enough without going to pick a fight with the old man. He'd beat the crap out of me. The harsh reality of Silas's magical strength forced him to stifle his anger.
Marc began to walk with slumped shoulders, a solitary figure moving through the devastation. His bearing, previously full of rage, had transformed into palpable resignation. He began to search, with methodical movements, among the smoking debris that had been thrown when the Golem first struck him. To his immense relief, his precious notes—the testimony of a year's study—had been saved. The rest was useless: broken utensils, burned books, and shattered furniture. He placed only the few things he deemed essential in a small travel bag and left the rest discarded, a cemetery of wood and ash.
A few steps away, almost unrealistically intact on the scorched earth, he spotted an apple. It was the sole survivor of the garden and the attack. He picked it up, a flash of color in the gray landscape. He started to bite into it, stopping midway. He put it in the bag.
He cast a final, deeply melancholic gaze at what had been his home for a year, a sanctuary of training and knowledge, now reduced to simple, sad ashes.
The time to leave had come.
It hadn't been the farewell he dreamed of, but a violent expulsion. Yet, Marc understood: perhaps it would have cost him much more to decide to embark on the journey if it hadn't been this way. It was a brutal push of fate orchestrated by hidden hands (or deities). He resolutely set off toward the temple, leaving behind, without a backward glance, the first and only place that had welcomed him into this new world.