Marc sat at the heavy wooden table, where the cabin's only light source crackled softly above him. A glass of red wine—a small luxury he allowed himself—rested by his side as he popped a strip of salted jerky into his mouth. Over the months, this had become his sacred ritual, his "battle snack." "Marc's Jerky," as he had ironically dubbed it, was the most recurring commodity between the forest's only two inhabitants. That rustic combination of salt, meat, and wine was, to him, the flavor of his strange new life.
On the table lay the object of his intellectual pilgrimage, the symbol of twelve months of relentless discipline: the last volume of the hundreds piled on the bookshelf. Marc gazed at it with the silent satisfaction of a conqueror. He had promised himself he would devour every page, and he had achieved it like a true demonic bookworm. He had found the time and the will even after Silas's training sessions, which in recent months had escalated into nothing short of magical torture.
Finally, the last book! he celebrated internally. Once I close this, I won't have to read a thing for a long time. He allowed himself a deep sigh, letting weariness and pride mingle. This year has flown by, but at the same time, my old life already feels like a blurred, distant memory. I've grown accustomed to magic and its flow as if I had been born with it.
He paused for a moment to reflect on the irony of his fate. Just a few years ago, all of this would have been a madman's hallucination: a fantasy world, mythological creatures, and spells. But above all, the reality of being a demon destined to become a King. His adventure was only just beginning.
The previous day, Silas had demanded an exhaustive demonstration of power from Marc. It was an absolute trial in which he was required to summon every ounce of magic he knew, from the most insignificant spell to the most devastating. He measured his offensive capability directly against Silas, who struck back with magical assaults to push Marc's defenses to their limit. He also evaluated his skill with both the sword and the bow—another tool the old man had integrated into his regimen so Marc would learn to fight at a distance without relying exclusively on his mystical essence.
It was an arduous day, in true Silas fashion: a display of strength that consumed the entire day. But by then, Marc was so accustomed to that crushing level of effort that he faced it with the resignation and efficiency of a seasoned veteran.
Yesterday, the old man was taking my measure, Marc mused, savoring a sip of wine. He had already warned me that my instruction would last twelve months. I don't know if that exhibition was some kind of final exam, like the ones given at the end of a course, but he didn't say a word about it being our last training session.
Today marked exactly twelve months since his arrival in this world. However, Marc doubted Silas was methodical enough to end the training precisely as the deadline was met. It will likely go on longer. I doubt Silas is fully satisfied with my current level; it's infinitely superior to what it was months ago, but there is still an immense margin for improvement to face what lies ahead.
The last volume resting on his table was a tome on basic alchemy, with a surprisingly practical application in healing objects and... cooking. The text detailed how, by combining alchemical magic with specific ingredients, one could craft everything from complex regenerative potions to specialized medical instruments. Strangely, the manual dedicated an entire section to the alchemical forging of household utensils, ranging from basic cutlery to large-capacity cauldrons.
I suppose I can say goodbye to the fear of running out of pots or losing a fork. I'll be able to make my own, Marc thought with a touch of resigned sarcasm at such unexpected knowledge. However, his pragmatism was quick to take over: Then again, this will be useful on my journey. Knowing how to forge a durable tool on the road can be just as vital as any incantation. I'll take note of this. Marc nodded to himself with solemnity; the future Demon King had just decided that alchemical cutlery was an essential survival skill.
His reading ability was another of the notable improvements from that year. He now processed information with a speed and efficiency that would have put his former self to shame. He took precise notes, distilling the essentials for the future, and that alchemical treatise was no exception. His prowess allowed him to devour the thick volume in just a few hours, while daylight still filtered through the window. He had finally consumed the last manual in his library.
"And here ends my stage as a librarian," Marc muttered, closing the heavy tome with a sharp thud.
