Aran returned to the academy under the veil of night, slipping through the high stone arches like a phantom. He had successfully acquired the stolen technique, but there was no physical scroll to hide or decipher. The moment his fingers had grazed the ancient text in that distant room, the black book residing deep within his soul had absorbed it, breaking down its profound mysteries into glowing runes of pure knowledge within his mind.
For the next several months, Aran became a ghost within the academy walls. He locked himself inside his secluded cultivation courtyard, severing all contact with the outside world. He ignored the whispers in the halls. He ignored the letters from academy staff. He completely ignored the friends who knocked on his door, their faces painted with shock and confusion at his sudden, absolute isolation.
He had no time for the mundane routines of academy life. He was standing on the precipice of a higher realm, and he needed absolute focus to take the final step.
Inside his darkened chamber, the atmosphere was thick with suffocating pressure. Aran sat cross-legged in the center of the room. Hovering just inches from his chest was a massive, flawless Spirit Stone. It was a treasure of unimaginable value, pulsing with an ocean of pure, untamed worldly energy.
Curled protectively around the perimeter of the room was Arrax. The majestic dragon, Aran's loyal companion, rumbled with a deep, resonant purr that shook the floorboards. Arrax's scales shimmered like dark obsidian in the low light, its intelligent eyes watching Aran with unwavering loyalty.
"It's time, Arrax," Aran whispered, his voice calm but laced with an undeniable edge of anticipation.
The dragon lowered its massive head. With a gentle, precise strike of his aura, Aran drew a mere three drops of glowing, molten-hot blood from Arrax. The dragon's blood floated in the air, radiating a terrifying, primeval heat that threatened to scorch the very air in the room.
Aran closed his eyes and looked inward. Deep within his soul space, the black book opened. Pages flipped rapidly until they stopped on an ancient, forbidden demonic technique—a supreme blood-forging art designed to assimilate the vitality of mythical beasts.
Aran activated the technique. The three drops of Arrax's blood shot forward, sinking directly into Aran's chest.
Instantly, a web of fiery veins erupted across Aran's skin. The pain was astronomical, but Aran's mind was like a tranquil lake. The dragon's blood surged through his system, tearing down his fragile mortal limits and rebuilding his physical body with the terrifying, indestructible resilience of a dragon.
But a vessel, no matter how strong, was useless without energy.
Aran's hands moved, forming a complex series of seals. He activated the stolen technique he had taken from the noble's house. It acted as the ultimate catalyst, creating a flawless bridge between his physical body and his monstrous soul.
With the bridge formed, Aran shattered the large Spirit Stone.
A torrential flood of boundless mana exploded outward, but Aran's newly forged dragon-blood veins acted like an unbreakable dam, absorbing every single drop of the torrential energy.
It was absolute perfection. Everything came together in a flawless symphony of power. The stolen technique provided the pathways; the massive Spirit Stone provided the endless, raw fuel; Arrax's blood forged the indestructible physical vessel; and the black book synchronized it all with his heavenly soul.
Inside his mindscape, the purple fog gathered. Elrich Ryfin Eimir manifested for the final time. The ancient demon looked at the flawless alignment of energies, his red eyes wide with profound reverence.
"You did it," Elrich's voice echoed, devoid of his usual mockery. "Centuries of waiting... and you have created the perfect ascension. You have surpassed the limits of this world, Aran. There is nothing left for me to teach. The legacy is entirely yours."
With a final, respectful nod, Elrich's spirit dissolved into brilliant violet light, completely and permanently merging with Aran. The black book shattered into ethereal fragments, becoming an inseparable part of Aran's very DNA.
A shockwave of supreme, suffocating power erupted from the courtyard, cracking the sky above the academy. Aran opened his eyes. They glowed with the absolute, terrifying authority of the Divine Soul Vision.
He had successfully broken through to the highest realm. He had become the Demon Emperor.
The next morning, the Grand Academy Arena was deafeningly loud. The annual Dueling Tournament was underway, a place where the strongest students fought for glory and the mentors evaluated the future elites of the continent.
The clashes of swords and elemental magic abruptly stopped when the heavy stone doors of the arena swung open.
