Path to Dominance in the Demonic Realm

river, gazing at his new reflection in the water's surface. But he wasn't just looking at his face—he was staring at his weakness, at the frail body he was now trapped in.

"I have no memories of this body."

He didn't know who Adrias was before he had been reincarnated into him. Had he always been a slave? Had he been someone of significance? What had brought him to this place?

But in the end, it didn't matter. Zarathos wasn't someone who lived in the past; he was someone who always moved forward, no matter the circumstances.

Yet, the real problem was clear.

"I'm still at the first level of the Embodiment Tier."

That was the worst part. In his previous life, as Zarathos, he had reached the Emperor Tier—the eleventh tier out of fifteen.

He had been a king, a sovereign, a being feared by all. But in the end, he had died.

Death hadn't surprised him; he had always known that the path he chose was filled with danger. But to return to life in such a weak body? To start from nothing again?

That was true humiliation.

To regain his strength, he would have to climb this path again, step by step, until he reached the top.

He remembered the tiers well—he had spent his entire past life ascending them:

Embodiment Tier – Where he was now, the weakest point on the ladder. His body was still fragile, his energy nearly nonexistent. He was like a newborn child in an unforgiving world.

Energy Coordination Tier – Where true power begins to emerge. At this stage, one gains control over their internal energy and learns to direct it efficiently.

Structural Hardening Tier – The body begins to transform, becoming stronger, more durable, more resistant.

Limitless Horizon Tier – The point where a warrior starts to understand energy on a deeper level, expanding their awareness beyond the physical body.

Celestial Light Tier – Here, the body starts absorbing energy from nature itself, granting power unimaginable to ordinary humans.

Dimensional Crossing Tier – At this stage, a warrior can influence reality itself, transcending physical and spiritual boundaries.

Spirit Union Tier – The point where body and soul achieve complete harmony, unlocking strength beyond comprehension.

Complete Embodiment Tier – The warrior surpasses human limitations entirely, becoming a near-sovereign entity.

Essence Restoration Tier – The stage where true power begins to manifest, as one restores the essence of their existence.

Pseudo-Emperor Tier – The first steps toward absolute greatness, where a warrior starts controlling the world's very laws.

Emperor Tier – Where he once stood. At this level, one becomes a force unto themselves, an entity not easily challenged.

Saint Tier – Where a warrior becomes a legend, a rare and near-mythical existence in the world.

Pseudo-Transcendent Tier – The point where even the world's boundaries begin to fade before their power.

Transcendent Tier – Near the level of a ruler, where a warrior can shape reality through sheer will.

Ruler Tier – The absolute pinnacle, where one becomes an untouchable sovereign, the undisputed master of the world.

But all of that was far from him now.

For now, he had to pass twelve levels just to move to the second tier. Twelve levels might seem small compared to where he had once been, but in reality, they were a terrifying challenge given his current frail body.

"Time is not on my side. I need to grow stronger as quickly as possible."

He looked at his thin hands, feeling the faintest trace of power struggling within his body.

"If I reached the Emperor Tier once, I'll reach it again... and surpass it."

But he had learned his lesson. In his past life, he had been an Emperor—and yet, he had still died.

So this time, he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes.

This time, he wouldn't stop at Emperor.

This time, he would walk the path to the very end.

Until he became a Ruler.

---

Zarathos drifted into sleep despite himself, his frail body giving him no other choice. It wasn't just exhaustion—it was the immense pressure he had felt since opening his eyes in this new body. A mix of physical and mental fatigue, the weight of realizing the struggles ahead.

He slept without dreams, as if sinking into a dark, bottomless abyss. His mind wasn't ready to recall his past life yet; all he felt was emptiness and absolute stillness.

But that stillness didn't last long.

"Wake up, you bastards! Morning has arrived!"

A rough, deep voice, thick with authority and anger, cut through the depths of his sleep like a cold blade. Before Zarathos could fully open his eyes, a heavy boot struck his side, sending him rolling across the ground.

"I said wake up!"

He finally opened his eyes, finding the sky a pale blue, the sun barely beginning to rise over the horizon. The cold morning air seeped into his bare skin, sending an uncomfortable shiver through his body.

Around him, the other slaves were moving sluggishly—some yawning, others groaning from the accumulated aches in their bodies. Sleeping on the hard ground had been anything but comfortable, yet none of them dared to complain.

One of the guards, a massive man with an unkempt beard and dull eyes, stared directly at Zarathos, his gaze holding a hint of suspicion.

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked in a low, warning tone.

Zarathos didn't reply, merely lowering his eyes slightly, avoiding unnecessary trouble. In his current state, it would be foolish to provoke any of the guards.

"Get up quickly! The convoy moves in less than ten minutes!"

Everyone hurried—no one wanted to test the guards' patience further. They all knew the rules here were simple: any complaints, any resistance, any delay... meant immediate punishment.

Zarathos rose slowly, his body still stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. He felt a dull pain in his joints but ignored it—just another reminder of this body's weakness.

He moved with the rest of the slaves, shoved once again into the wooden wagons as they had been the night before. But this time, none of them could sleep again. Everyone was awake, staring around with eyes filled with either fear or resignation.

"How much longer until we reach the end of the journey?" one of the slaves whispered.

"Maybe six more days," another replied, his voice carrying a trace of hope, as if six days would pass quickly.

But Zarathos didn't think so.

Six days meant six nights of hunger, six days of cold, six days of living under the mercy of these cruel guards.

"Six days…" he murmured to himself.

Six days might be enough for him to understand more about his new body, his energy, his current situation. If he didn't begin strengthening himself during this journey, it could be a fatal mistake.

But he knew one thing for certain.

No matter how long or difficult these six days would be, they were only the beginning of a much longer path.

His path to the top.

To be continued...