The feeling of reading the last page was as gratifying as a victory on the battlefield. The time for books is over. Now it's time to focus entirely, without distractions, on perfecting my magic. The determination in his eyes, reflected in the glint of his wine glass, promised that the next phase of his ascent would be, quite simply, brutal.
But at that precise moment, his thoughts were cut short with brutal violence.
A colossal shadow, which completely swallowed the sunlight filtering through the window, loomed over the exterior. What appeared to be a cyclopean rock, molded into the shape of a fist, smashed through the glass and frame with a deafening roar, lunging at Marc with terrifying speed.
"Huh?" was all Marc managed to utter, disbelief frozen on his face.
The impact hit him with a massive, soul-crushing force. Thanks to his inhuman training, his reflexes were now those of a predator: by a hair's breadth, he had managed to invoke an instantaneous Magic Barrier around his body. The fist, which now revealed itself as part of a massive arm of living stone, razed the cabin in an explosion of splinters and debris, catapulting Marc through the air like a ragdoll. He flew several meters before slamming painfully into the thick tree trunks at the edge of the forest, while his home collapsed behind him.
Pain surged through every fiber of his being. The sudden attack disoriented him for a moment, but his instinct, forged in a thousand hours of crisis, forced him to regain his composure immediately.
He stood up, shaking the dirt and splinters from his robe, and locked his gaze on his aggressor: an immense Rock Golem, taller than the destroyed cabin itself, loomed ominously before him and began to advance in his direction with footsteps that made the ground tremble.
Marc didn't wait. With a fluid motion, he summoned colossal shards of earth and rock that erupted from the ground like projectiles, slamming with brutal force into the Golem's chest. The roar was massive; the creature staggered back, losing its balance until it collapsed with a deafening crunch onto the ruins of the cabin.
"Shit!" Marc barked, watching as the debris was further crushed into dust.
As it rose, the Golem let out a guttural and deafening roar, a vibration so powerful that Marc had to cover his ears as he felt the impact of the sound in his own chest. Suddenly, the giant's stony body began to radiate unbearable heat: fierce tongues of fire erupted from its cracks.
Can it summon Fire Magic? It's a giant and, to top it off, it knows how to use magic, Marc thought with a flash of panic. This has to be a fucking joke!
The flames devoured everything within a radius of several meters, reducing what little remained of the wooden structure to burning ash. Black smoke rose heavily into the sky.
"I think I'm going to have to move. I hope insurance covers this," Marc quipped with bitter sarcasm, trying to blunt the emotional blow. However, the sadness was real; his home, the only sanctuary he had known in this world, had just vanished forever.
Then, Marc's eyes shone with renewed intensity. Stretching out his hands, he summoned a massive body of water that, like an overflowing river, swept away everything in its path. The torrent engulfed the Golem, extinguishing its flames with a dramatic and violent hiss. The current pushed the creature back several meters, but this time the colossus dug its feet into the earth, adopting an immovable defensive stance. The blow failed to topple it. It was adapting to Marc's magic with alarming speed.
"You're one strong son of a bitch, I'll admit that," Marc muttered.
Despite the destruction, a surge of adrenaline and a wild excitement raced through his body. This was the greatest trial he had ever faced. He spotted Silas's artifact a few meters away, snatched it up with a fluid motion, and instantly imbued it with Earth Magic.
He charged head-on at the colossus. The Golem braced itself, waiting for the exact moment to meet him with a soul-crushing punch. As soon as Marc was within reach, the stony fist hissed through the air. But Marc was faster: he swung the sword, projecting bursts of sharpened rock from the blade that struck the creature's chest full force, stalling its advance and forcing it back.
Without giving it a moment to breathe, Marc struck the air again, this time vertically. Massive earth fragments emerged from the ground like fangs, pushing the giant even further back. In a blink, he swapped the weapon's essence to Wind Magic. As he spun the blade, he unleashed small tornadoes that wrapped around the Golem's legs, causing it to lose its footing until it fell onto its back with a seismic thud.
