Kael woke up at four in the morning.
In the Underworld, the concept of dawn didn't exist like in the human world, but he felt the time in the absolute weight of silence — that deep quietness that only arose when even low-class demons were still fighting the accumulated fatigue from the previous day. The dark ceiling of the small room stared back at him, cracked and stained by time, as always.
The moment he opened his eyes, the system windows appeared in his vision.
Cold. Impersonal.
No greeting. No choice.
[Main Mission Activated]
Objective: Become the absolute champion of the Low → Middle-Class Tournament.
Maximum deadline: 2 months.
Requirements:
- Complete at least 15 official missions for qualification.
- Dominant and unilateral victories in all phases.
- Maximum time per battle/trial: 10 minutes.
- No balanced rivalry allowed — crush all opponents.
Reward: +5% progress in the Meliodas Template per completed mission.
System Note: The tournament is an instrument for maintaining the castes. Use it or remain irrelevant.
Immediately after, without pause, another window overlapped.
[ Permanent Training Mission – Activated (Optional)]
System:
"[Mission Message]
High-class demons are born strong.
Low-class demons receive nothing.
They are not chosen.
They are not protected.
They are not remembered.
They force themselves to exist."
-STAGE 1 — DRAG THE STONE OF CONDEMNATION
Weight: 5× the user's weight
Time: 1 hour without stopping
Terrain: cutting ashes + unstable ground + infernal mountain
-STAGE 2 — STRIKE THE IRON WALL
- 5,000 punches
- Absolute rule: stopped → everything resets
- Bare fists
-STAGE 3 — TOTAL MUSCULAR DESTRUCTION
- Infernal Push-ups: 5,000 — hot stone — rest prohibited
- Ruin Squats: 5,000 — weight of the injured body — falls do not count as pause
- Pain Crunches: 5,000 — spasms ignored
- System:
"If the muscle tears… continue."
-STAGE 4 — CONDEMNATION RUN
- Distance: 100 km
- Terrain: mountain + solidified lava
- Maximum time: nonexistent
- Stopping = failure
- System:
"Running is not to arrive.
It is to not die."
Weekly reward: +0.5% progress in the Meliodas Template per complete week.
Incomplete week or day not performed: mute reward
Kael read everything in absolute silence.
The more he read, the more something grew in his chest — not fear, not hesitation. Pure, conscious hatred, directed.
"It had to be like this…" he murmured, clenching his teeth until they ground. "Why couldn't it be a normal system? One that guided, protected, rewarded fairly?"
The system did not respond. Did not console. It just registered and remained there, cold.
He felt treated like disposable trash. A tool to crush those who couldn't handle the weight. Absolute repulsion for the entity — whatever it was — behind it. Indignation upon realizing the goal was not to help, but to break. Silent rage for having no real choice: accept or be left behind, irrelevant forever.
But the hatred did not paralyze him.
It organized him.
Kael got up. Went to the improvised kitchen and took the food bought the night before — typical low-class food: tasteless, heavy, made just to keep someone alive. Ate in silence, without complaining. For someone who grew up with little, that was nothing new.
Brushed his teeth. Took a quick shower, cold water keeping the mind sharp. Dressed in simple, worn, but clean clothes.
Routine complete.
Went to the tiny room where the old Kael Black had accumulated books, papers, and records. Started searching for anything useful.
Found the book.
Old. Simple binding. No external marks.
Title: "Class Ascension in 3 Years — An Impossible Path."
Leafed through it with growing attention. It wasn't delusion. It was cold strategy: analysis of the caste system, legal loopholes, tournaments, temporary alliances, calculated risks.
"This guy…" he murmured. "He was a strategic genius."
The notes showed absurd intelligence — and the fatal error.
"Too bad he trusted too much."
Closed the book slowly.
Stored the book in the old backpack and left the housewithout delay, heading directly to the hideout — the secret location in the abandoned tunnels of the outer districts, where the Bael had left traces after the final invasion.
Analyzed everything calmly. Collected only the essentials:
- Basic to advanced records on the 72 Pillar Houses (deep details on about 15 main houses).
- Minor data on houses like Belial.
- Basic knowledge of the others.
When finished, destroyed everything.
The hideout. The tunnels. The routes. The access cave.
Nothing remained visible. Nothing traceable.
If someone searched later, they would find only meaningless ruins.
Kael left carrying only what mattered.
The plan. The knowledge. And the silent hatred that now guided every step.
The tournament would come first.
Then… the Underworld would start losing pieces without even noticing.
1- Training Week
Kael did not divide the suffering for comfort. He chose the cruelest place he found: an abandoned slope on the outer edges of Lilith, ground of ashes that cut like blades, heavy air of sulfur, unstable terrain with solidified lava plates and impossible climbs. There were no witnesses. Just him, the pain, and the cold system.
Each day was a war against his own body. He repeated the four stages daily, increasing intensity and precision, turning hell into routine.
