The first year of human life passed surprisingly quickly. For an ordinary infant, it was a time to babble, fall over, and learn how to hold their head up. For Zenkhald—the former Demon King—it was... pure torture.
He used to be capable of destroying entire cities, but now he couldn't even reach a rattle if it lay just a bit too far away.
But eventually, his infant muscles grew stronger. He could sit, stand, and occasionally walk—a little clumsily, perhaps, but with growing confidence.
One morning, he simply decided, Walking isn't that difficult. And he stood up. Just like that.
He took a few steps across the room... and stopped.
The result was immediate chaos. His mother collapsed into a chair. His father dropped his mug. His sister, Mira, opened her mouth as if she had just witnessed a miracle.
"He's... he's walking!?" Lena whispered in disbelief. "At one year old!?"
"We've had prodigies in our family line, but this..." his father muttered.
Mira, however, proudly declared, "I told you! He's a genius, just like me!"
Zenkhald barely managed to suppress a smirk. A genius? If only you knew what I used to be...
When no one was watching, he practiced magic. Ordinary humans could only sense mana if they were trained mages, and even then, barely. To Zenkhald, the world was painted in millions of magical hues.
Scattered around him were wooden toy animals. One of them—a small bear—particularly caught his eye. He placed his tiny hand on the toy and pushed a single drop of mana from his endless inner ocean into the wood.
The wooden bear trembled. Its carved paws twitched... and it stood up.
It was alive. Animated.
Zenkhald nodded, satisfied. "General Rheim. You will be my first subordinate in this new life."
The bear bowed—or at least, bowed as much as a stiff wooden toy could.
Excellent. Now I have someone to talk to while these humans sleep.
It didn't take long for Zenkhald to decide that flying was far more convenient than crawling. Sometimes, when he was absolutely sure no one was looking, he would use his mana to hover a few inches above the floor, drifting over the carpet like a little dark cloud.
But one day, his luck ran out.
Mira threw the door open without warning. "Little brother, let's play hide-and—"
She froze.
Zenkhald was suspended in mid-air in the center of the room, hovering calmly above the rug as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhh?!" Mira screamed.
With terrifying demonic reflexes, Zenkhald dropped to the floor and casually adjusted his posture so it looked like he was merely sitting.
Too early...
Mira bolted down the hall. "Mooooom! MOM!! He's flying!!"
Zenkhald felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Oh, devil take it...
Lena rushed in, trying to calm her hysterical daughter. "Mira! Stop making things up! He's just a baby! He's only a year old!"
Mira stomped her foot indignantly. "I'm not making it up! I saw it! He WAS IN THE AIR!"
Lena sighed and smiled gently. "You have such a wild imagination, sweetheart."
Zenkhald sat quietly, doing his best to look like an innocent creation of the universe. In the corner, General Rheim—the living bear—stood perfectly still, pretending to be nothing more than a block of carved wood.
Mira narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I'm watching you, little brother..."
Zenkhald averted his gaze. The problem isn't my sister, he realized. The problem is that I'm too used to ultimate power. If I were still a demon, I would have eliminated the witness... But now, she's a child. And she's... my family.
He let out a soft sigh. Fine. I promised myself I would live as a human. I'll just have to hide it better.
He knew humans weren't supposed to be this strong from childhood. If he showed too much, they would start to fear him. Then they would study him. They might even try to destroy him.
I have to be careful. Pretend to be weak. Learn human habits... and wait. > He glanced at General Rheim, who gave a tiny, subtle wave of his wooden paw.
But learning about the human world might actually be... amusing.
Two years passed. His muscles grew stronger, his speech became clear, and his eyes still saw the world as a vibrant map of mana. Zenkhald had mastered walking, running, and the art of playing weak whenever people were around. Only Mira still shot him suspicious glares from time to time, as if trying to remember exactly how he had "flown" when he was one.
The morning was warm and sunny, smelling of fresh bread, cut grass, and something else—something distinctly human and cozy.
His father picked him up and said, "Alright, son, let's go. It's time to show you our world."
Although Zenkhald had seen the mana of trees, people, and animals, he had never truly looked at the world through human eyes. Today, that changed.
