Edward POV
The words "Class D" echoed in my ears like a curse.
The classroom was dead silent. Then came the whispers. Low, biting murmurs, like rustling leaves in a graveyard.
"Figures…"
"About time they dropped him."
"I heard Class D doesn't even get decent equipment."
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react. I couldn't give them the satisfaction—not Alex, not the others, and definitely not Mr. Ethan. I wasn't just fighting for a grade anymore. I was fighting to prove I belonged.
"You look like you're about to explode."
The demon lord's voice slithered into my mind again, amused.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, but I do," he said. "Being scorned. Underestimated. Laughed at by fools while you carry something far greater than any of them can imagine? Yes, little hero… I know it very well."
I didn't respond. I didn't want to. Because part of me agreed with him.
⸻
The bell rang. Students filed out, some sneaking final insults my way. I stayed behind, pretending to gather my things. Alex passed me, bumping my shoulder hard on purpose.
"Hope you like cleaning toilets in Class D," he sneered.
"Let me break his legs," the demon lord offered casually.
"No."
"A little sprain?"
"No."
He laughed again.
⸻
Later That Day: Training Grounds
I threw my sword into the dirt, panting. My form was off again. The dummy barely had a scratch.
Behind me, I could hear the other students sparring, the sounds of magic blasts and metal clashing. And above it all, the guards… laughing. Always laughing.
"You're holding back," the demon lord said.
"I'm trying," I hissed. "This sword—it doesn't respond to me. My body feels heavy."
"That's because you're training like a human. Let me show you how demons fight."
"You said you couldn't control me."
"I can't. But I can teach you. It's time someone actually did."
I hesitated. Then nodded.
"Focus your mind," he said. "Feel the weight of the blade. The air around you. The pressure beneath your feet. Power isn't just about strength—it's about control, rhythm… timing."
He guided me through the forms again—but faster, more fluid. His advice wasn't mystical; it was technical. Sharp. Efficient.
Hours passed. Sweat soaked through my shirt, but I began to feel… something.
Power.
Not enough. But more than before.
⸻
That Night: Edward's Bedroom
I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted, sore, and starving. A knock came at the door.
Angelina stepped in, holding a tray. Her eyes softened when she saw my state.
"You overdid it again, didn't you?" she said.
"I'm fine," I replied, though my voice cracked a little.
She placed the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed. "You're too hard on yourself. Your parents didn't become legends in a day."
I didn't respond. I wanted to believe her. But deep down, I knew that I didn't have their gift. Not the sword, not the magic.
Only… him.
As if on cue, the demon lord chuckled. "She's right. They didn't become legends in a day. But they weren't being sabotaged by their own teachers either."
"What do you mean?"
"Your Mr. Ethan? He's not just bitter. He's afraid. Of you."
"That makes no sense. I'm the weakest in class."
"And yet… you're the son of the sword hero. The only one who could potentially inherit that cursed sword. If I can see your potential, others can too."
I sat up slowly, pushing the tray aside. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of a growing resolve.
"Then I'll prove them wrong," I said aloud.
"Good," Lord Astaroth replied with a grin in his voice. "Because you're going to need to be stronger than all of them—if you want to survive what's coming."
"What is coming?"
His tone dropped. The amusement faded.
"I'm not the only one who survived, Edward. I'm just the first to wake."