= Day 1 =
Brutal start. The obsidian stone (five times his weight) seemed alive, resisting every step. The ashes dug into his legs, the unstable ground swallowed his feet. Kael fell dozens of times in the first stage alone, back burning, shoulders tearing. Blood ran from the cuts. In the punches, the skin on his knuckles opened right in the first thousand. Push-ups on the hot stone burned the chest skin. Squats made his thighs tremble until he fell. Crunches brought spasms that almost made him vomit. The 100 km run was chaos — constant falls, knees scraped to the bone. Ended the day on his knees, blurred vision, entire body throbbing. But completed everything. The system registered. No praise.
= Day 2 =
The body already hurt before starting. But Kael learned from the previous day's pain. Breathing control became obsession — deep inhale, slow exhale, ignore the venomous burn in the lungs. Dragged the stone with fewer falls, more rhythmic steps. In the punches, adjusted posture: fist tighter, weight transferred better. Blood still ran, but less waste. In the muscle series, ignored the first fiber tears. In the run, fell fewer times — learned to anticipate the treacherous terrain. Ended exhausted, but standing. The hatred for the system began to organize: it wasn't weakness. It was fuel.
= Day 3 =
Precision became focus. In the punches on the iron wall, each strike more centered — less wasted pain, more impact. Skin tore to expose raw flesh, but he didn't stop. In push-ups, squats, and crunches, counted mentally, ignoring spasms that made the body convulse. "If the muscle tears… continue." The system's phrase echoed as provocation. In the run, rhythm improved — legs less wobbly, reduced falls. The body screamed, but the mind responded faster. Ended with less bleeding hands, muscles adapting to hell.
= Day 4 =
The bitter learning crystallized: running is not arriving fast. It is never stopping. In the 100 km run, fell countless times on the solidified lava that cut like glass, but got up faster. The terrain seemed alive, betraying every careless step. In the other stages, movement economy: dragging the stone with better posture, more efficient punches, muscle series with controlled breathing. Constant pain, but familiar. Like a known enemy. Ended trembling, but whole. For the first time, felt the body obey a little more.
= Day 5 =
Internal change. The hatred for the system — that cold entity that treated him like disposable trash — stopped being weight. Became pure fuel. Pain was no longer just suffering. It was proof. Proof that he still resisted. Proof that the system hadn't broken him. Executed everything with calculated calm: muscles tearing? Continued. Breathing failing? Controlled. Violent spasms? Ignored. In the run, ran as if stopping meant death. Ended the day with the body destroyed, but the mind sharper than ever.
= Day 6 =
Raw adaptation. The body obeyed better — higher resistance, less wasted movements. Dragging the stone required less relative effort. More precise punches, less blood. Muscle series completed with fewer falls. Run with rhythmic steps, anticipating the terrain. Pain was still there, throbbing, constant, but Kael used it. Transformed it into focus. Ended with fewer new cuts, muscles trembling less.
= Day 7 =
Week conclusion. Absolute discipline. Pain and fatigue were permanent companions — in the bones, skin, breathing. Executed the four stages with greater control: fewer falls, more efficiency, more resistance to the tearing pain. Nothing miraculous. No power exploded. Just a harder body and mind. Enough not to die in the first real mission.
Kael dragged himself back to the small room at the end of the seventh day. Body destroyed — hands bandaged with rags, legs barely holding weight, back arched. Opened the creaking door. Fell on the hard bed, body throwing itself like dead weight. Face in the dirty pillow, rough breathing, every muscle throbbing.
Called the status with a thought.
The window appeared, cold as always:
[Template integration: Meliodas – 2.2% complete.]
[Permanent Training Mission: First week complete.]
[Weekly reward applied: +0.5%]
[Next weekly reward available in 7 days (adaptation in progress).]
He stared at the number for a long time. 2.2%. So little for so much pain.
But it was progress.
Closed the window.
Tomorrow the first official mission would begin.
1 First Official Mission
Kael arrived at the administrative building in the outer districts — gray structure, bureaucratic, full of low-class waiting in long lines.
At the counter, a middle-class demon (mid-low subclass) with Phenex traits attended him. Lazy eyes, crooked smile.
— Name?
— Kael Black.
— Age?
— Fifteen.
The demon observed the simple clothes, calm posture, firm gaze. Smiled with subtle disdain.
— Elimination mission. Three low-class demonic creatures. Outside Lilith. One-month deadline. If you don't return, it goes to another.
— Deposit in account or cash here?
— Cash here.
The demon made a brief gesture — payment only after completion — and pushed the folder.
Kael stored everything. Turned to leave.
As he crossed the door, paused for a moment in the street, looking at the buildings around — demonic banks, imposing, with High-Class guards at the entrance.
Thought in a low but clear voice:
— These banks exist only to subjugate those without family or political support. They create dependence with contracts, eternal debts. Demons below High-Class cannot leave the Underworld freely. Those who want to live in the human world need binding contracts and explicit support from one of the Four Great Satans. Without that… not even an account in the International Bank.
Breathed deep.
Maximum priority: complete the mission. Receive payment. Survive.
Returned to the small room. Opened the folder. Memorized routes, targets, deadlines.
