Path to Dominance in the Demonic Realm

Zarathos lay quietly among the other slaves, but his mind was working relentlessly, observing everything, analyzing every small detail inside the room and beyond. He was not the kind to let himself relax, even in moments that seemed safe. In his previous life, he had learned that the world never gave you a chance to catch your breath—especially if you were weak. And now, in this new body, he was weaker than he had ever been, but he was not helpless.

He moved slowly, pretending to adjust his sleeping position, but in truth, he was searching for any cracks or gaps in the walls—anything that could give him more information about this place. The stone walls were old but solid. There were no openings he could use to spy or even breathe freely if he were locked up here for long. The floor was sturdy, confirming once again that there were no basements or secret passages beneath this room—at least none that he could use.

But the most important thing he noticed was the sound.

The room was silent, except for the breathing of the other slaves and the faint presence of the guards outside the door. Yet, he picked up something else—something more distant.

Footsteps—heavy and deliberate—moving on the floor above. They were not like the light steps of ordinary servants; they were deeper, stronger. Someone was there, someone with authority.

That was expected, of course. The palace belonged to House Belgrade, and it wouldn't make sense for its owners to be absent. But the real question was—what kind of people ran this place?

He tried to listen more closely, but the sounds soon faded, and silence returned to the hall.

He relaxed again, though he did not close his eyes.

It was crucial to stay alert tonight.

After several minutes, he finally heard the sound of a lock turning, followed by the approach of heavy footsteps.

The door creaked open slowly, and a guard stepped in—a massive man with a gray beard and a sword hanging from his waist.

"Get up," he ordered coldly.

The other slaves moved sluggishly, some still trapped in exhaustion and fear. Zarathos rose as well, but carefully, watching the guard with sharp eyes.

"You will be given food, and then you will be informed of what is required of you tomorrow," the guard continued, indifferent to their expressions.

They all followed him out of the room, moving through the long corridors of the palace. Zarathos observed everything around him, memorizing every corner, every path they took. There were many closed doors—some adorned with golden carvings, likely belonging to the ruling family, while others were simple, perhaps meant for the palace servants.

After a few minutes, they reached a large hall where long wooden tables were arranged, holding simple dishes of bread and soup.

The food was modest, but far better than what they had received in the valley.

The slaves sat and ate in silence—some devouring their meals hungrily, as if they hadn't seen food in days, while others were more reserved, perhaps too anxious about what would come next.

Zarathos ate quietly but was more focused on his surroundings. The guards stood at the entrance, watching them in silence. There was no sign of the noble family, which meant this area was designated for servants and slaves alone.

After about twenty minutes, another guard arrived—a younger man but with the same cold expression.

"Tomorrow, you will be moved to the next phase of your journey. You will wake before sunrise and be loaded onto the wagons again. I don't want any trouble. Understood?"

No one replied, but the silence was enough of an answer.

With a simple hand gesture, the guard signaled them to be escorted back to their previous room.

Once the door was shut behind them, most of the slaves lay down immediately, trying to get as much rest as possible before the next day.

But Zarathos did not sleep.

He remained awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his mind working ceaselessly.

There was still too much he didn't understand, but he knew one thing for certain—this journey was not just about transporting a group of slaves to a mine.

Something else was happening here—something much bigger.

And he was determined to uncover it, no matter the cost.

---

Fatigue was not something that could easily affect Zarathos. In his previous life, when he was an emperor, he could stay awake for days without feeling exhaustion, his energy sustaining him even through brutal battles. But now, in this frail body, things were entirely different.

He tried to stay awake, but the more he focused on his thoughts, the heavier his body felt. Weakness was repulsive to him, yet he was forced to endure it now.

Before he could even realize it, his mind drifted toward his past.

My first life... When I was ignorant, I was called Emond.

He remembered his first life—when he had been nothing more than an ordinary young man, powerless, without ambition, unaware of the world's true nature. Back then, he believed that justice and mercy could save him. But he had learned the truth too late—when he had been crushed under the feet of the strong, unable even to resist.

That experience had taught him one thing—the world did not respect the weak.

And in my second life... When I became an emperor, I was called Zarathos.

In that life, he was entirely different. No longer that naive boy—he had become a ruthless warrior, a man without mercy, someone who had defied the world and climbed to the peak of the demonic path.

He suffered, killed, destroyed, and betrayed for power. Nothing was sacred to him except his ultimate goal—dominance, control, to become an undefeated existence.

And yet, despite everything... he had died.

Even as an emperor, even after crushing his enemies, it had not been enough.

And now, in this cursed body with great talent but unbearable weakness... I am called Andrias.

It was almost laughable. In his first life, he had no power. In his second, he had power but lost his life. And now, he had been given a new chance in a body with immense potential—yet too weak to utilize it.

This was the worst scenario he could have imagined.

The path of the demonic arts… is harder than I expected.

He had thought he understood this path fully, but it seemed there was still much to learn.

He closed his eyes for a moment, though he had no intention of sleeping. His mind was still filled with thoughts, plans, calculations.

But what he failed to realize was that his frail body could no longer endure.

And slowly…

His consciousness faded.

His mind still resisted, but his body had finally given in.

Just this once… he would rest.

But when he awakened tomorrow…

His real battle would begin.

To be continued...