Aran walked in, Arrax the dragon resting entirely calm and imposing by his side. Aran wore simple, dark robes. He carried no grand weapons, yet the sheer, suffocating weight of his presence brought the entire arena to a standstill.
"Is that... Wilford?" one of his friends gasped from the stands, utterly shocked by the terrifying aura radiating from the boy they thought had gone mad in isolation.
Several arrogant, high-ranking students scoffed at the interruption. Eager to humiliate him, four of the academy's top duelists drew their weapons and charged Aran simultaneously, unleashing their most devastating attacks.
Aran didn't even blink. He didn't draw his sword. He didn't chant a spell.
He simply took a single step forward. A ripple of dark-violet energy, infused with the heavy pressure of a dragon and the boundless depths of the Demon Emperor, washed over the challengers. Their weapons instantly shattered into dust. The four elite students were thrown backward, crashing into the arena walls, completely subdued without Aran ever lifting a finger.
The stadium fell into a stunned, breathless silence.
Realizing the terrifying scale of Aran's power, three of the highest-ranking mentors leaped into the arena. They weren't angry; they were alarmed by an aura that surpassed anything they had ever felt. They moved to suppress him, unleashing their full cultivation.
Aran met their gaze. With a casual wave of his hand, utilizing a fraction of the perfect power he had synthesized, he dispersed their ultimate attacks like smoke in the wind. He forced the mentors to their knees with sheer spiritual pressure alone.
But as the mentors looked up at the young man, their alarm faded into something else. They were astounded. They realized they were not looking at a rogue student; they were witnessing the birth of a supreme being. The mentors bowed their heads, profoundly proud to have even shared the same grounds as a cultivator who had reached the absolute apex. The friends who had doubted him, the peers who had mocked him—they all watched in absolute reverence.
Aran Wilford had conquered the academy without drawing a blade.
It didn't take long for the tales of the Demon Emperor and his dragon to spread across the continent, eventually crashing into the gates of the Carwel nation and the Wilford family mansion.
When the reports arrived detailing Aran's god-like ascension, the capital was shaken to its core.
Deylor Wilford, the patriarch who had treated his own son like trash, sat in his grand study, his hands trembling violently. Reading the accounts of Aran's absolute supremacy, Deylor was consumed by a suffocating, excruciating embarrassment. He had thrown away the greatest existence the world had ever known for a fleeting political favor. He realized, with bitter regret, that the Wilford family could have ruled the world. Instead, he would forever be remembered as the humiliated fool who discarded a god.
In the military headquarters, Mikel, the soldier who had callously suggested using Aran as bait, turned pale as a sheet. He was gripped by profound embarrassment and a terrifying, cold fear. He immediately resigned, too ashamed and terrified to ever hold a sword again.
Captain Xion, the man who had ordered Aran to march to his death, read the reports in absolute silence. The man who had always preached that 'only strength matters' was utterly humiliated. He was deeply embarrassed by his own blindness, knowing he was nothing but an ant compared to the boy he had sent to die.
But amidst the embarrassment of fools, there was a fierce, radiant joy.
In the Wilford courtyard, Fenris Wilford read the news and threw his head back, laughing until tears streamed down his face. His chest swelled with immense, undeniable pride. He had always known his little brother was a genius. He had always known Aran was destined to soar above them all.
Inside the mansion, Ellania, Aran's mother, held the letter to her heart. She wept tears of pure, unadulterated happiness. She was incredibly proud. Her gentle, misunderstood boy had not only survived the cruelty of the world but had reshaped it in his own image.
Back at the academy gates, Aran stood looking out at the vast horizon. Arrax let out a low, content rumble, nudging Aran's hand.
Aran didn't look back at the cheering academy or the astounded mentors. He didn't care about the regrets of his father or the fear of his former captains. The black book was fully integrated into his soul, his body was perfectly forged, and his power was absolute.
He didn't need the academy's protection. He didn't need the Wilford family's wealth. He didn't need anyone's help ever again.
The world was massive, filled with ancient mysteries, hidden realms, and boundless skies waiting to be explored. Aran stepped forward, the wind catching his dark robes. He faced the world with a calm smile, completely free of the worries, the burdens, and the pain of his past.
Life would go on, and it would be brilliant. He was Aran Wilford, the Demon Emperor, and his true journey had just begun.
[THE END]