Prepared the minimal backpack: water, dry food, the old dagger found among the old Kael's belongings, spare clothes.
Looked out the window at the eternal purple city.
— First of fifteen — he murmured.
Left.
The road out of Lilith awaited him.
The Battle
The ravine was an open tomb, the air heavy with sulfur and ancient rot. Kael stopped at the edge, backpack on his back, old dagger in hand. The silence was false — broken by low growls echoing off the black stone walls. Three pairs of red eyes gleamed in the dimness. The beasts emerged like living shadows: infernal wolves, lean and muscular bodies covered in gleaming black scales, long fangs dripping corrosive venom that hissed on the ground, curved claws scraping the solidified lava.
They didn't attack immediately. Circled, coordinated pack, testing, flanking. The smell of old blood and hunger filled the air. Kael felt his heart accelerate — not pure fear, but an explosive mix of rage and adrenaline. The week's training throbbed in his muscles: familiar pain, strength earned at the cost of blood and tears. He didn't retreat. Gripped the dagger. "Come on," he thought. "Make me pay the price."
The first exploded into motion — high and brutal leap from the front, body stretched like an arrow, fangs open for the neck. The air sliced by the guttural growl. Kael rolled at the last second — raw agility from the infernal run —, the body responding by instinct forged in 100 km of falls and rises. The dagger plunged deep into the exposed flank, tearing scales and muscle with a wet sound. Deafening howl reverberated in the ravine. Black blood gushed hot, splashing his face, burning like acid on the skin, blinding one eye for an instant.
The beast turned too fast for something so wounded, curved claw tearing the left shoulder in deep strips. Flesh opening, bone grazing, sharp pain exploding like white lightning, climbing the arm to the nape, making vision flicker. Blood running free, weakening the grip on the dagger. Kael grunted low, teeth clenched until grinding — no regeneration, no mercy. Only the brutal resistance of training keeping the arm functional. Hatred burned hotter than the pain: "I won't fall here. Not to you."
The other two attacked synchronized, red eyes flaming, growls harmonizing in mortal threat. The second came low from the left, fast as shadow. Kael kicked with primordial violence — power from the thousands of squats and punches on the iron wall —, hitting the snout full on. Dry impact, bones cracking like broken branches, the beast retreating with sharp yelp, black blood flying in an arc.
But the third was already on his back — perfect leap, claws digging into the ribs like hot knives. Lancinating pain, tearing shirt, skin, and muscle, ribs protesting with snaps. Weight crushing, fangs grazing the neck, venom dripping on the nape, burning like ember. Vision darkening at the edges. Kael didn't hesitate — rolled back with desperate force, using the beast's weight against it, crushing against the irregular rock of the ravine. Brutal impact, creature's bones snapping like dry wood, howl cut mid-way in gurgle. He got up fast, dagger descending in precise arc — clean cut on the exposed neck. Wet gargle. Blood gushing in pulses. The beast convulsed, paws scratching the ground, and stopped.
The first, still alive despite the open flank and bleeding, attacked in fury limping — desperate leap, fangs open, eyes mad with pain and hunger. Kael, panting, grabbed a loose rock with the good hand, punched the skull with all the strength earned in training — impact echoing like hammer on iron, skull dented, blood splashing. The beast staggered, but bit the leg in final retaliation. Teeth digging deep into the thigh, venom injected burning veins like liquid lava, climbing the leg in waves of pure agony. Vision blurring, legs trembling, knees buckling. Pain like fire devouring from inside.
Kael fell to his knees, scream trapped in the throat turning into rage growl. The world narrowed — just the beast and him. Plunged the dagger into the skull. Once — resisted, trembled. Twice — weak howl. Three times — until the body softened, teeth releasing, life escaping in final spasm. Black blood mixed with his on the dusty ground.
Heavy silence fell in the ravine, broken only by Kael's rough breathing.
He stood slowly, body destroyed: shoulder torn to the bone, forearm bitten, ribs cut throbbing with every movement, poisoned leg swelling and burning like live ember. Blood everywhere, blurred vision, venom running in veins like slow acid, threatening to erase consciousness. No regeneration. Only the brutal resistance of the training week — muscles adapted to extreme pain — keeping him standing, conscious, alive.
Cut the proofs with trembling hands — main fangs and ears —, stored in the bloodied backpack.
Limping, dragged himself back on the road, night falling purple and cold, every step a battle against collapse.
Arrived at the administrative building the next dawn, body on the edge of limit. Delivered the proofs to the Phenex demon, who raised an eyebrow — genuine surprise in the lazy gaze —, but paid without a word. Cold coins in the bloody and trembling palm.
Kael cashed everything. Staggered back to the small room. Fell on the bed, body finally surrendering, pain pulsing in wave after wave.
Called the status with weak thought.
[Official mission completed: 1/15]
[Reward applied: +1% in the Meliodas Template]
[Template integration: Meliodas – 3.2% complete.]
Stared at the number for a long time, pain throbbing in every open wound, venom still burning.
Higher now — but so little.
The price had been high — almost life.
Closed the window.
Fourteen missions remaining.
End of Chapter 4.