As they stepped outside the house, Zenkhald saw the extent of the baron's domain: small fields worked by peasants, a river with crystal-clear water, a village nestled in the valley with neat little houses, a dense but peaceful forest on the horizon, a training ground for the knights, a watchtower, and a modest castle that looked more like a large manor than a fortress.
"All of this is our land," his father said softly. "It's small, but it's ours."
Zenkhald nodded, pretending to be a child simply enjoying the walk. In reality, his vision traced the streams of mana weaving through the earth and air.
These lands... are soaked in calm, pure energy. Astonishing. It's the exact opposite of my old world.
He subtly sent a mental command down a thin thread of mana: General Rheim, scout everything you can.
Tucked away in his pocket, the little wooden bear gave a barely perceptible nod.
As they walked along the path, his father suddenly spoke. "You know, our family... we are hereditary knights." He spoke with pride, but without arrogance. His tone was warm, as if sharing a family secret. "The Helvards have always served the crown. We aren't grand heroes, but we are reliable warriors. My father was a knight, and his father before him. So, son... someday, you will wear the armor too."
Zenkhald nearly scoffed. If only you knew that I was obliterating armies before you were even born...
But aloud, he asked, "Is a knight... like a hero?"
His father laughed. "Sometimes. But usually, a knight is simply someone who protects others."
For some reason, those words struck a chord with Zenkhald. Protects... others? Not for the sake of power? Not for dominance? Strange...
As they neared the stream, his father continued, "When you turn ten, you will go to the Capital. To the Academy of Knights and Mages. You'll study there for five years."
Zenkhald looked up. "That long?"
"Yes. It's tradition. The children of all nobles who wish to serve the crown study there. We may be barons only in title, but the Helvards have always sent their children to learn. It is our duty." He smiled down at him. "It won't be easy... but I want to spend as much time with you as possible before you leave. The years go by so fast..."
Zenkhald lowered his eyes. This man... this simple baron... he spoke so sincerely, so warmly. Like a father. A real father. It was a first in Zenkhald's long, hollow demonic existence.
When they returned home, his mother was already cooking lunch, and Mira was drawing magical circles on the floor, fully convinced they were working. The house was filled with laughter and the smell of baking pastries.
This is... good, Zenkhald thought. It's warm. Peaceful. Nothing like the war, fear, and blood I knew.
From his pocket, General Rheim whispered a report through the mana link: Master, the human world is safe. Atmosphere: high levels of warmth. Danger: none.
Zenkhald couldn't help but smile inwardly.
Suddenly, Mira ran up to him. "Little brother! Look, look! I drew a huge combat spell! It's going to explode right now!"
She proudly presented a crooked, messy drawing. Zenkhald was about to tell her it was just scribbles... when the drawing began to glow. Gray mana surged upward.
With a flick of his finger—so light and swift it was completely invisible—Zenkhald extinguished the gathering energy.
There was no explosion. The spell fizzled out.
Mira blinked in confusion. "Uhh... it didn't work..."
Their father laughed heartily. "You're still too young to cast magic, sweetheart. You need to study first."
Mira puffed out her cheeks. "It's his fault! He messed it up!"
Zenkhald quietly looked away, feigning complete ignorance. If I hadn't stopped it, this house would be missing a roof right now.
That night, lying in bed, he reflected on the day. The human world... is strange. Simple. Warm. And perhaps... it's exactly what I've always been missing.
He clenched his small hand into a fist. I will spend these ten years as a human. And when I turn ten... I will enter the Academy. But not as a demon seeking power. As a human trying to understand this world.
He closed his eyes. But I still need to hide my strength. Humans... wouldn't be able to handle the truth. And he drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of a family he had never expected to find.
By the time Zenkhald turned three, he had accomplished quite a lot.
For a demon, three years was nothing. For a human, it was the age when a child was barely learning to string sentences together. But for Zenkhald, it had been a significant journey: he could walk, talk fluently, think clearly, hide his immense mana pool, and maintain a constant link with General Rheim, who now lived in his room disguised among the other toys.
His father, being a hereditary knight, decided to start his training early. "Son, Helvards learn to hold a sword before they learn to read. But you... you're a smart boy. So we'll do both."