Seizing the momentum, Marc catapulted himself several meters into the sky using an updraft. Mid-flight, he transmuted the weapon once more: the Magma Sword flared to life. He flipped in mid-air, facing downward, and manifested a solid Magic Barrier in the sky to use as a launchpad. Powering his muscles with wind, Marc shot at supersonic speed toward the colossus's chest.
With impeccable skill, he buried the glowing blade up to the hilt into the creature's core. He summoned the primordial flames, and instantly, orange cracks began to snake across the stone body, pulsing like living lava beneath the surface.
The damage was real. The Golem let out a cry of pure agony and, in one last burst of strength, raised a massive hand that struck Marc while he was still trying to extract his weapon. The impact was brutal; Marc was sent flying once more, slamming into the ground several meters away as the air was violently forced from his lungs.
Marc thought he had landed the finishing blow, but reality hit him just as hard as the Golem's fist. He was wrong.
The creature, ignoring the magma-filled cracks pulsing in its chest, began to push itself up with a menacing slowness. As the Golem rose, Marc spotted a glint at the nape of the monster's neck: a brilliant red crystal, embedded deep within the stone plates of its back.
That must be its weak point, Marc analyzed, his mind racing at a frantic speed despite the pain clouding his senses. I just need to be fast enough to get behind it and shatter that core.
The Golem resumed its attack. It lunged forward with surprising celerity for a mass of its size, closing the distance in seconds. Marc, in turn, prepared his decisive move: he intended to slide nimbly between the creature's legs and immediately catapult himself upward to face the crystal.
Enhancing his body once more with Wind Magic, Marc became a kinetic blur. He dove for the gap, but it was as if the Golem had read his mind; the creature crouched with unnatural agility and, with its intact hand, swept the ground, blocking his path and sealing off any escape route.
With no time to think and no room to maneuver, Marc reacted out of pure instinct: he swung his sword in a vertical upward arc, unleashing a slash of pure magma. The incandescent edge split the Golem's stone arm into two symmetrical halves, victoriously carving a path as Marc slid beneath the amputated limb.
Marc braked hard behind the Golem's rear and, without wasting a millisecond, catapulted himself toward its neck. He executed the move with staggering precision and speed; his sword blade was aligned, ready to bury itself in the crystal. But right at the threshold of victory, a forceful and sudden blast of flames erupted directly from the creature's back. Marc reacted instinctively, sheltering behind his Magic Barrier, but the raw, scorching force of the torrent repelled him several meters before he could solidify the strike.
The Golem was already pivoting, turning its massive rock body with an ominous slowness, hiding its weak point once again from Marc's sight and attacks.
"Weren't going to make it that easy for me, huh?" Marc gasped, catching his breath. His voice was an echo of his renewed determination. "But it doesn't matter. I'm ready. Compared to the old man's training, this is a walk in the park."
Marc lunged at the colossus with a fresh and fierce dose of adrenaline, determined to end the fight. The creature responded by sinking its remaining hand into the earth, tearing up massive boulders that it hurled as projectiles. Marc, with feline agility, soared into the air propelled by his magic, gaining the height and angle needed to flank and seek the giant's back.
However, the stone being was not clumsy: it spun with surprising dexterity, predicting Marc's trajectory and shielding the crystal once more.
"I fooled you!" Marc roared, cunning shining fiercely on his face.
With a flawless execution, he repeated his master maneuver: he stopped his advance dead in mid-air using a Magic Barrier, using it as an invisible foothold. Facing downward again, he propelled himself with renewed force in a direct diagonal path toward the Golem's unprotected rear. The core was seconds from his reach.
The creature, now desperate, summoned the blast of flames from its back once more. But Marc was no longer a novice; he had counted on that trick. In a fluid motion, he conjured a burst of Gale-Force Wind, not to attack, but to deflect the stream of fire. The torrent of flames was swept violently aside, sparking harmlessly among the trees and creating a safe passage for his advance.
