In a world whose sky had never known light, where the sounds that echoed resembled the groans of restless souls, darkness was something entirely different from what humans understood. It was not merely the absence of light, but a dense, almost tangible presence that seemed to coil around bodies and suffocate breath.
The winds in that world blew slowly, yet they carried no ordinary chill only the scent of burnt iron, ancient blood, and corrupted mana far beyond anything in the upper world, to a degree the human mind could not possibly comprehend.
The sky was neither blue nor completely black, but a fractured gray expanse, as though it were an ancient wall filled with wounds. At times, glowing red cracks ran across it, resembling eyes opened against the void.
As for the ground, it was alive in a terrifying way breathing through its fissures and producing faint crackling sounds whenever something of immense power passed over it.
That was the Demon World.
At the heart of this dark realm rose a colossal black castle, like a mountain carved from the bones of shadow. Its walls devoured light instead of reflecting it, and its towers stretched into the sky like claws seeking to tear apart the very fabric of the universe.
At its grand gate decorated with carvings of fallen kings and wars erased from the memory of time stood dozens of high-ranking demons in perfectly aligned rows. They did not speak. They did not move, except as much as fear allowed.
Their forms varied greatly: some had massive bodies and multiple arms, others bore torn wings, twisted horns, or countless eyes. Yet they all shared one thing anxiety.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet.
It was no natural earthquake, but the echo of footsteps emerging from deep within the castle. The massive stone doors slowly opened, releasing a sound like the world itself creaking in pain.
From within stepped a tall demon of overwhelming presence, his body clad in living black armor as if formed from solidified mana. His eyes burned red like embers, and across his left shoulder stretched an ancient royal mark known only to those who had served the throne directly.
Each step he took caused a faint tremor in the ground, and each breath he exhaled forced weaker demons to lower their heads unconsciously.
He stood at the top of the stairs and looked at those gathered with a gaze that made even silence tremble. Then he spoke, his voice deep and heavy, like an echo emerging from an endless cavern:
"The king… is dead."
The moment he uttered those words, silence fell once again but this time, it was not the silence of anticipation, but of shock. Some demons stared at each other in disbelief, while others lowered their heads, as though they had always known this day would come but had never wished to witness it.
In the distance, from the far end of the courtyard, a creature let out a sudden scream before vanishing, as if the world itself had reacted to the news.
One of the demons from the back rows spoke in a trembling voice:"This… is impossible. King Lovir cannot die. He fought wars against the upper world and survived. He crushed internal rebellions and broke ancient pacts. How…?"
The demon standing at the top of the stairs turned toward him slowly and replied with merciless coldness:"Death does not distinguish between king and servant. Even thrones turn to ash when their time comes."
Then he continued in a stricter tone:"But the king's death is not the only disaster. The true catastrophe is that the pact he forged with the upper world and the balance between the realms will not last long if his rightful heir is not crowned. If that pact collapses, the restraints between the two worlds will shatter, and war will begin once again. And when it begins… nothing will stop it."
Murmurs spread among the demons, and the looks of fear shifted into even deeper tension. They knew what that meant. It was not merely about rulership it was about the survival of the entire system. And if order collapsed in the Demon World, the flames would not remain confined to it alone.
While those words fell upon them like hammer blows…
In another world, beneath a completely different sky, a boy stood before a black flicker he could not understand.
In the forest near the church, Asta stared at that dark shimmer which had appeared among the trees, as though darkness itself had opened and revealed an eye watching him. It was not large, yet it was terrifying in a way Asta could not explain.
It did not resemble any magic he had ever seen neither fire, nor mist, nor any magical energy he had ever felt from others. It was something cold, deep, suggesting darkness more than power, yet it carried a strange pull that made Asta, despite his fear, slowly step forward.
He swallowed, then spoke, trying to keep his voice steady:"Who are you? Are you the one who was talking to me?"
No immediate answer came. The flicker continued to move slightly, like smoke suspended in the air, then began to retreat into the shadows.
A sudden panic gripped Asta, as if the one answer that could change his life was about to slip away. He stepped forward again, raising his hand toward it.
"Wait! Don't disappear! Just tell me… what are you? Are you magic? A spirit? A demon? What do you want from me?"
For a moment, the flicker stopped.
Then it shrank slightly, as if something within it smiled. A familiar voice reached him—the same voice he had heard inside himself before calm and cold:
"Don't worry… it's only a matter of time before I return to you."
And then… it vanished.
It did not explode, nor did it slowly fade away. It vanished the way a thought is extinguished inside the mind, leaving Asta standing alone among the trees, his hand still stretched out into the air. For a few seconds, he remained unable to move, then slowly lowered his arm. His heart was pounding wildly not only from fear, but from the feeling that something far beyond his understanding had touched his life and left behind a mark that would never fade.
