Four days.
That's how long the shimmering notification had burned in Asura's vision, mocking him.
Skill on Cooldown: [Reminiscence Codex] — 4 days remaining.
It had been torture. He had checked the timer obsessively—during meals, sparring, even when Selene was scolding him for not wearing boots. And now, at last, the cooldown was gone.
He sat cross-legged on the floor of his chamber, the treasury materials he had enchanted into his outfit gleaming faintly at his side. His golden eyes locked on the glowing Codex window before him.
"Alright," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Time to stop fooling around. No greedy spam-picking skills today… just the essentials. Think, Asura, think like a protagonist with actual brain cells."
The Codex pulsed, awaiting his choice.
His mind raced through the seven skills he wanted.
— Martial Arts
— Singing
— Commander's Charisma
— Future Sight
— Great Sage
— Regeneration
— Musical Talent (because, hey, karaoke exists)
He smirked faintly. "All of them sound amazing. But if I grab everything at once, I'll just trip over myself. Nah… today I play smart."
He tapped the glowing runes.
Selected Skills:
— Great Sage
— Foresight
— Regeneration
The Codex flared so bright it burned like a miniature sun in his chamber. His horns hummed with the resonance, his enchanted robes rippling as if caught in a storm.
System messages cascaded like rain:
Skill Acquired: Great Sage.
Skill Acquired: Foresight.
Skill Acquired: Regeneration.
Great Sage + All-Knowing → Evolved into: Omniscient Thought Process.
Omniscient Thought Process (Unique): Grants perfect memory, instant analysis, tactical deduction, and adaptive knowledge streams.
Foresight fused with Luck of the Gods → Evolved into: Precognition.
Regeneration enhanced by True Demon Lord Physiology → Evolved into: Demonic Regeneration (High-Tier).
Asura's jaw fell open. "Wait—wait, WAIT. You're telling me stacking these makes them evolve!? And this whole time I thought it was just one dumb cheat working in the background—"
His hands went to his hair, tugging at the snowy locks as he barked out a laugh. "Oh, come on! You mean to tell me I could've been cooking up broken combos this entire time and I just… never looked!?"
He flopped back onto the floor, arms spread wide, golden eyes glowing as lines of data scrolled endlessly across his vision.
Omniscient Thought Process flickered to life in his mind, a second awareness unfolding like an ocean of mirrors. He could feel information sliding into place—battle formulas, mana flow analysis, even the faint heartbeat of every guard in the hallway outside his chamber.
Foresight—no, Precognition—pulsed next, flashes of possible futures rippling like film reels. He blinked and saw Selene barging into his room to scold him in five minutes. He blinked again and saw himself dodging a sword swing tomorrow before it even happened.
And Regeneration? He sliced his palm open with his nail on instinct, watched the flesh knit closed instantly with a faint hiss of mana. He flexed his hand, grin spreading wide.
"…I'm unstoppable."
The Codex faded back into silence, its pages closing for now, but the weight of its power lingered in his veins.
Asura sat up slowly, chest swelling with something between excitement and satisfaction. For once, he hadn't just grabbed shiny skills at random. He had chosen carefully. And the payoff was beyond anything he'd imagined.
His golden eyes gleamed as he looked at Yamikami no Tsurugi resting against the wall, the crystal fragment pulsing faintly beside it.
"Guess you two aren't the only ones evolving anymore."
✦ Interrupted Brilliance
Just as his golden eyes dimmed from their glow, Asura leaned back against the bedframe with a smug grin plastered across his face.
"Heh. Omniscient Thought Process, Precognition, Demonic Regeneration…" He held up his fingers as though ticking off prizes from a festival. "I'm literally cooking with hacks now. Absolute cheat codes."
He blinked.
And suddenly, his foresight flared—like a flash of lightning across his mind.
Selene storming into his room, arms folded, violet eyes sharp, voice cutting through the air: "What exactly did you just do?!"
The vision faded.
The door creaked.
"…Here we go," Asura muttered under his breath.
"Asura!" Selene's voice lashed through the chamber like a whip. She swept in, skirts flaring behind her, every line of her posture screaming displeasure. Her violet gaze locked on him, hands already at her hips. "What did you just do? I felt a mana spike so strong half the servants nearly fainted!"
