The plateau lay silent under a heavy snow, the kind that muffled sound and made the mountains appear as frozen giants watching over the world below. Kaelen stood at the edge of the plateau, surveying his first disciples as they practiced under the fading light. Their movements were sharper now, each strike, each dodge guided not only by instinct but by the lessons of the Demon Manual—and, more importantly, by the fear of failure that Kaelen had instilled.
"Again," Kaelen commanded, his voice low but cutting through the wind. "Every strike, every step, every breath must push you beyond yourself. Do not falter. Do not hesitate. The snow will bury the weak, and the world will forget them."
The boys repeated the drill, faster this time, striking and dodging in perfect, flowing coordination. Kaelen's eyes, black and sharp, followed each motion with precision. He could feel the faint adaptation of their qi channels, the subtle strengthening of their sinews and bones. The Demon Manual was alive in them, just as it was alive in him.
But Kaelen did not notice the faint shadows moving along the distant ridges. Scouts of the unorthodox factions had been observing him for weeks, whispering rumors back to their masters. A single boy, a nameless "demon child" in the north, commanding strength beyond his years and training others in ways that no orthodox or unorthodox master had anticipated.
One scout, a wiry man with ice-gray eyes, finally dared to speak into a horn. "They are not ordinary survivors," he said. "The boy… he fights as though the mountains themselves teach him. This is no simple child. We must report to Master Rihan immediately."
Back on the plateau, Kaelen sensed the faint tremor of foreign qi—not strong enough to threaten him, but enough to trigger caution. He narrowed his eyes. "They're watching," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Good. Let them see. Let them fear. Let them misjudge."
Turning to his disciples, he drew a line in the snow with his spear. "From today, you will be ranked. Rank is not a reward—it is responsibility. You are not just survivors anymore. You are the foundation of the northern Demon Sect. Your rank reflects your strength, your discipline, your capacity to survive and adapt."
He gestured at the first boy, whose movements were fluid but still faltering. "You are now Initiate One. You follow, you observe, and you endure. Every mistake you make will teach you more than victory ever could."
The second boy, slightly stronger and faster, was named Initiate Two. Kaelen's voice carried a weight that made even the wind seem to pause. "You will lead small exercises, correct mistakes, and learn not only to fight but to command. Leadership is forged in blood and frost, just like strength. Remember that."
The ranking system was simple but merciless. Each disciple's performance, adaptability, and willingness to endure hardship determined their place. Kaelen had no interest in coddling anyone. Survival and strength were the only measures.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Kaelen turned his attention to logistics. The northern plateau offered isolation, yes, but survival required more than physical strength. Merchants and traders passing through the northern valleys could be allies—or liabilities. Kaelen planned carefully. He would offer protection to those willing to trade, leverage his growing reputation to negotiate supplies, and, where necessary, use intimidation or force to ensure his sect's needs were met.
"Listen carefully," Kaelen said, gathering the boys around a small fire. "The world outside these mountains is filled with scum. Bandits, unorthodox sects, even merchants… each has their own agenda. You must survive among them, learn from them, and manipulate them when necessary. Strength alone will not build our sect. Strategy and cunning will."
A subtle breeze carried the faintest scent of smoke from the ridges beyond. Kaelen's eyes narrowed. The scouts were close now, closer than ever before. He smiled faintly. "Good," he whispered. "Let them watch. Let them see what the northern Demon Sect can become. One day, their reports will reach their masters… and their masters will tremble."
That night, as the fire burned low and the snow fell in heavy sheets, Kaelen thought of the path ahead. His disciples were small, untested, and fragile—but they were malleable, adaptable, and capable of growth beyond ordinary limits. The Demon Manual had worked wonders for him; now, it would work through them.
And somewhere in the frozen mountains, the first seeds of a sect were taking root—not a sect bound by orthodox dogma or unorthodox corruption, but by survival, by strength, and by the relentless will of a boy who refused to be forgotten.
Kaelen gazed into the shadows of the valley, black eyes reflecting firelight and snow alike. "The world will come for us," he said softly. "Let it. When it does, they will learn that the northern Demon Sect is no longer a rumor. It is reality. And we… will not bow."
The wind howled in answer, as if carrying his vow across the mountains and into the hearts of men too far away to yet understand the storm that was rising.
The northern Demon Sect had survived its first trials, endured its first observation, and begun its first alliances with the outside world. But the continent beyond the mountains was vast, and power, ambition, and corruption were everywhere. Kaelen knew that soon, stronger threats would come—and when they did, only the fully forged disciples of the northern Demon Sect would stand a chance.
And Kaelen, the boy who would one day be called the First Heavenly Demon, smiled quietly, knowing that the future was his to claim.