He muttered hoarsely to himself, "What the hell was that?" Then he stared at the spot where the flicker had disappeared, as if his eyes alone could force it to return. "Am I losing my mind… or is there really something living inside me?"
But the forest gave him no answer. All he could hear was the wind rustling the branches and his own heavy breathing.
When he returned to the church that night, he appeared to everyone as nothing more than a boy exhausted from training. But inside, he was no longer the same. From that day on, Asta began living in a silent conflict between what people saw in him and what he himself began to feel deep within. He heard the mockery from here and there, watched Yuno grow more in tune with mana and with the mysterious necklace he carried, and in contrast, he felt that something was sleeping inside him something unlike mana, yet silently watching.
Months passed. Then years.
Asta and Yuno grew up together inside the church, helping Father Orsi and Sister Lily with daily tasks. But the difference between them became more and more apparent as they approached the age of receiving their grimoires.
Yuno became calmer than before, yet also more distant from others. He was not openly arrogant, but power had begun to give him that quiet sense of superiority. He trained constantly, and mana responded to him with unnatural ease, to the point that the villagers already saw him as a future Magic Knight.
Asta, on the other hand, ran, trained, lifted rocks, struck tree trunks, fell, got back up, and fell again. He possessed no magic, but he treated his body as if it were his only weapon in a world that recognized nothing but magic.
And on nights when he collapsed from exhaustion, he would sometimes hear that voice again. Not always, and never completely clear, but it returned in brief words:"You're close.""Not yet.""Don't forget who you are."
At first, Asta tried to convince himself it was nothing more than hallucinations caused by fatigue. But over time, he stopped denying it. He no longer knew whether he feared the voice… or awaited it.
When he and Yuno finally reached the age when youths received their grimoires, it felt as though the entire village was celebrating a festival. From early morning, the church was filled with activity. Young children ran around excitedly, Sister Lily arranged everyone's clothes, and Father Orsi pretended to remain calm, though he was just as excited as the rest.
As for the villagers, it was clear that most of them were waiting for one thing: to see which grimoire Yuno would receive.
Sister Lily stood at the wooden church door, looking at the two boys with a warm, proud expression. Yuno stood as usual calm, neatly dressed, his blue necklace resting on his chest, his eyes carrying a coolness that hid a deep ambition.
Asta, meanwhile, moved around restlessly with explosive energy, as if trying to escape his tension through movement and chatter.
"Hurry up!" Asta said, clapping his hands. "Why are we moving so slowly? Today's the day each of us discovers our true destiny! I'm sure my grimoire will be something the whole kingdom has never seen!"
Some of the children burst into laughter, and the villagers exchanged mocking glances. Even Father Orsi sighed while shaking his head, while Sister Lily covered her mouth to hide a small smile. Not all the laughter was kind some still saw Asta's words as nothing more than the arrogance of a child who didn't know his place.
One of the villagers said sarcastically, "You're still dreaming about a grimoire? I thought you would've learned after all these years."
But Asta turned quickly and replied with fiery determination, "I will never learn to give up! As long as I'm breathing, I'll wait for my grimoire. I'll even take it from the sky itself if I have to!"
Laughter returned, but Yuno simply watched him in silence. After a moment, he said calmly, "You talk too much, as usual, Asta."
Asta smiled challengingly. "And you're too quiet, as usual. Don't forget today isn't just your day."
Yuno replied without changing his expression, "We'll see."
Everyone then headed toward the grimoire tower a structure at the edge of the village, surrounded by stone pillars carved with mysterious symbols from a time older than the village itself. It was known as the "Grimoire Library," but it was no ordinary place. It was almost sacred. People said that every book there waited for its owner from the moment of their birth, and when the time came, it would respond to the one whose soul, mana, and destiny matched it.
When the youths entered the grand hall, each of them felt a different kind of awe. The walls stretched from floor to ceiling with endless shelves, filled with thousands of books of varying sizes, colors, and engravings. Some glowed faintly, others seemed dormant, and some radiated an aura that made it feel as though something alive resided within them.
The colors of the covers varied, and the villagers had long associated color with the strength and rarity of a grimoire. Among them, green was known as the rarest and most prestigious—seen as a sign of immense power and extraordinary destiny.
The youths took their places, and the grimoires began to respond one by one. A book moved from its place and flew toward its owner, then another, then another, until the hall was filled with the sound of fluttering pages and astonished voices. Some shouted with joy as their book landed in their hands, while others bowed slightly as they felt the powerful aura emanating from theirs.
Asta, however, didn't wait long.
He stepped into the center of the hall, sat down dramatically, raised his hands into the air, and shouted loudly, drawing everyone's attention:
"Come on, my book! I'm here! I've been waiting for you for so long! Come down now and let's amaze them all!"
For a few seconds… nothing happened.
Then the laughter began.
