Born into Weakness
Darkness.
Endless, weightless, soundless darkness.
Anos, the strongest Demon Lord in history, drifted through the abyss of nothingness.
He could not feel his body.
He could not feel mana.
He could not feel pain, pleasure, heat, or cold.
He could only think.
So this is what happens when you die…
There was no blazing battlefield beyond death.
No divine arena.
No final war among fallen kings.
Only emptiness.
I always believed the afterlife would hold even greater battles, he reflected bitterly. It seems I was wrong.
Yet… his lips would have smiled, if he still had lips.
Still, in the end, I received my wish.
He had been defeated.
Not by age.
Not by decay.
But by steel and betrayal.
By his own blood.
I lived by the sword. I died by the sword.
That alone made it acceptable.
Perhaps now I can finally sleep. Eternal rest.
As that thought formed—
Light exploded.
Not gentle.
Not warm.
Violent, blinding, tearing through the abyss like a divine blade.
The darkness shattered.
—
Anos gasped.
Air burned into lungs that had not existed a moment before.
Wooden beams filled his vision.
A ceiling.
A roof.
What—?
He could feel again.
Arms.
Legs.
Heartbeat.
Weight.
He was no longer drifting.
He was lying on something soft.
Cloth.
Straw.
A bed.
Confusion thundered through his reborn mind.
One moment he was dead.
The next moment he existed again.
He tried to rise.
His body refused.
No strength answered his command.
His limbs felt weak, hollow, unfinished.
Frowning internally, he reached for mana.
Nothing.
Then—
No.
Something was there.
Not darkness alone.
Fire.
Water.
Earth.
Wind.
Light.
Darkness.
All six elemental currents flowed faintly around him.
Shock rippled through his mind.
Impossible.
In his past world, mana obeyed strict laws.
Demons commanded darkness.
Elves commanded earth, wind, and water.
Beast-kin used spiritual force.
Dragons relied on raw physical might, born of natural law itself.
Vampires—lesser clans wielded corrupted vitality, while pureblood houses mastered a single element at most.
Only humans could touch all six elements.
And even they did so clumsily.
Yet now, he could sense every stream.
Weakly.
But clearly.
That realization unsettled him more than death.
He lifted his arms.
They were small.
Soft.
Delicate.
This was not the body that shattered mountains.
These were the arms of an infant.
Cold understanding settled over him.
…I've been reborn.
He tried to speak.
Only a weak sound escaped.
His throat could not form words.
His body was unfinished.
Unstable.
'What the hell is happening?!'
Emotion surged unexpectedly—panic, irritation, confusion—too sharp, too fast.
He had never lost control of his mind before.
This body is interfering with my emotions… troublesome.
He forced himself to breathe slowly.
Calm down. I am Anos. Supreme Demon Emperor. I died by my son's hand. I drifted in the abyss. A light appeared. Now I inhabit a human infant.
No matter how absurd it sounded, it was the only explanation that fit.
Is this punishment from the gods?
He had slain millions of humans.
They had attacked first—again and again over centuries—yet history would only remember him as the demon who destroyed humanity.
At first, he defended.
Later, he retaliated.
Finally, he eradicated.
Hypocrites, he thought coldly. They start wars, then cry when they lose.
If reincarnation was inevitable, he would have preferred to return as a dragon.
A race born for war.
A race that understood power without lies.
Humans were fragile, greedy, and short-lived.
He despised their hypocrisy.
Yet now—
Pain twisted in his stomach.
Real pain.
Sharp, urgent, humiliating.
Hunger.
True physical hunger.
Anos, who once fought for weeks without food, now suffered for mere minutes without milk.
His body betrayed him again.
A wail tore from his throat.
He tried to stop it.
He couldn't.
His lungs forced sound out.
Crying.
So this was what it meant to be human.
Weak even against oneself.
Footsteps hurried in.
A woman appeared, long black hair falling over gentle eyes.
She lifted him carefully into her arms.
Warmth surrounded him.
He stared at her face.
She was… beautiful.
Soft, but not fragile.
This woman was likely his mother in this life.
As she held him close, instinct guided her movements.
She lowered part of her dress to feed him.
Milk touched his lips.
His body latched on automatically.
He hated that he could not resist.
Yet the warmth, the nourishment, the closeness—
It was strangely comforting.
He fed in silence.
Afterward, indignity followed.
His body relieved itself without permission.
Crying returned.
Again, unstoppable.
As she cleaned him gently, Anos realized grimly:
Living as a human was irritating.
Living as a human baby was torture.
Sleep claimed him again and again.
He heard voices, blurred and distant.
One word repeated clearly:
"Victor."
So that was his new name.
Victor.
Time lost meaning.
At one point, strong arms lifted him.
A man with a bow and hunting knife smiled foolishly while holding him.
The man kissed both mother and child.
This must be his father—an adventurer or hunter.
As he rested in those arms, something unfamiliar stirred in Anos's chest.
Warmth.
A quiet, steady warmth.
Not fear.
Not reverence.
Not ambition.
Affection.
In his past life, subordinates obeyed him because he was strong.
This was different.
These humans cherished him simply because he existed.
Family.
A concept he had long forgotten.
Hmph…
Perhaps being a human whelp would not be entirely unbearable.
Sleep claimed him once more, beyond his control.
Thus began the second life of Anos Superbia.
Reborn as Victor.
The strongest Demon Lord in history—
Starting again as the weakest of infants.