Path to Dominance in the Demonic Realm

The night had cast its veil over the Valley of Chains, but Zarathos was not asleep like the rest of the slaves.

He lay in the corner of his hut, his exhausted body at rest, but his mind stormed with thoughts.

"I need to understand this place better."

He knew that escape was impossible for now, but he had no plans to run anyway.

"There's no point in escaping if I'm weak. I must learn, understand, and seize every opportunity to grow stronger."

However, he couldn't ask questions openly without raising suspicion, so he had only one option…

To explore on his own.

He lifted his head slightly, peering through the cracks in his wooden hut.

"The guards… how many are there? How do they move?"

During the day, he had observed their routines—how they patrolled in predictable patterns. But at night, things might be different.

"I must be careful."

He rose quietly, his bare feet making no sound as he moved inside the worn-down hut.

He cast a quick glance at the other sleeping slaves. None of them were awake.

Approaching the wooden door, he opened a small gap, trying to see outside.

"No one around… good."

Slowly, he pushed the door open, sticking his head out first to check his surroundings before slipping outside, closing it gently behind him.

He stood still for a moment, his ears attuned to any strange sounds.

"If I get caught now… my weak body might suffer a punishment I won't survive."

Taking a deep breath, he started moving.

---

The Valley of Chains was a different place at night.

The air was cold, thick with the scent of damp earth, sweat, and blood lingering in the atmosphere.

Rows of small huts lined the dirt path, their long shadows forming a maze of darkness.

Zarathos kept his footsteps light, careful not to make a sound.

But he wasn't the only one awake.

From a distance, he saw other slaves moving in silence—some whispering together, others lurking in the shadows as if fearing something unseen.

"So, others take advantage of the night too… but why?"

There was no time to ponder.

He had to keep exploring.

---

He moved cautiously until he neared one of the guard posts.

Crouching behind a worn-out wooden barrel, he peeked out carefully.

There they were.

Five guards, all armed, wearing light armor, engaged in casual conversation.

He focused, listening intently.

"I heard Lord Karon will be visiting the settlement soon."

"Really? Why?"

"Not sure, but he mentioned needing a new batch of slaves for the Shadow Mines."

Zarathos' eyes narrowed.

"Shadow Mines? What is that?"

He had never heard of the term before, but he didn't need to think hard to know it wasn't anything good.

"The slaves who go there never return."

"I heard there's something deep inside… something humans can't face."

One of the guards laughed, but there was unease in his voice.

"If you're scared, why don't you go instead of the slaves?"

"Screw you. I wouldn't go near that place even if they paid me in gold."

"So, even the guards fear these mines…"

That was an interesting piece of information.

But he had no time to dwell on it now. He needed to move forward.

---

After distancing himself from the guards, he noticed a side path between the large rocks.

It was different from the others.

There weren't many footprints on it, and the air felt heavier, as if it carried a secret that wasn't meant to be uncovered.

"A deserted path… or a forbidden one."

He could feel something strange about it. But instead of turning back…

He stepped in.

Moving slowly, his feet sank slightly into the damp soil, the darkness growing thicker with every step.

Then, he began to hear something…

A whisper?

A creak?

Or was the place itself… breathing?

And then… he saw it.

A massive stone door, half-buried in the ground.

It was unnatural. It wasn't just part of the landscape.

"This… might be something important."

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch it.

But suddenly—

"You!"

A sharp voice shattered the darkness behind him.

Zarathos froze.

Slowly, he turned, his dark eyes meeting another pair…

A guard stood there, staring at him in shock and fury.

"How will you get out of this one?"

---

Zarathos remained still, his frail body motionless, while his dark eyes studied the guard standing before him. He was clad in light armor, a short sword hanging from his waist.

The guard was tall, broad-shouldered, his expression a mix of anger and suspicion.

"What are you doing here, you filthy slave?"

The guard's voice was low, yet heavy with menace.

Zarathos didn't rush to respond. Instead, he took a moment to consider his options.

Running? Impossible—his current body wouldn't allow it, and the guard was undoubtedly faster.

Fighting? Also impossible—his strength was only at the first level of the Power Embodiment tier, while the guard was likely at the third or fourth.

Lying?

That was his best option.

He took a slow breath, letting fear appear on his face.

"I… I got lost."

The guard narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.

"Lost? No one comes here. How could you be lost?"

Zarathos swallowed, making his voice tremble.

"I… I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk… and ended up here."

The guard didn't seem fully convinced, but he hadn't drawn his sword yet. That meant he didn't see Zarathos as a real threat.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

He took a step forward. Zarathos forced himself to step back, feigning fear.

"I swear I'm not lying! I won't do it again—just… please don't tell the overseer."

Begging. It was the only thing slaves like him could do, and to the guard, Zarathos was no different.

The guard stared at him for a moment—then suddenly, he laughed.

A cold, mocking laugh.

"Curious slaves like you receive harsh punishment."

Then, without warning, he lifted his foot and kicked him hard in the stomach.

Boom!

Zarathos felt as if an iron hammer had struck his gut.

He collapsed to the ground, pain searing through his body, but he forced himself not to cry out.

"Damn it…!"

His current body was too weak. A strike like this would've been nothing in his past life, but now, it was enough to make him gasp in agony.

The guard stepped closer, his face filled with amusement.

"Slaves should know their place."

He raised his foot again, ready to kick him once more.

But at that moment…

Something strange happened.

Inside his body, Zarathos felt something stir.

Energy.

It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there—a thin thread of power seeping through his veins.

"Can I… use this?"

It was nearly impossible. He was still in the first level. But this body had a special talent.

Maybe, just maybe…

Before the guard's foot connected, Zarathos moved his hand swiftly, channeling the weak energy. He barely managed to block the kick with his fingertips.

Boom!

He didn't stop the strike entirely, but he lessened its force. This time, he didn't collapse.

"What?"

The guard froze for a moment, not expecting a slave to resist at all.

Zarathos, despite the pain, lifted his head—his dark eyes now holding something new.

Not fear.

But something dangerous.

"I can fight… but I won't win."

He knew that.

But his resistance alone was enough to make the guard hesitate.

Zarathos took a slow breath and spoke in a low voice.

"I won't do it again… just let me return to my hut."

The guard scowled but eventually scoffed.

"Go, before I change my mind."

Zarathos didn't need another warning.

As he walked away, his body aching, he smiled to himself.

"This body's talent… is real."