After finishing his meal at the dining hall, Alaric returned to his room. Inside, his maid Lyra was busy cleaning.
"Come here," Alaric said calmly.
Lyra hesitated. Though he rarely spoke, his presence was overwhelming. Nervously, she stepped closer.
Without a word, Alaric activated one of the forbidden techniques of the demon race — a soul-based method that allowed him to read another's thoughts.
After a few moments, he withdrew from her mind.
"You may leave. Don't come back until I call for you," he said.
Lyra gave a small nod and left the room.
Alaric sat in silence, his mind deep in thought. From reading her memories, he now understood the basic structure of this world. Power ruled everything here. Nobles and royalty stood at the top, and there were two main types of warriors — mages and knights. Knights fought using aura-infused weapons, while mages used circles to cast spells. The most powerful knight in the region was Duke Ravenshade, a 7th Rank Swordsman. At the peak stood the Emperor and the Grand Master of the Magic Tower — both 7th Circle Mages.
Alaric couldn't help but sigh. His maid knew more about the world than the original Alaric, who was born a noble.
Still, that didn't matter anymore.
"I'm Alaric now," he muttered to himself. "I'll live as him… and grow stronger."
Crossing his legs, he began to meditate. He recalled one of the Demon God's forbidden techniques — a method that allowed him to absorb divine demonic energy and magic at the same time, without alerting anyone. But this world only had weak demons. To gain true demonic power, he would need to hunt many of them.
Suppressing all physical sensations, Alaric focused inward. Energy from the surroundings gathered toward him. His body shook slightly as a surge of energy rushed through him. He absorbed as much as he could, then suppressed the rest within his core.
"…Finally. I can feel a small amount of energy now," he whispered.
He had already used some of his soul power earlier to read Lyra's mind — a resource he had to save for life-or-death situations. But even without it, he now felt confident.
"I've probably reached the level of a 4th Circle Mage," he thought. "Even without using soul power, I could take on a 5th Rank warrior with ease."
As Alaric walked toward the door of his room, a tall man with blond hair stood waiting. It was Lios, a knight sworn to protect the second young master, Ivar Ravenshade.
"First Young Master," Lios said with a sneer, "where are you going? Still wandering around with no purpose, despite being the heir to the Duchy?"
Alaric didn't stop walking. "And who gave you the right to question me, Knight Lios? Have you forgotten your place?"
The knight's expression hardened. "Even if you're the heir, you haven't inherited anything yet. I serve directly under the Duke and protect the second young master. You're just holding a title—for now. Don't assume you'll keep it forever. The second young master would welcome you kindly if you gave up your claim."
Without another word, Alaric slapped Lios with enough force to knock him to the ground.
"Next time you raise your voice at me," Alaric said coldly, "I'll rip your head off."
Lios stared up at him, stunned. The maids and servants nearby froze, shocked. They had never seen the quiet first young master act like this.
Alaric walked past them. Lios, still burning with anger, stormed away.
Outside the mansion, Alaric made his way into the city.
"I need a decent sword," he muttered. "Until I'm strong enough to open my subspace and retrieve mine, I need a good one."
He eventually found a small, run-down weapon shop tucked in a quiet corner of the city. Inside, the walls were lined with swords, spears, and scraps of metal. Behind the counter stood a red-haired man in worn blue robes, the shopkeeper, with only one assistant in sight.
"I'm looking for a medium-sized sword," Alaric said.
The man looked up in surprise. "Welcome, my lord. It's an honor. We do have a few, though the best weapons are made by the Duke's personal smith. Still, we carry a couple of A-tier weapons."
"That's fine. I'll take a look myself."
Alaric scanned the room. Most weapons were average, but one sword caught his eye — sturdy, balanced, old but well-forged.
"This one. How much?"
"One gold coin, my lord," the shopkeeper said. "It's old, but forged by dwarves. Still excellent for daily use."
Alaric handed over the coin. "If you find the materials needed to restore it, contact me."
"That may be difficult," the man replied. "This sword was made from dark metal, which came from the Dwarven Kingdom. Since the war with the dragons, that kingdom no longer exists. The surviving dwarves now live scattered across human lands."
"Then find those who still have influence," Alaric said as he turned to leave. "I'll pay well."
After gathering a few herbs and supplies around the city, Alaric returned to the mansion.
Back in his room, he called for Lyra.
"Yes, young master?" she answered, entering politely.
"Are you a mage?"
Lyra looked confused. "I'm just a maid, young master. I haven't been trained. I have some mana, but I'm not even a First Circle Mage."
Alaric remembered from the original owner's memories that Lyra had always treated him with kindness.
"Then sit down," Alaric said. "Open the front of your dress and fold your legs."
Lyra froze, startled. "What… What do you mean, young master?"
"Just do as I say. I don't like repeating myself."
She hesitated, cheeks flushed with confusion and fear. "Young master… my dress?"
"Don't be afraid. I'm not asking for anything improper. I'm going to awaken your mana heart."
Still nervous, Lyra slowly unbuttoned the top of her dress and sat as instructed. Alaric knelt behind her and placed his hand on her back. With careful control, he guided his mana into her body.
A few minutes passed before her mana heart pulsed and burst with energy. Alaric suppressed the surge and stabilized it.
"It's done," he said. "You're now a First Circle Mage."
Lyra looked over her shoulder, stunned. "You know magic, young master? How… how did you become like this?"
"You've always been kind to me," Alaric said softly. "There are things I can't explain yet, but I promise—I'll make you strong. You'll become my right hand."
Lyra blushed, a small smile forming on her lips. "Thank you, young master."
"You've just awakened. Go rest. Starting tomorrow, I'll train you myself."
"Yes, young master."
Once she left, Alaric began his own training. He used forbidden demonic techniques to strengthen his body and mind. Every moment counted.
"At this rate," he whispered, "I'll reach the Fifth Circle within a month. That kind of speed is unbelievable for humans, but in the higher realms, even a single year can produce monsters beyond anything this world knows."
His eyes darkened.
"I have to become strong. I need to kill those so-called gods."
He poured some of his mana into the sword he had bought, repairing its cracked edges and reinforcing its core.
"This sword will do for now. But if I can get more dark metal, I can turn it into a real weapon worthy of me."
After that, he sat down and entered a deep meditative state, drawing mana from the world around him.
Becoming human again was only the first step. Reclaiming the power of the Demonic God—that was his true goal.