Asura scrambled upright, flailing like a kid caught red-handed near the cookie jar. "Uh—nothing! Totally nothing! Just, you know…" He grabbed at the air, fumbling for words. "…push-ups. With magic."
Selene blinked once. Slowly. Dangerously. "Push-ups. With. Magic."
"Yup!" He puffed out his chest and flexed like a bodybuilder half his size. "Totally normal. Builds character, burns calories, super healthy—ten out of ten would recommend."
Selene pressed her fingers to her temple with a sigh that sounded like the weight of eternity. "You are going to shorten my lifespan at this rate."
Asura chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Nah, don't worry. With me around, you'll probably gain extra lifespan. Like, extended warranty."
Her eyes narrowed into a flat glare. "…That's not how this works."
"Oh, sure it is!" He grinned wide, wagging a finger. "Every protagonist has a supportive caretaker who sticks around for the whole story. It's, like… contractually obligated. You're safe."
Selene stared at him like he was speaking an alien language—which, to be fair, wasn't entirely wrong. "…What in the world are you talking about now?"
"Nothing. Forget I said that." He waved her off, already chuckling under his breath.
Inside, he was practically glowing. She had no idea he'd already seen this exact exchange seconds ago, word for word. Acting it out felt like being in on a private joke with the universe. And honestly? That made it even funnier.
✦ The Scouts' Arrival
Far beyond the citadel, at the ragged borders of the Demon Realm, the land itself seemed to breathe unease. The skies were forever tinged a bloody crimson, clouds swirling like open wounds. Twisted trees leaned inward as if listening, their roots curled through blackened soil that pulsed faintly with demonic mana. Even the wind carried whispers—low, guttural, like a thousand voices speaking just beneath hearing.
Through those shadows rode a company of travelers. Their cloaks were ragged with dust, their saddlebags heavy with false wares. To the casual eye, they looked like merchants or wandering sword sellers. But their boots struck the ground in perfect unison. Their hands never strayed far from sword hilts or staves. The air around them carried discipline, tension, and the faint taste of steel.
Scouts.
Agents of Valoria.
They rode without laughter, without song, until one young knight finally broke the silence. His armor was polished brighter than the others', his chin lifted high with pride.
"So this is the Demon Realm?" he sneered, spitting into the dirt. "Rotten air, crooked trees. Doesn't look so terrifying." His voice rose, mocking. "And they say the Demon King's grandson lives here? A child who's supposedly a genius?" He snorted. "He's eight years old. We'll test him. If he's nothing, we'll crush him and leave his carcass as a warning."
A few chuckled, arrogance sparking like dry tinder. One mage smirked. "The nobles call him a prodigy. But nobles exaggerate. A brat with horns is still a brat."
Another knight leaned forward in his saddle. "If he is special, then Valoria should be the first to know. Knowledge—or his head—both are fine trophies."
The older man at their head, a captain scarred across the jaw, growled low. "Quiet." His voice cut through their mirth like a drawn blade. "Demons don't breed weaklings. Even their children are tempered in fire and blood. Treat this like any other mission. Observe. Test if you must. But return alive."
A ripple of unease tempered their bravado, though smirks lingered at the corners of their mouths.
Only one figure at the rear remained utterly silent.
A knight clad in plain, unmarked armor. No crest upon his shield, no colors upon his cloak. His helm shadowed his face, revealing nothing. His movements were steady, almost lazy, yet each step of his mount was precise—measured in a way that suggested nothing about him was accidental.
He did not laugh at the bravado of his fellows. He did not join the muttered boasts or the disdain for demonkind.
He simply rode. Quiet. Watching.
The others paid him no mind, dismissing him as another faceless blade, another body among many.
But if they had looked closer—if they had felt the faint ripple of pressure that leaked no matter how carefully he suppressed it—they might have realized the truth.
Beneath that helm burned eyes sharper than steel. Within that silence coiled a strength greater than all of them combined.
He was the strongest among them.
And his silence was not ignorance.
It was calculation.