Luca discovered very quickly that Anton's idea of "training" was nothing like what adventurers talked about in taverns.
For one thing, there were no heroic speeches.
"Again," Anton said lazily, sitting on a rock while Luca stood sweating in the clearing. "And this time, don't imagine glowing swords, holy light, or destiny."
"…How am I supposed to not imagine those?" Luca complained. "You're literally describing them."
"That's your problem," Anton replied. "Clear your head."
Luca took a deep breath and focused. A faint golden shimmer appeared around his hands.
"Stop," Anton said immediately.
The light vanished.
"That was like two seconds!" Luca protested.
"And that's two seconds longer than I want," Anton said. "Congratulations. You're improving."
Luca groaned and dropped onto the grass. "Heroes are supposed to be trained by sages and knights, not—"
"—by Demon Lords?" Anton finished. "Trust me, you're getting premium instruction."
From the sidelines, several Demon Goblins watched intently. One whispered to another, "Master is very patient today."
"Yes," the other replied solemnly. "This must be advanced torture."
Anton glanced at them. They immediately looked away.
Training continued throughout the morning, mostly consisting of Anton stopping Luca from doing things rather than encouraging him to do more. Whenever Luca's mana flared even slightly too much, Anton suppressed his presence further, sometimes flicking Luca on the forehead for emphasis.
"Focus," flick."Too dramatic," flick."Stop trying to look cool," flick.
"I'm not trying to look cool!" Luca snapped.
"You absolutely are."
By noon, Luca was exhausted, hungry, and questioning every life choice that had led him here. Anton, on the other hand, looked exactly the same as when they started.
"That's unfair," Luca said weakly. "You haven't even broken a sweat."
"I'm powered by an ancient world-scale system," Anton replied. "You're powered by bread."
As if on cue, a Demon Goblin appeared.
"Master, lunch is ready."
Luca perked up. "Lunch?"
A few minutes later, he sat at the table again, staring at a mountain of food that dwarfed breakfast.
"…Do you feed everyone like this?" Luca asked.
"Yes," Anton said. "Why?"
"…No reason. Just wondering how your goblins aren't extinct from overeating."
"They burn it off by building things and punching trees," Anton replied. "Very healthy lifestyle."
After lunch, Luca noticed something strange. As the Demon Goblins passed Anton, some straightened instinctively, others slowed their steps, and a few seemed to adjust their behavior without being told.
"…They're reacting to you," Luca said. "Even when you're not giving orders."
Anton nodded. "Demon Lord authority. It leaks."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is," Anton said cheerfully.
The afternoon ended with Luca attempting light physical training—actual, normal exercises—which Anton approved of.
"Heroes forget that being strong without magic is useful," Anton said. "Plus, if you punch someone instead of glowing at them, fewer people notice."
"That's… surprisingly practical."
As the sun dipped lower, Luca lay flat on his back, staring at the sky.
"You know," he said quietly, "this is nothing like I imagined meeting a Demon Lord would be."
Anton sat beside him, arms folded. "Disappointed?"
"…A little. I thought you'd be taller."
Anton laughed. "Fair."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while.
Deep within Anton's perception, faint ripples continued to spread. Small, subtle disturbances—nothing alarming yet, but enough to tell him the world was slowly adjusting.
Heroes would come. Forces would move. The cycle would try to correct itself.
But for now, the Demon Lord was teaching a future Hero how to breathe properly.
And somehow, that felt like progress.
****
Anton did not plan to start a kingdom.
It simply… happened.
It began the next morning when he stepped outside the mansion and noticed a line.
A very long line.
Creatures of all shapes and sizes stood awkwardly at the edge of his territory, shifting nervously, whispering among themselves. Wolves with obsidian-black fur, hulking boar-like beasts with tusks like curved blades, lizardmen gripping crude weapons, and even a pair of timid-looking slimes wobbling uncertainly at the back.
Anton blinked.
"…Why is there a queue?"
One of the Demon Goblins hurried over, chest puffed out proudly. "Master, word has spread. The forest knows of you."
"That's not ominous at all."
"They wish to submit," the goblin continued. "Many seek your protection. Others desire strength. A few simply followed instinct."
Anton sighed and rubbed his face. "I leave you guys alone for one night."
Behind him, Luca peeked out from the mansion door, took one look at the gathering, and slowly retreated back inside.
"I'm not dealing with that," he muttered.
Anton approached the line cautiously. The creatures tensed the moment he drew near, pressure rolling off him even though he was deliberately suppressing it.
