The Everhart butler stood at Azhareth’s door with the posture of a man greeting royalty, not a hunter in a run-down apartment. Upon the silver tray he carried:
- two neatly arranged packs of ice-cold cola
- a gourmet breakfast box the size of Rai himself
“Sir Azhareth,” Aldren bowed deeply. “Miss Rina requests your presence.”
Azhareth took the cola first.
Priorities.
Rai happily dragged the breakfast box inside, sparks popping from his tiny paws.
Azhareth stepped into the limo without a word.
This time, the route did not stop outside the Everhart facility.
The garage doors opened—
and the limousine drove directly inside the main gymnasium, flanked by startled but bowing employees.
Azhareth blinked once.
“…You built a door for this?”
Aldren straightened proudly.
“The mistress insisted you should never walk when you don't have to.”
Azhareth didn’t comment.
But he nodded. Respectfully.
Inside the vast private gym, sunlight filtered through reinforced mana-glass. The air shimmered faintly with residual enchantments. It was as luxurious as it was overprepared.
Rina kneeled at the center of the polished training floor, posture perfect.
Her teammates stood behind her—silent, disciplined.
And beyond them, seen through a thick, transparent barrier:
Her father watched.
Arms folded.
Expression unreadable.
Azhareth’s steps echoed as he approached.
He stopped.
His eyes lowered.
“I said to come alone.”
The room froze.
Rina opened her mouth—
But Dael stepped forward first.
A mistake that would be remembered for generations.
“P-please!” he blurted, hands shaking with excitement rather than fear. “I want to learn from you too!”
Azhareth tilted his head slightly.
Dael did not understand what he had done.
He did not understand the rule that governed 666 lifetimes:
You never approach a Demon Lord with empty hands.
You never request knowledge without an offering.
You never speak without permission.
Azhareth’s expression did not change.
But the air around him did.
A pressure older than kingdoms.
Heavier than the sky.
The instinct of a sovereign who had ruled centuries, died centuries, and ruled again.
It crashed over the room like a tidal wave of fear.
The floor cracked beneath his feet.
Lights shattered overhead.
Mana barriers flickered violently.
Rina collapsed first, gasping as invisible weight crushed her lungs.
Gavren dropped to his knees, arms snapping as he instinctively shielded Selphy.
Kira’s Predator Sense went wild—
her body jerked, eyes rolling, instincts screaming “RUN. SUBMIT. DIE.”
Merrin’s hands trembled so violently her bow clattered across the floor.
Dael didn’t even get a full scream out.
He simply dropped, choking on air he could no longer breathe.
Behind the observation wall, Rina’s father staggered backward—
the breath punched from his chest by a presence that should not exist in this era.
“…A calamity… walking upright…”
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He grabbed the rail to stay standing.
Every magical alarm in the facility went off simultaneously.
But Azhareth did not notice.
He had not meant to unleash anything.
His aura came out the way a reflex comes out when someone tries to touch a sleeping serpent.
And it would have killed them all—
—if not for Rai.
The tiny pup whimpered.
A soft, frightened sound.
Azhareth’s eyes snapped back to clarity.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
And slowly, painfully, pulled the aura back inside himself.
The pressure vanished.
The room collapsed into choking silence.
Bodies trembled.
Sweat dripped down face.
Every heartbeat felt too loud.
Azhareth looked at Dael.
His voice came low, quiet, steady: “Do not make requests without offering something worthy.”
It was not a threat.
It was a law.
A truth forged over 666 lives.
Dael tried to form words but only managed a shaking, broken sound.
Rina forced her battered body upright.
Her legs buckled, but she stood anyway.
“Teacher… please forgive us.”
Her voice shook.
“They only came because they wanted to observe. Not to disrespect you.”
Her humility calmed the air further.
Azhareth nodded once. “They may watch. But interrupt again, and I will not stop.”
No one doubted it.
Everyone bowed deeply—fearfully, reverently, instinctively.
Azhareth turned to Rina.
“Tell me,” he said. “How many wind and lightning skills do you have?”
Rina listed them—ten in total, various ranks, mostly combat-oriented.
Azhareth pinched the bridge of his nose.
“…Unfocused. Inefficient. Childish.”
He raised his head.
“To walk the path of Flercher, you must start with one thing.”
He lifted a finger.
“Overcharge.”
The team stared at him in horror.
Selphy:
“That’s a D-rank self-harm skill!”
Gavren:
“You want her to fry herself alive?”
Kira:
“Even S-rank battlemages avoid that spell!”
Dael, shaking violently, lifted his head.
“No… he’s right.”
Everyone turned to him.
Dael swallowed thickly.
“If she uses Overcharge, her lightning essence will increase. Her body will begin adapting. It’s the foundation of all lightning-type mastery.”
Azhareth nodded. “Correct.”
Rina opened her inventory marketplace.
She searched “Overcharge.”
Price:
9.99 credits.
She blinked.
“…It’s cheaper than dessert.”
“THAT’S BECAUSE IT KILLS YOU,” her teammates shouted.
Rina bought it instantly.
Minutes later, a drone flew into the gym and dropped the glowing skill book onto a tray.
Rina tapped it.
Light dissolved into her body.
Skill Acquired: Overcharge (D-Rank)
She took a breath.
Steeled herself.
And activated it.
Her body jerked violently.
Her muscles seized.
She screamed as lightning tore through every limb.
She collapsed instantly, twitching.
Her team rushed forward—but Azhareth reached her first.
He placed one thumb on her forehead.
A soft pulse of his controlled lightning surged into her, resetting her mana flow.
Rina gasped and regained consciousness, panting.
Azhareth withdrew his hand and said calmly:
“You used it incorrectly.”
She blinked through tears.
He knelt in front of her.
“Begin small.
Focus Overcharge into one finger.
Maintain it for one hour.”
Her teammates froze.
Selphy whispered:
“He’s insane.”
Gavren muttered:
“This is torture…”
Rina extended her index finger.
Lightning crackled.
5 seconds.
Her skin blistered.
She screamed, clutching her hand.
“Stop!” Merrin cried.
Azhareth didn’t flinch.
“Again.”
Rina trembled.
“But I need—my finger—my Merrin needs to heal—”
Azhareth cut her off.
“Nonsense.
You still have nine more fingers.
Next.”
The team stared at him in disbelief.
Rina stared at him with fear… and something like determination.
Then—
She lifted her next finger.
Lightning snapped.
She screamed again.
Azhareth nodded.
“Again.”
This was no ordinary training.
This was the beginning of walking Flercher’s path.
A demonlord’s path.
A path carved through agony, focus, lightning, and unyielding will.
And Rina—
shaking, crying, burning—
pressed her lips together and raised a third finger.
Her training had begun.