He handed Zenkhald a small wooden sword—or rather, a polished, comfortable stick. "Hold it with both hands. Like this."
Zenkhald, whose very core used to pulsate with the dark magic of the Abyss, calmly gripped the wooden hilt... and accidentally nearly crushed it to splinters.
His father blinked. "Um... careful now. It's light."
Zenkhald loosened his grip. He loosened it a lot. So much so that the sword nearly slipped from his fingers.
His father stared at him. "...Can you just hold it normally? Not 'I'm-going-to-break-it' or 'I'm-barely-touching-it'?"
Watching from the sidelines, Mira snorted. "He's just pretending! He's really strong!"
Zenkhald quickly turned away, pretending not to hear. My sister... is far too observant.
In the evenings, his father would sit beside him and open children's books. "This is the letter 'A'. This is 'B'. Read, son."
Zenkhald, who could have easily penned a complex magical treatise in the ancient demonic tongue, put on his most innocent face. "A... mm... ba?... ba-na-na?"
His father slapped the table in delight. "Brilliant! Reading at three years old!"
Mira sulked, her cheeks puffed out. "When I was three, I already knew four words!"
I was fluent in ancient runes that even the gods have forgotten, Zenkhald thought wryly. But fine, 'ba-na-na' it is.
Soon, the day came when his father took him to the stables. "It's time you learned to sit in a saddle. Master this, and by the time you're ten, you'll be ready for the Academy."
Zenkhald looked up at the massive horse. The mana surrounding the beast was calm and soft; the animal sensed no danger. His father lifted him up and placed him in the saddle in front of him. "Hold on."
The horse began to move. Everything would have been fine, if Mira hadn't suddenly shouted, "Horsey! Little brother! The horsey is going to eat you if you fall!"
The horse spooked and jerked forward. Zenkhald nearly pitched over the horse's neck, but he caught himself, using... just a tiny bit of mana to stabilize his balance.
Just a tiny bit. Barely enough for an ordinary human to notice.
But his father, holding the reins tightly, blinked in surprise. "How... how did you keep your balance so well?"
"I... I just really didn't want to fall," Zenkhald replied innocently.
"He's strong!" Mira chimed in. "He knows how to fly! I saw him!"
"Mira, please, enough..." his father sighed.
Mira, Zenkhald thought, one of these days, you're going to force me to stage a terrible display of physical weakness just to throw them off.
Late that evening, Zenkhald sat in his room while the little animated bear marched proudly across the desk.
"General Rheim."
"Yes, Master?" the bear whispered, executing perfect parade-ground movements.
"You must find out... everything. How long do humans study? How do they train? When do they become strong?"
Rheim nodded gravely. "According to preliminary data: humans are slow, weak, loud, sleep excessively, and eat entirely too much. However, they learn through books and... er... 'schools'."
"Scout the area. We must understand this world."
The General saluted and marched toward the door, his tiny wooden paws clicking against the floorboards. He tried to pull the door open, but merely bumped his wooden forehead against the solid wood.
"Master... the door... is locked..."
Zenkhald gave a quiet snap of his fingers, and the door clicked open a fraction of an inch. The General squeezed through into the hallway, but just as he did...
Mira stepped out of her room, yawning widely. "Little brother? Are you still awake...?"
She stopped dead, staring at the small wooden bear scurrying down the hall.
"MOM!!" she shrieked. "A BEAR!! OUR TOY BEAR IS ALIVE!!"
General Rheim froze. Then, with a frantic clatter, he threw himself onto his side and went completely rigid, playing dead.
Mira leaned down, peering closely at the motionless toy. "Hmm... guess I imagined it..."
Inside his room, Zenkhald buried his face in his hands. General... you are the worst spy in history.
But despite the close calls and the constant need for secrecy, Zenkhald found himself enjoying this strange new reality. His father laughed while teaching them, his mother baked delicious pies, and Mira constantly dragged him into her games. The house was overflowing with warmth.
I like this life, he realized as he climbed into bed. Even if it's difficult to hide my true power... it's far better than an eternity of war.
A faint smile touched his lips as he closed his eyes. But I still need to train. Otherwise, they'll eat me alive at that Academy. > And with that thought, he fell fast asleep.