"Alright," Anton said. "One at a time. No pushing."
The line immediately became perfectly orderly.
"…I didn't mean it like that," Anton murmured.
He knelt beside the first creature—a massive black-furred wolf whose eyes burned with intelligence. When Anton's hand touched its head, the familiar hologram appeared.
[Shadow Wolf]
Strength: 38Agility: 92Vitality: 44Intelligence: 31
Note: Would you like to enslave this creature?
Anton hesitated.
Enslavement had been easy before. Too easy. But now, looking at the wolf's steady gaze, he felt something different—not fear, not desperation, but choice.
"You sure about this?" Anton asked quietly.
The wolf lowered its head.
Anton clicked Yes.
Dark mist enveloped the creature, its body expanding, muscles coiling beneath sleek fur. When the light faded, the Shadow Wolf stood taller than Anton, its presence sharp and commanding. It knelt.
[Shadow Dire Wolf]
Strength: 410Agility: 890Vitality: 470Intelligence: 390
"…Those numbers are getting ridiculous," Anton muttered.
Once the first was done, the rest followed quickly.
Lizardmen became Demon Lizardkin, scales hardening into armor-like plates. Boar beasts transformed into massive war boars that shook the ground when they moved. Even the slimes changed, their translucent bodies crystallizing into oddly dignified Crystal Slimes that bounced politely.
By noon, Anton was tired—not physically, but mentally.
"How many is that now?" he asked.
"A total of 3,846 enslaved creatures, Master," a Demon Goblin replied instantly.
Anton stared into the distance. "I just wanted a quiet place to live."
As if responding to his thoughts, notifications flooded his vision.
[Demon Lord Authority — Expanded]
[Territory Influence Increased]
[Settlement Status: Proto-Demon Domain]
[Recommendation: Establish Governance Structure]
"…No," Anton said.
The system did not listen.
By afternoon, things escalated.
Creatures began organizing themselves. Goblins coordinated with Lizardkin to build sturdier structures. Wolves patrolled the forest perimeter in disciplined rotations. Boar beasts cleared land with terrifying efficiency. Someone—Anton still didn't know who—had erected a sign near the mansion.
Demon Lord's DomainEntry by Permission Only
Anton stared at it for a long time.
Luca eventually stood beside him. "…You know this means you're basically building a kingdom, right?"
Anton didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the bustling settlement, the creatures working together without bloodshed, without chaos. No one was being crushed under his rule. No one was screaming. For the first time since arriving in this world, the land felt… stable.
"…If I'm going to exist," Anton said slowly, "I might as well do it properly."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "That's your justification?"
"I prefer 'reluctant leadership.'"
By evening, Anton found himself sitting on the throne again, not because he wanted to—but because everyone kept asking him what to do.
"Fine," he said, raising a hand. "We're doing this."
Every creature in the hall straightened.
"We build, not conquer. We protect our territory, not expand recklessly. No attacking humans unless absolutely necessary. Trade if possible. Survive first."
The hall was silent.
Then, in perfect unison, thousands of voices answered.
"Yes, Demon Lord!"
Anton slumped back into the throne.
"…I accidentally founded a kingdom," he muttered.
Somewhere far away, the World's Will trembled slightly.
This was not how Demon Lords were supposed to behave.
****
Anton learned very quickly that ruling a growing domain was less about power and more about questions.
So many questions.
"Master, where do we put the new residences?"
"Master, the Shadow Wolves request permission to expand patrol routes."
"Master, the Crystal Slimes have started stacking themselves into a tower. Is that allowed?"
Anton sat on the throne, elbows on his knees, staring at the ceiling.
"…Why is the slime tower a question?"
"It is three stories tall now," the Demon Goblin replied seriously.
Anton closed his eyes. "As long as it's not blocking roads."
"Yes, Master."
The goblin bowed and hurried away.
Anton exhaled slowly. He had enslaved monsters. Built a settlement. Established rules. Somehow, without realizing it, he had crossed the invisible line between survival and governance.
"This is way harder than swimming," he muttered.
Luca stood nearby, holding a wooden tablet covered in scribbled notes. "For what it's worth, you're doing better than most lords."
Anton glanced at him. "You've met other lords?"
"I've heard stories," Luca said. "Usually involves taxes, executions, or wars."
"Good," Anton replied. "We're aiming for zero out of three."
They walked through the settlement together. The changes were astonishing even to Anton. Roads had been leveled. Designated districts were forming naturally—residential zones, storage areas, training grounds. Different species worked together with surprising efficiency, guided less by force and more by instinctive alignment to Anton's authority.