"Get up from there, idiot," one of the youths said, nudging his friend. "Let the books work normally."
"Even the books don't want to hear you shouting," another added.
But before the wave of mockery could fully rise… something unexpected happened.
The air in the hall suddenly changed.
At first, it was just a faint vibration among the tall shelves. Then dozens of books then hundreds began to tremble all at once. Silence fell instantly. All eyes turned upward at the same moment, and fear began creeping into their faces.
Nearly all the grimoires fluttered at once, launching from their places and circling above Asta in a vast, majestic formation.
The scene was both terrifying and surreal thousands of pages moving, wings of paper, engravings, and mana spiraling into a great vortex above the head of a boy who possessed no magic.
Sister Lily's eyes widened to their limit, and Father Orsi stepped back, muttering a short prayer without realizing it.
As for Asta, he slowly raised his head toward the swirling books, feeling something, for the first time, rising from deep within him. A faint black flicker began to seep from his body not strong enough to fill the hall, but enough to make some grimoires tremble as if they feared it.
One of the youths whispered shakily, "W… what is that?"
Then, just as suddenly as the vortex had begun, it stopped. In the blink of an eye, all the books scattered away from Asta, each returning to its rightful place or owner, as if something had ordered them to retreat.
Only a heavy silence remained… terrified gazes… and two who had yet to receive anything:
Yuno… and Asta.
One of the villagers near the door spoke in a choked voice, "Are… are you both without a grimoire?"
But the question was never finished.
Outside, the sky suddenly exploded with a deafening thunderclap. The stone windows shook, dust fell from the ceiling, and the air itself seemed to split open as if struck by lightning from beyond the world.
In a flash, a glowing green grimoire shot down from the upper shelves like lightning and slammed powerfully into Yuno's hands.
Shock filled the entire hall.
The green cover was not merely a beautiful color; it was so rare that many would never see it in their entire lives. The book gleamed in Yuno's hands, radiating a majestic aura that made some of the youths lower their heads unconsciously. At that very moment, Yuno's blue necklace began to react to the grimoire. The symbol of the crescent and stars lit up with an electric blue glow, drawing even more astonished gazes toward it.
One of the villagers gasped, "A green grimoire… and the necklace is reacting to it?"
Another said with excitement bordering on madness, "This is no ordinary talented child. This is destiny. Proof that he was born to become a great Magic Knight!"
As for Yuno, he continued staring at the book in his hands as if feeling a power he had never imagined before. His fingers moved slowly across its cover, then he said in a low but tense voice, "What is this feeling…? It's as if the book… knows me."
Father Orsi smiled despite the shock, and Sister Lily felt tears glisten in her eyes from joy. Even the younger children jumped around, clapping and cheering his name. For a brief moment, the scene felt like a coronation, not merely the receiving of a grimoire.
But in the midst of all that glory… Asta remained standing in the same place.
No book.No light.No applause.
Gradually, eyes began to shift away from Yuno and turn toward him again. This time, they held not only surprise, but also pity and, for some, mockery.
Yuno gripped his grimoire firmly, then turned to Asta and, for the first time, spoke with a sharper tone than people were used to hearing from him:
"And you? Where's your book… loser?"
There was something in his voice that broke Asta's heart more than the villagers' laughter ever could. Asta stared at him for a few seconds, as if he couldn't believe those words had come from Yuno himself. His expression lowered, but he refused to collapse in front of them.
He said with a trembling voice, filled with anger and frustration, "Not yet… it's not over yet…"
He stepped forward toward the center of the hall, his eyes still searching the shelves as if looking for his missing grimoire. "I… I won't give up. There's still time. My book will come."
But the silence was merciless. Nothing moved.
Then, without another word, Asta turned and left the grimoire tower with quick steps. He didn't look back, even though he heard laughter, whispers, and Sister Lily calling out for him to wait. He knew that if he stopped, he would break in front of them.
So he ran… and ran… until he was far from the building, the crowd, the eyes everything that reminded him that once again, the world had chosen to place him in the shadows.
At the same time, in the Demon World, the news had turned into an open crisis.
The massive demon who had announced the king's death was none other than Lovir the commander closest to the throne and the guardian who had once sworn to preserve order even if the entire underworld burned. He stood in the courtyard, explaining to the demons the necessity of finding the rightful heir when suddenly, a streak of black-purple energy tore through the air.
Most did not see where the attack came from, but they saw it strike Lovir directly in the chest, sending him flying dozens of meters backward until he slammed into a massive pillar, shattering part of the living armor covering his chest.
Gasps of horror rose, and some demons instinctively stepped back.
Lovir rose with difficulty, wiping dark blood from the side of his mouth, then lifted his head toward the direction the attack had come from.
