One Month Later
The training hall no longer felt abandoned.
Scuff marks marred the pristine floor where Algernon had pushed himself through countless exercises. Dust had been disturbed from every corner, the weapon racks showing signs of recent use. The air itself seemed different charged with residual demonic energy from weeks of intensive practice.
Algernon stood at the center of it all, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his crimson hair. His body trembled with exhaustion, but there was triumph in his eyes.
He'd done it.
________________________________________________
[System Notification]
Congratulations! Host has achieved Mid-Class Devil status.
Physical Capability: Mid-Class (Low)
Magical Reserves: Mid-Class (Low)
Progress Update:
Estimated Physical Strength: 100x baseline human capability
Estimated Magical Capacity: 150% increase from starting point
___________________________________________________
A hundred times stronger than an ordinary human. The number should have felt significant, and it did—but Algernon's thoughts immediately went to those who stood at the peak of this world. Ultimate-Class devils. Satans. Dragons.
Beings who could level cities with a gesture. Who could move faster than his eyes could track. Who could crush him like an insect without breaking stride.
'Still so far to go,' he thought, clenching his fists. But for the first time since arriving in this world, the gap felt conquerable rather than impossible.
The month had been brutal. Every morning began the same way—pushing his body to the edge of magical depletion, that dangerous threshold where power gave way to debilitating symptoms. He'd learned to recognize the warning signs: the slight tremor in his hands, the faint pressure building behind his eyes, the way his demonic energy felt thin and stretched.
Stop at twenty percent reserves. No exceptions.
Then came meditation, drawing ambient energy back into his demon energy core, feeling it expand incrementally with each cycle of depletion and recovery. The growth was measurable now—not the glacial pace of passive accumulation, but steady, visible progress.
Afternoons were for study. The Branch House library had become his second home, its books providing the theoretical framework his practical training lacked. He'd absorbed everything he could find on demonic energy manipulation, combat theory, the political structure of the underworld, the histories of the Great War.
Knowledge was its own form of power, and Algernon hoarded it greedily.
But there was a glaring gap in his development: he still hadn't used his demonic energy for actual combat.
All his training had focused on internal enhancement—compressing energy into his muscles, expanding his reserves, building physical strength. He could punch harder, move faster, endure longer. But in a world where devils threw around destructive magic like party favors, that wasn't enough.
'Time to fix that,' Algernon decided.
He took a breath, centering himself, and reached inward to his demon energy core. The sensation was familiar now—that warm pulse of power responding to his will. Unlike devils with bloodline abilities, whose cores carried distinct properties and colors, his was pure demonic energy. Raw. Fundamental. Versatile.
No inherited techniques meant no shortcuts. But it also meant no limitations.
Algernon extended his hand, palm up, and began channeling energy outward. The process felt strange—like exhaling a breath you'd been holding, except the breath was power made manifest.
A small orb of crimson energy flickered into existence above his palm.
It wavered immediately, unstable and barely formed. The energy wanted to dissipate, to return to ambient flow. Holding it together required constant focus, a steady stream of power and willpower.
After ten seconds, it collapsed.
Algernon frowned and tried again. This time the orb lasted fifteen seconds before sputtering out.
Again. Twenty seconds.
Again. Thirty.
By his twentieth attempt, he could maintain a stable orb for a full minute, though it still flickered and pulsed irregularly.
"Control," he muttered, studying the glowing sphere. "It's all about control."
Raw power was easy. Any devil could push energy out and hope for the best. But precision—shaping that power into something deliberate and refined—that required mastery.
And mastery required practice.
Two Weeks Later
The orb had become second nature. Algernon could now form one instantly, hold it indefinitely, even while moving around the training hall. The next step was obvious: complexity.
He started simple—transforming the sphere into a cube. The straight edges and sharp corners fought against the energy's natural tendency toward spherical shapes. It took three days before he could maintain a perfect cube without conscious effort.
Then came pyramids, cylinders, more complex geometric shapes. Each new form taught him something about how demonic energy behaved, how it could be coaxed and compressed and molded.
But geometry was boring.
One evening, frustrated with triangular prisms, Algernon decided to try something different. He imagined a rose—petals unfurling, stem with thorns, every detail as clear as he could picture it.
The energy responded sluggishly, forming an amorphous blob that vaguely resembled a flower if you squinted and had a generous imagination.
