Azhryel Vaelgor opened his eyes to a sky he did not recognize.
It was clear—too clear. No crimson clouds. No demonic moons. No oppressive aura of the Demon Realm pressing down on his soul.
This was the human world.
Cold mountain air brushed against his face as he slowly sat up. His body felt lighter here, restrained, as if the world itself refused to acknowledge his true existence.
"Looks like you woke up first."
A familiar voice reached his ears.
Azhryel turned his head and saw Vaelric standing a few steps away, gazing at the distant mountains. His long hair danced softly in the wind, his expression calm—but there was loneliness hidden beneath it.
"So," Azhryel said quietly, standing up, "you came too."
Vaelric smiled faintly.
"The Demon Realm felt empty without you. A kingdom isn't worth ruling if its greatest general walks away."
Azhryel didn't reply immediately. He looked ahead.
From where they stood, countless human clans were scattered across the mountains like small islands in a vast sea. Cultivation banners fluttered in the distance. Power, ambition, and bloodshed lingered in the air.
"This world isn't peaceful either," Azhryel said.
"But it has something the Demon Realm never did."
Vaelric looked at him. "What?"
"A chance to start over."
Azhryel took a step forward.
"We'll live on these mountains."
Vaelric nodded without hesitation.
They descended the slope together, concealing their true auras completely. In this world, they would not be demon royalty. Not generals. Not monsters.
They would live as humans.
After hours of walking, they noticed something unusual.
A village .
No walls.
No guards.
Only five worn-down houses clinging to the mountain like they didn't belong there.
Eight people lived there.
Eight.
Azhryel slowed his steps.
"This place is… weak," Vaelric muttered.
"Exactly," Azhryel replied.
As they approached, an old man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a wooden staff. His eyes were cautious but not hostile.
"Who are you?" the elder asked.
Azhryel lowered his head slightly.
"My name is Ren. This is my younger brother… Senjo."
Vaelric paused for a fraction of a second, then accepted the name.
"We are cultivators," Ren continued calmly. "We're looking for a place to stay."
The elder frowned.
"Cultivators don't live here. They stay in the main clan villages."
Ren smiled faintly.
"We're not strong."
Then—to everyone's shock—he knelt.
"Please allow us to stay for five days."
The villagers exchanged stunned looks.
The elder studied Ren's posture, his eyes, his breathing. This was not the kneel of a beggar. It was the kneel of a man who chose humility.
"…Very well," the elder said at last.
"You may stay in my house."
That night, they ate together.
Simple food. Thin soup. Rough bread.
Yet the villagers smiled more than any nobles Ren had ever seen.
During the meal, the elder spoke quietly.
"Whenever cultivators come here, they rob us. Sometimes they destroy our homes."
Senjo's eyes darkened.
"Why don't you move?"
The elder sighed.
"We have no cultivation talent. The clans come every year to check. None of us qualify."
Ren listened silently.
Two days passed.
Ren helped repair roofs. Senjo carried water. The children laughed around them. Slowly, trust formed—not through power, but through presence.
On the third night, the village bell rang.
Sharp. Panicked.
"Cultivators!" someone shouted.
Three figures descended from the darkness, their auras sharp and arrogant.
Ren stepped forward.
"Leave," he said calmly.
"And never return."
One cultivator laughed.
"You? A low-level nobody?"
Before the man could finish—
A demonic blade erupted from Senjo's arm, black and silent.
Three flashes.
Three bodies fell.
No screams.
No resistance.
Senjo retracted the sword instantly, suppressing everything.
Ren rang the bell again.
The villagers gathered, staring at the corpses in shock.
Ren stood before them.
"From today," he said evenly, "I will protect this village."
Silence.
"If you accept me as your leader, call my name.
If not… we'll leave by dawn."
No threats. No force.
Then—
"REN!"
One voice.
Then another.
Then all of them.
Not out of fear.
Out of trust.
Ren closed his eyes briefly.
And thus—
A king without a throne was born on a forgotten mountain.