Darkness.
That was all he remembered at first—an endless void where time had no meaning. No throne. No blood. No fire.
No name.
And then... pain. Cold, raw, human pain.
The once-feared Demon King—ruler of ten thousand armies, slayer of heroes, wielder of forbidden magic—opened his eyes to find not the obsidian pillars of his castle, but a crumbling ceiling of mold-stained wood. Not the scent of ash and brimstone, but the sour, stale air of poverty.
He had died. That much he was sure of. Pierced by the combined might of the Seven Saints, sealed by ancient chants, buried beneath the ruins of a war he almost won.
And yet, he lived.
A newborn. Weak. Fragile. Powerless.
They named him Ji-hyeon.
To the world, he was the son of a nameless farmer and a weary mother—one more mouth to feed in a house barely standing. To them, he was just another poor child in a kingdom that had long forgotten the name of the Demon King.
But within his infant gaze—behind the helpless cries and small, shaking fists—lay the shattered fragments of a godlike will.
He had not been reborn by chance.
The world had not seen its last shadow.
And this time, he would not rise as a king of monsters… but as a genius hidden among men.