He dismissed it with a scowl and tried again. And again. And again.
By midnight, he had something that actually looked like a rose, though the petals were too uniform and the whole thing had an uncanny, artificial quality.
But it was progress.
The next day, he tried sculpting a sword. Then a chair. Then increasingly complex objects, each one teaching him more about precision and detail. His failures outnumbered his successes by a wide margin, but each failure brought him closer to understanding.
The real breakthrough came three weeks into this new training regimen.
Algernon stood before a full-length mirror in the training hall, studying his reflection. Then he raised his hand and began to sculpt.
The energy flowed from his core in a steady stream, coalescing in the air before him. Slowly, painstakingly, a figure took shape. Himself, rendered in glowing crimson energy—every detail from the fall of his hair to the fold of his training clothes.
But he didn't stop there.
The energy-sculpted Algernon sat down on a throne that materialized beneath him—ornate, imposing, covered in intricate carvings that would have taken a master craftsman weeks to create. In the figure's hand, a sword appeared, its blade catching non-existent light with photorealistic gleam.
It was perfect. A monument to his own ambition, frozen in demonic energy.
Algernon stared at his creation, transfixed. A king on a throne, weapon in hand, ready to conquer worlds.
"Is this what I'm working toward?" he wondered aloud. The sculpture didn't answer, but it didn't need to.
He held the form for a full five minutes before allowing it to dissipate, the energy flowing back to ambient.
[System Notification]
Skill Acquired: Advanced Energy Manipulation (Beginner)
Algernon allowed himself a smile. Months of work, distilled into a single skill notification.
But he wasn't done.
The throne sculpture had required his complete focus and a significant portion of his reserves. In actual combat, he'd need to shape energy while moving, while under pressure, while splitting his attention between offense and defense.
Which meant the next step was obvious: multitasking.
That evening, Algernon attempted to create two simple orbs simultaneously.
Both collapsed immediately.
He tried again, carefully dividing his focus between them. The left orb formed properly while the right sputtered and died. Then the opposite. Getting them both stable felt like trying to pat his head and rub his stomach while juggling—impossible coordination.
After an hour, he managed to hold two orbs for three whole seconds before they destabilized.
"This is going to take a while," he muttered.
But time was something he had. Two years until he hit the peak of Mid-Class, according to his estimates. Two years to master energy manipulation, to develop his own techniques, to transform from a Low-Class nobody into someone who could stand on the same battlefield as the monsters of this world.
He created two orbs again. They lasted four seconds this time.
Progress.
Six Weeks After Mid-Class Advancement
Algernon sat cross-legged in the center of the training hall, eyes closed, breathing steady. Around him, five orbs of demonic energy rotated in a complex pattern—orbiting, weaving between each other, never touching.
Each orb was a different shape: sphere, cube, pyramid, cylinder, star. Each one required a portion of his focus to maintain. Splitting his attention five ways had been excruciating at first, like trying to have five different conversations simultaneously.
Now, after weeks of practice, it felt almost natural.
He opened his eyes and willed the shapes to transform. The sphere became a cube. The cube became a pyramid. All five shifted in smooth sequence, their orbital pattern never faltering.
Then he stood, and the orbs followed, maintaining their dance as he walked around the room. He broke into a jog, then a run, and still they held formation.
Only when he deliberately dismissed them did the energy finally dissipate.
Algernon wiped sweat from his brow, a satisfied grin on his face. This was real progress. This was the foundation he'd need for everything that came next.
'Control is the foundation of power,' he thought, echoing words he'd read in one of the library's combat treatises. 'Raw strength can be overcome by superior technique. Overwhelming reserves can be outlasted by greater efficiency.'
He had a long way to go before he could face the world's true threats. But he was building something here, brick by brick. A style of combat uniquely his own, unbound by bloodline limitations or traditional techniques.
Pure demonic energy, shaped by will and refined by relentless practice.
The path to High-Class would take time. The journey to Ultimate-Class even longer. But Algernon had already proven something crucial: he could forge his own power through dedication and smart training.
Everything else was just a matter of repetition.
"Two years to peak Mid-Class," he said to the empty hall. "Then High-Class. Then Ultimate."
Then he'd be ready to truly begin his conquest.
But first, tomorrow's training. And the day after. And every day until his goals became reality.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Algernon had taken dozens of those steps already.
He wasn't stopping now.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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