A group of Demon Goblins argued loudly near a half-built structure.
"We should make it taller!"
"It will collapse!"
"It will look impressive!"
Anton stopped beside them. "What is it?"
"A watchtower, Master," one replied. "For defense."
Anton examined it. "Make it stable first. Impressive comes second."
The goblins froze, then nodded enthusiastically. "Wise words!"
Anton walked away before they could carve that into stone.
As they moved deeper into the domain, Anton felt it again—a subtle pressure at the edge of his perception. Something probing. Watching.
"…We're being observed," he said quietly.
Luca stiffened. "By who?"
"Not monsters," Anton replied. "They already made their choice."
He stopped near the forest edge. The trees rustled unnaturally, and moments later, a figure emerged—humanoid, cloaked, cautious.
A scout.
Human.
The man froze when he saw Anton, his hand slowly drifting toward a weapon before stopping entirely. The pressure of Anton's presence made it impossible to ignore the difference between them.
"I won't attack," Anton said calmly. "Neither will my people."
The scout swallowed. "The… forests are changing. Monsters are cooperating. Villages are reporting patrols that don't attack."
Anton nodded. "Sounds about right."
"…The Church is concerned," the scout continued carefully. "They say the Demon Lord has awakened."
Anton tilted his head. "Only concerned?"
"For now."
"That's generous of them."
The scout hesitated, then asked, "What are you planning?"
Anton looked back at his domain—the bustling settlement, the creatures building instead of killing, the strange peace growing where chaos should have been.
"Staying alive," Anton said. "And letting others do the same."
The scout stared at him, clearly struggling to reconcile that answer with everything he'd been taught.
"I'll report this," the man finally said.
Anton nodded. "That's fine."
The scout retreated quickly, disappearing into the trees.
Luca let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "You know this means attention is coming."
Anton smiled faintly. "It was always coming."
As night fell, torches lit the roads of the Demon Lord's Domain. Laughter—actual laughter—echoed among monsters that should never have known peace.
Anton stood at the balcony of the mansion, looking out over it all.
"Alright," he murmured. "If this world insists on cycles…"
His crimson eyes glinted softly.
"…then I'll build something that doesn't fit into one."
****
The first official problem of Anton's "accidental kingdom" arrived three days later.
It did not come with swords or spells.
It came with paperwork.
Anton stared at the bundle of parchment Luca had placed on the table, his expression blank. "Why is it breathing?"
"It's not breathing," Luca said. "That's just… the smell of ink and leather."
Anton poked it cautiously. The parchment did not move.
"…Alright," he said. "Explain. Slowly. Preferably without using words like 'tribute' or 'divine mandate.'"
Luca cleared his throat. "It's a message from a nearby human city-state. The border town of Eltmere."
"Already?" Anton muttered. "I haven't even decided on a flag."
"You have a sign," Luca pointed out.
Anton grimaced. "I did not authorize the sign."
"Still counts."
Anton leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The throne room—throne room, he still hated calling it that—had become a strange hybrid of demonic grandeur and improvised administration. Maps of the forest were pinned to the walls. Crude tables were stacked with reports written in several different scripts, some of which Anton suspected were invented yesterday.
"Alright," Anton said. "What does Eltmere want?"
Luca unfolded the parchment and read aloud.
To the Sovereign Entity Residing Within the Blackwood Forest,
We acknowledge the disturbance in mana flow, the reorganization of monsters, and the establishment of armed patrols within traditionally hostile territory.
The Council of Eltmere requests clarification of intent. Are you hostile? Neutral? Or seeking recognition as a sovereign power?
Failure to respond will be interpreted accordingly.
Luca looked up. "…That last line is a threat."
Anton nodded. "Polite, though."
"That's worse."
Anton exhaled slowly. This was the part he had hoped to delay. Monsters gathering was one thing. Heroes awakening was another. But politics?
"This world really doesn't let you ease into things," he muttered.
A Demon Goblin stepped forward. "Master, should we prepare defenses?"
"No," Anton said immediately. "No mobilizing, no marching, no dramatic displays of power."
The goblin looked confused. "But Master, that is how respect is earned."
Anton shook his head. "That's how wars start."
He stood and walked toward the large map of the surrounding region. Forests, rivers, small settlements marked in careful ink—most of it drawn by Luca and revised by monsters who had never used maps before but somehow understood territory instinctively.