Another demon stood there slightly slimmer, but with a presence far more sinister than size could measure. Long horns curved backward from his head, and a cold smile spread across his face like someone who had waited a thousand years for this moment. His eyes gleamed with deadly intent, and a black cloak formed from mana flowed behind him, constantly forming and dissolving as if shadow itself served him.
Lovir clenched his teeth. "I knew it… I knew you would betray the king at the first opportunity, you dishonorable traitor… Vasilius."
The demon named Vasilius let out a soft, chilling laugh, then spread his arms as if welcoming a throne he had awaited since the beginning of time.
"Betrayal? No, Lovir. Don't use the words of the defeated to describe the victory of the victorious. I betrayed no one. I simply did what should have been done long ago."
Lovir's eyes widened. "Where is the heir?"
Vasilius tilted his head slightly, his smile widening. "Ah… the heir? You mean that pitiful child everyone believed would one day sit on the throne? Unfortunately… I killed him before coming here."
Shock spread instantly.
Even the air seemed to freeze for a moment. Then a wave of terror swept through the demons, and no one needed an explanation to understand what it meant. If the heir was dead, and the king was dead, then the legitimate line of rule had been broken and with it, everything became permissible.
Lovir shouted as he tried to stand fully, "You're insane! If the pact between the worlds breaks "
But Vasilius cut him off with a gesture. The ground beneath Lovir exploded, and a wave of black mana swallowed him before he collapsed once more to his knees.
Then Vasilius spoke, his voice now cold as a blade:
"The pact? I don't believe in pacts. That weak agreement has bound our world for a thousand years. It forced us to live in the shadows while the upper world grew stronger. It's time for the waiting to end."
He looked at the other demons and saw fear and hesitation in their eyes. He smiled, knowing the moment now belonged to him.
"Listen carefully. From this moment on, I am king. And whoever refuses… step forward."
No one moved.
At first, silence filled the space. Then one demon knelt… followed by another… then another… until the entire crowd bowed before him. It was not respect it was submission.
They all knew that power was the first and final law of their world, and Vasilius had proven in mere moments that he was the strongest—and the most willing to shed blood.
He lifted his chin proudly and said, his voice filled with exhilaration:
"Finally… finally, the era I have waited a thousand years for begins."
Meanwhile, in the forest, far from all of that…
Asta was running once again toward his usual place the place he always returned to when the world betrayed him. But this time, he was not running to train… he was running to escape a pain he did not know how to carry.
He reached the small clearing between the trees, then suddenly stopped, bending over as he gasped for breath. His eyes were filled with tears not because he was weak, but because this wound was deeper than something he could face with shouting alone.
He raised his head toward the sky and cried out, his voice breaking:
"Why?! Why is it always me?!"
He slammed his fist into the ground, cracking the soil beneath it.
"Yuno got everything… everyone is cheering for him… even he looked at me like I was nothing!"
He shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth so hard it nearly drew blood.
"I'm tired. I'm tired of chasing something that doesn't want me. I'm tired of being the one everyone laughs at. If I have no magic… then just say it! If I have no destiny… then say it!"
Silence fell for a moment.
Then… the wind came.
The forest suddenly grew cold, and the shadows began to move unnaturally. Asta slowly lifted his head his heart already knowing, before his mind did, what was about to happen.
And the voice returned.
This time, it was clearer than ever closer, as if it were whispering directly into his ear.
"Finally… you've stopped asking the world."
Asta froze, then whispered, "You…"
"Yes. I'm here."
His eyes widened as he turned around, searching. He saw nothing, yet the presence was stronger than ever before.
"Who are you? And why are you following me?"
The voice let out a soft chuckle, then said, "Because you opened the door… even if only a little."
"What door?"
"The door… to truth."
Before Asta could respond, the air in front of him began to distort. Thin black cracks appeared in the empty space, slowly widening. From within them emerged that same black flicker he had seen years ago but this time, it was larger, deeper, and far more present.
An aura poured out of it, making the nearby trees tremble, as if all the mana in the area was retreating away from it.
The voice spoke again:
"The world told you that you are empty. But the world… understands only mana. And what it does not understand… it fears."
Asta felt his breath mix with fear, curiosity, and anger.
"Do you have the answer?"
"I don't just have the answer… I am part of it."
Far away, deep within the black throne hall of the Demon World, Vasilius suddenly closed his eyes, as if he had sensed a vibration no one else could feel.
He opened them slowly and for the first time, something appeared on his face that resembled shock… mixed with savage joy.
He whispered to himself,
"Impossible…"
Then his smile slowly widened.
"So… not all of the royal blood is gone."
His gaze shifted toward the distant horizon beyond the boundaries of his world.
"I've found him."
Back in the forest…
Right in front of Asta, the ground began to crack beneath his feet, while the black flicker intensified more and more
As if something ancient…
Was finally preparing to awaken from its long slumber.
What did you enjoy most in this chapter the mystery, the dialogue, or the pacing?