The northern sun rose pale and cold over the plateau, its light fractured by drifting snow. Kaelen surveyed the valley from the ridge, his black eyes sharp as blades. The boys—now no longer mere orphans—moved through training drills with fluidity and precision, their movements echoing the principles of the Demon Manual. Each strike, each dodge, each leap over ice and stone reflected adaptation, instinct, and a raw, growing power.
Kaelen turned to the boys, now nearly a dozen in number, scattered across the plateau. He had spent months recruiting survivors from nearby valleys, wandering hunters, and even abandoned children, forging them into the first generation of the northern Demon Sect. Each disciple was tested, ranked, and trained with the unforgiving rigor that had forged Kaelen himself. Only those who could survive the Manual's trials remained; weakness had no place here.
"Today," Kaelen said, voice carrying over the plateau, "we build not just strength, but walls. A base is the heart of a sect. It must protect, it must endure, and it must inspire fear in those who would oppose you. Strength without foundation is nothing."
The disciples set to work under Kaelen's watchful gaze. Using stone, timber scavenged from ruined structures, and whatever tools he had secured from merchants, they began erecting walls, digging trenches, and reinforcing natural cliffs. Kaelen moved among them, correcting angles, adjusting supports, and demonstrating methods of leverage and qi-infused lifting to ease heavy loads.
Meanwhile, Kaelen's plan for merchants began to take shape. Caravans were hesitant at first, wary of a mysterious boy commanding a growing number of followers in the northern wastes. But Kaelen's reputation had begun to precede him. His ability to protect merchants from bandits and wolves—and to strike decisively when necessary—made him a figure impossible to ignore.
He met the first caravan at the edge of the frozen valley. The merchants, weary from months of travel and wary of northern threats, offered him silver and supplies in exchange for protection. Kaelen negotiated swiftly, calculating the value of every coin and ration. "Your caravans will pass safely through the northern roads," he promised, "and in return, you provide us with tools, food, and information. Fail to uphold your end… and you will learn why the north has teeth."
By the end of the first week, Kaelen had secured a small but steady flow of resources. Food, tools, and even simple weapons arrived regularly, allowing the disciples to train harder, build stronger walls, and expand their plateau base. The first northern stronghold of the Demon Sect was taking shape—not a grand fortress yet, but a defensible and functional foundation.
But Kaelen did not forget the scouts of the unorthodox factions. Reports reached him in small fragments—merchants whispered of black-clad figures lurking in distant valleys, watching the plateau from afar. Kaelen smiled faintly, knowing that these were the first ripples of attention from forces that would one day seek to challenge him.
"They are watching," he told his disciples, "and that is good. Let them see our strength. Let them believe they understand it. They will not. When the time comes, they will strike… and we will be ready."
Kaelen also began formalizing disciple roles and ranks. Initiates were assigned duties beyond combat: some were tasked with overseeing fortification construction, others managed supplies, and a few were trained as scouts to survey surrounding valleys. This early structure ensured the northern Demon Sect could operate efficiently, survive independently, and expand without relying solely on Kaelen's direct intervention.
The snow fell heavier as night approached, and Kaelen led the disciples in a final evening drill—a simulated ambush from scouts or bandits. They moved as one, responding instinctively to threats, exploiting terrain, and coordinating attacks. By the time the fire was lit and the sky darkened, exhaustion marked every face—but so did pride. They were no longer mere survivors; they were the first warriors of a rising sect.
As Kaelen gazed at the growing settlement, the flicker of torchlight casting long shadows across walls and trenches, he allowed himself a rare thought of the future. The northern Demon Sect was only a beginning, a seed planted in frost and blood. With training, strategy, and relentless growth, this seed would expand, engulfing valleys, towns, and eventually the continent itself.
And somewhere beyond the mountains, in the shadows of unorthodox factions, eyes watched, whispers spread, and plans were quietly made. They had underestimated the north for too long. They had dismissed a boy and his fledgling sect. But Kaelen's laughter, low and confident, echoed across the plateau, carried by the wind.
"Let them come," he whispered, "and let them see what the north truly produces."
The northern wind howled in response, shaking loose snow from cliffs and ridges. In the cold, amidst the firelight and stone, the northern Demon Sect had risen from nothing—a small, brutal, unyielding force. And in the heart of it, Kaelen, the boy who would one day become the First Heavenly Demon, smiled quietly, knowing the continent itself had no idea of the storm gathering on its horizon.