"Eltmere is… here," Anton said, tapping the parchment. "Closest human settlement. Trade routes nearby. If they're reaching out instead of attacking, that means they're uncertain."
"That's good, right?" Luca asked.
"It means they're scared but curious," Anton replied. "Which makes them dangerous if handled poorly."
One of the Shadow Dire Wolves padded silently into the hall, eyes sharp. It lowered its head respectfully.
"Master," it spoke, voice low and resonant. "Human scouts have increased along the eastern treeline. They are careful. They do not cross."
Anton nodded. "Good. That means they're watching, not provoking."
He turned back to Luca. "We respond."
Luca blinked. "You… you're going to write back?"
"Yes."
"…You know how that usually goes, right? Demon Lords don't exactly send letters."
Anton smirked faintly. "Then let's disappoint expectations."
***
The reply was short.
Painfully short.
Anton refused flowery language, threats, or divine proclamations. After several attempts—each discarded when a Demon Goblin suggested adding something like eternal darkness—the final message read:
To the Council of Eltmere,
I acknowledge your concerns. My domain is defensive in nature. I seek stability, not conquest.
Monsters under my authority will not attack human settlements unless provoked.
If you wish dialogue, it will be respected.
—Anton
Luca stared at the signature. "…You signed it with your name."
"Yes."
"Not 'Demon Lord of Calamity' or—"
"No."
"That's either very brave or very stupid."
Anton smiled. "We'll find out."
The messenger—a lizardkin with exceptional speed and zero social anxiety—departed within the hour.
The domain waited.
***
That night, Anton felt it again.
A pull.
Not sharp, not violent—subtle, persistent, like a tide brushing against his awareness.
He stood on the mansion's balcony, staring out at the torch-lit settlement below. The Crystal Slime tower now had lanterns. He pretended not to notice.
"…You're still growing," he murmured, more to himself than anything else.
The Demon Lord Core within him pulsed faintly, steady and restrained. But beyond that—far beyond—something vast shifted.
The World's Will.
It was not angry.
It was… confused.
Cycles depended on predictability. Demon Lords rose, caused devastation, Heroes awakened, the world bled, mana returned. Clean. Brutal. Efficient.
Anton broke none of the rules outright.
And that was the problem.
"Sorry," Anton said quietly. "I don't like being fertilizer."
Behind him, Luca hesitated before stepping onto the balcony. "You feel it too, don't you?"
Anton nodded. "The world paying attention."
"…Does it hate you?"
Anton thought for a moment. "No. I think it doesn't understand me."
"That's worse," Luca said.
"Usually, yeah."
They stood in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of a settlement that should not exist—monsters laughing, tools clanging, patrols changing shifts with discipline that rivaled trained armies.
"…If Eltmere agrees to talk," Luca said slowly, "that changes things. You won't just be a Demon Lord anymore."
Anton glanced at him. "What would I be?"
"A ruler," Luca replied. "One that humans can't ignore."
Anton exhaled. "I was hoping to avoid that."
"Too late," Luca said. "You already care."
Anton didn't deny it.
***
The response arrived the next afternoon.
This time, not by courier—but by person.
A small group approached the edge of the domain under a white banner. Humans. Armed, but weapons lowered. At their center stood a woman in formal attire, her posture rigid with discipline rather than fear.
"She's important," Luca whispered. "I can tell."
Anton nodded. "I know."
He stepped forward, suppressing his presence just enough to keep the air from trembling.
The woman stopped several paces away and bowed, precise and controlled.
"I am Seraphine Valen," she said. "Envoy of the Council of Eltmere."
Anton inclined his head. "Anton."
Her eyes flickered—just for a moment—at the simplicity of it.
"You received our message," she said.
"And you received mine," Anton replied.
"Yes," Seraphine said. "Which is why I'm here instead of an army."
A ripple passed through the watching monsters. Anton raised a hand slightly, and they stilled.
Seraphine noticed.
"…You have remarkable control," she said carefully.
"I have a lot of practice not overdoing things," Anton replied.
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, Seraphine smiled faintly.
"That may be the strangest thing a Demon Lord has ever said."
Anton shrugged. "I'm full of surprises."
The air between them held tension—not hostile, but heavy with possibility.
"Anton," Seraphine said, choosing his name deliberately, "the world believes Demon Lords exist to be destroyed."
Anton met her gaze, crimson eyes calm.
"Then the world will have to update its beliefs."
Somewhere, far beyond forest and city, the World's Will shifted again.
The echo of a broken cycle grew louder.
And for the first time in centuries, the next move did not belong to fate alone.