CHAPTER FOUR: The Forgotten Son Learns
The dawn arrived slow and cold, bleeding gray light through the small, barred window of Liam's chamber. The faint chill did not touch him. His body might have been weak, but his mind had never been sharper. Every fiber of his being pulsed with purpose, each heartbeat a metronome counting down the days to vengeance.
He rose from the thin straw mat that had been his bed. Limbs that barely held weight moved with precision. The Devil Blood thrummed in his veins, a pulse louder than any heartbeat. Its warmth promised power, control, and domination. Liam flexed his hands, summoning the faint crimson glow once again. This time, he let it linger, small but persistent. His enemies would not see it yet, but he would feel it, carry it like a secret dagger beneath his sleeve.
The city outside Azeroth stirred. Guards began their rounds, merchants opened their stalls, and nobles made their way through the streets, unaware of the storm hiding in the body of a forgotten boy. Liam listened to every sound. Every footstep. Every muffled whisper. Every indication of movement in the world beyond his chamber.
He had survived the execution because he understood timing, calculation, and patience. He would not risk a careless step now. His first strike had sent ripples, but now he needed a foundation. Weakness would not be allowed. The body would be trained. The mind would be sharpened. The Devil Blood would awaken fully, or he would perish in its attempt to master it.
Breakfast arrived in the form of cold bread and thin broth. A servant placed it before him and immediately backed away, eyes wide, aware that something in this room was wrong, though they could not name it. Liam ate slowly, deliberately, watching. Each bite measured. Each swallow calculated. Observation was a weapon. Patience was a weapon. Hunger was not hunger. Hunger was strategy.
Once the tray was cleared, he moved to the mirror again. The pale, youthful face staring back was unremarkable, designed to be overlooked. That was exactly what he needed. He would hide in plain sight. Every enemy, every betrayer, every traitor who thought him dead would assume weakness. And weakness was an illusion he would wield with precision.
He concentrated on the blood within. Flames of red and black shimmered beneath the skin of his palms, reacting to thought alone. The presence inside, ancient and patient, whispered guidance. It did not rush. It never rushed. It waited for the perfect moment to act. Liam focused, flexed his hands, and allowed the light to pulse through his veins. This time it was stronger, more obedient. Every spark a promise of devastation, every flicker a rehearsal for the destruction he would bring.
The training would be subtle at first. He would move quietly through the castle, observe the routines of the household, learn the habits of those who controlled Azeroth's minor districts. Every guard, every noble, every servant he cataloged in his mind. Strength would come from knowledge, and knowledge would come before brute force.
Hours passed. Footsteps came and went. The air carried whispers of the world outside. One message arrived from a servant who believed themselves loyal, a note carried secretly beneath the chamber door. Its contents were minor, trivial to anyone else, but to Liam it was a map of opportunity. The minor lord he had struck the previous night had been under observation. His movements, communications, and alliances had been recorded. That record, once analyzed, revealed weaknesses and inconsistencies. Liam committed each detail to memory. He would use them all.
He moved to the window and peered down into the courtyard. Academy cadets practiced swordplay, nobles walked in calculated patterns, and guards shifted in predictable loops. Every movement, every predictable action, was a path he could exploit. The Devil Blood stirred again, humming as if approving the calculations forming in his mind.
By midday, Liam had devised the next stage of his plan. The first strike had been small but effective. Now he would expand. Small enough to remain unseen, yet significant enough to instill fear. The minor noble was only the first domino. The next targets would be advisors, messengers, minor generals. Every action would be deliberate, calculated, and irreversible.
The servant returned, bringing a tray of tea this time. They lingered longer than necessary, eyes darting to the boy who should be nothing. Liam did not move. He allowed the servant to remain nervous, to leave traces of fear. Every action, every hesitation, every glance would be stored in his memory. It was a lesson in human nature, and human nature was predictable if one observed carefully.
After the servant left, Liam turned to the study he had taken as his training ground. Old books, maps, and ledgers lay scattered across a desk. He began with simple calculations, strategies for siege and defense, recalling knowledge he had once held in the body of a general. Every formula, every plan, every tactic returned to him, strengthened by the presence of the Devil Blood within.
By evening, Liam stood in the central hall of the estate. Shadows lengthened, and the glow of the candlelight flickered across his pale face. He had memorized patrols, routes, and weaknesses. He had observed loyalties and betrayals, calculated every angle. Every footstep of every guard was known to him now. Every schedule of every minor lord was cataloged.
He allowed himself a small smile. The body may be young and frail, but the mind was lethal. The Devil Blood pulsed within, powerful and obedient. Every spark, every flicker of energy, was a reminder that he had been given a second chance. And this time, he would not fail.
A knock came at the door. Liam did not flinch. The voice outside was cautious, polite. The intruder stepped inside. It was a minor advisor, unaware of the presence within. They bowed deeply, but their eyes betrayed unease.
Liam's green eyes met theirs, cold, calculating, merciless.
You will learn soon enough, he thought. Every action, every step, every word you speak, every move you make will be remembered. The mistakes of the past will not repeat themselves.
The advisor froze, unsure why the boy in the room seemed so powerful, so aware, so dangerous. Liam's hand glowed faintly, just enough to show a trace of the Devil Blood. The man flinched.
A single thought passed through Liam's mind. One strike. One lesson. Fear and obedience. Not through mercy, not through punishment, but through inevitability.
The advisor left trembling, and Liam turned back to the window. The streets of Azeroth stretched before him, unaware, unprepared. Every betrayal would be answered. Every enemy would be punished. Every weakness would be exploited.
The Devil Heir of Azeroth had returned.
And the first wave of vengeance was only beginning.