The blade of the Magma Sword found its target: it plunged with surgical precision into the glowing heart of the red crystal. Immediately, Marc summoned the maximum fury of the artifact's flames, injecting pure fire directly into the weak point.
The effect was immediate and catastrophic. A sharp, piercing wail emanated from the crystal, like the lament of the earth itself. The red rock cracked; fissures expanded rapidly through the gem and branched out across the Golem's entire body. The creature let out one last beastly roar, a sonic agony that made every tree in the forest vibrate. Then, just before disintegrating, the core released a blinding red light—a discharge of pure energy that forced Marc to instinctively shut his eyes.
As it shattered completely, the magic imbued within the crystal exploded, throwing Marc several meters through the air. When he was finally able to open his eyes, the Golem was gone; it had turned into a silent pile of inert rock. Its mission was finally over.
Marc slowly pushed himself up, feeling a wave of jubilation wash over him.
"Ha! That's what you get for messing with me... you stupid ball of rock," he exclaimed with a triumphant grin. "You should've thought twice before attacking the strongest demon in this county... or forest, however you want to put it."
He collapsed back onto the ground, allowing himself a well-earned rest as he caught his breath under the forest sky, surrounded by the debris of his former life.
His newborn sense of jubilation vanished as quickly as smoke. Marc turned around, and the weight of reality hit him full force. Before him lay the smoking remains of the cabin, now reduced to a bed of gray ash and charred beams. The garden—the space he had carefully tended and where he had found a trace of normalcy—had not survived either; the earth was trampled by the Golem's giant footprints and scorched by its fierce flames. It was total destruction, a brutal reminder that his quiet life had ended in an explosion of rock and fire.
That Golem really screwed me over in a thousand ways, Marc thought as he analyzed the situation with cold clarity. Wait... what a coincidence that it showed up exactly when I finished the last book? Right when I no longer had any reason to stay here.
The timing was too perfect, and a dull rage began to boil in his mind. It was definitely that damn God or that bastard Silas! They did it so I wouldn't have a place to crawl into, forcing me to start my journey. Those sons of bitches didn't have to go to this extreme!
His eyes glowed with an intense indigo hue, fueled by fury. He stood up, clenching his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. He was on the verge of marching toward the temple to confront Silas, ready for a slaughter. But he held back. He took a deep breath, channeling the anger toward his core to dissipate it.
Stop, Marc. You'll gain nothing in this state, he scolded himself harshly. I'm far too exhausted to pick a fight with the old man. He'd hand me my ass. The cold reality of the power gap that still separated him from Silas forced him to stifle his rage.
Marc began to walk with slumped shoulders, a solitary figure moving through the devastation. His bearing, once ignited by fury, had transformed into palpable resignation. With methodical movements, he began to scavenge through the smoking debris that had been hurled aside by the Golem's first strike. To his immense relief, his precious notes—the testimony of an entire year of discipline—had been spared from the fire. Everything else was useless: shattered utensils, books reduced to charcoal, and furniture split into a thousand pieces. He packed only the essentials into a small travel bag; the rest he left behind, in that cemetery of wood and ash.
A few steps away, almost unnervingly intact upon the scorched earth, he spotted an apple. It was the sole survivor of the garden and the siege. He picked it up, a flash of vibrant color in the middle of the gray landscape. He was about to bite into it but stopped halfway. After a moment's hesitation, he tucked it into his bag.
He took one last look, heavy with profound melancholy, at what had been his home for a year: a sanctuary of training and knowledge now reduced to somber ashes.
The time to depart had come.
It hadn't been the farewell he dreamed of, but a violent expulsion. Yet, Marc understood: perhaps it would have been much harder for him to decide to start the journey if not for this destruction. It was a brutal push from fate, orchestrated by hidden hands—or deities. He set off resolutely toward the temple, leaving behind, without looking back, the first and only place that had welcomed him in this new world.