Ferros Manor.
Sunlight kissed its long, echoing halls.
Polished boots clicked sharply against the floors, silver trays clinked with fine porcein, and the scent of roasted vender tea sweetened fresh morning air.
But above all, it was gossip that flowed best through these corridors.
"I can't wait to see Young Master Lucian today!"
One of the younger maids excimed as she tightly hugged her feather duster to her moderate chest with a dreamy sparkle in her eyes.
A guard stationed nearby gave a dry cough and then clicked his tongue.
“Tch.”
He eyed her with visible disgust.
It was ridiculous.
Utterly shameful, even, to be jealous of a five-year-old.
And yet here he was… envious.
Because while the maids fluttered and gushed like he was some second coming of a romantic bard, he — a fully grown, sword-trained man of grit and honor — was barely getting nods. Meanwhile, the Young Master was apparently winking, fttering, and giving all sorts of flowery compliments.
Disgusting.
“He’s not that special…” the guard muttered.
The maid whipped around so fast her frilly cap nearly flew off. She leaned in so close the poor guard actually recoiled as he cnked against the wall behind him.
“Don’t be a fool!”
She scolded, wagging her finger right under his nose.
“Young Master Lucian could speak after birth! After birth! By the time other babies were still gurgling and drooling, he was correcting grammar!”
Excited, one maid fired at the same guard—
“Let's not forget he preferred reading spellbooks and ancient history books — even the really thick ones with over five thousand pages! Most kids his age would’ve gone for picture books instead!”
Another maid csped her hands to her chest to add—
“And he stopped drinking breast milk after a month! A month! Only legendary men of sheer will could reject the bosom of a beautiful woman so early!”
She raised both fists dramatically.
“Lord Ferros is blind! That child is a prodigy in the flesh!”
The other maids nodded vigorously like a cult chorus.
This drove another guard over the edge.
“HEY! Don't act like we don't all know why they stopped breastfeeding him! It wasn't 'willpower,' it was because he kept biting Lady Mirel teats with that evil smirk until her chest swelled up like cursed melons! It's the same reason they had to rotate wet nurses like changing horses in war!”
The room fell quiet.
One of the maids scratched her head, smiled awkwardly.
“… ehhh… still the same thing, right? Ehehe…”
“IT’S NOT!!”
The bald guard shouted, veins popping like fireworks as he hyperventited.
???
Meanwhile—
In the vish inner chambers of House Ferros, the subject of all this chaos and worship sat quietly on his bed, draped in fine nightclothes of silk and runic thread.
Lucian Aleksander Ferros.
Five years old.
And yet he carried more than that on his small shoulders.
His bck hair was a mess, his crimson eyes sharp and discerning beyond his years.
Most called him cute. Some called him gifted.
But only he knew the truth.
He was Malphas.
Demon King of Ruin.
Tyrant of the Five Continents. Destroyer of Empires.
Now?
He was the sixth child and the fourth son of Lord Varrian Ferros, the High Marcher Lord of the Eastern Marches, and Lady Mirel, his second wife.
No one made much fuss when he was born.
By that time, Lord Varrian had seen enough births to stop being excited about them.
Each new child only reminded him of how far his house had fallen, and how none of them had yet done anything to bring it back to glory. What he really needed was a child who could lift the family's name up again — someone exceptional.
He shuffled out of bed and walked to the tall window to stare at the sprawling nds beyond. He csped his hands behind his back and sighed with the weariness of a war-weary minister.
Normally, just my birth alone would've shaken the world and struck fear into the hearts of men. But after reading through old history books—even the newer ones written after the Great Demon War—I've realized something: someone or something has changed the records. Now, the name of the Demon King is listed as Barbatos, and any mention of Malphas has been completely erased.
With a calm look on his face, Lucian pces a hand on his small chin.
I shouldn't let it bother me—after all, I could just pull the sun from the sky or turn the oceans to ash, and people would have no choice but to see me as the true Demon King. But sadly, it doesn't work that way. Not anymore. Not when the name “Demon King Malphas” means nothing to them.
Long before the rise of men, kingdoms, and gods, there were souls. These entities have existed since the first stars gleamed in the dark space of the cosmos.
The soul is not simply a metaphysical part of life.
It is the origin.
Everything stems from it: consciousness, identity, magic, fate, memory, and potential.
The cycle of reincarnation is an ancient mechanism that has always governed the mortal world. Every time a soul descends from the Celestial Sea to take on a new life, it sheds a portion of its cosmic quality.
This process—called Soul Degradation—is the thinning and fading of the soul’s spiritual vitality.
The more a soul reincarnates:
The weaker its foundational essence becomes.
The wider its accumuted memory, experience, and magical capacity grows.
But none of this matters unless the Spiritual Bridge — the link between the soul and the body — stays intact.
Through it—
Past life memories can be accessed.
Ancestral magics and forgotten skills can be reawakened.
Soul-deep instincts and fates can emerge.
If the Bridge is damaged or severed, the vessel becomes cut off from the true potential of the soul.
Sigh~ and that's where I come in…
Lucian didn't possess an ordinary soul.
Certain souls are born from legends.
They are Lore-Bearers — souls so heavily saturated in myth, song, and memory that they leave traces in the annals of time. Heroes, Demon Kings, Sorcerer Emperors, Divine Beasts — these entities leave echoes in the soul-stream.
When these souls reincarnate, their Spiritual Bridges are often reinforced by the collective memory of the world itself.
Their names resonate through generations.
So, their return is fate-bound.
My name has vanished. My legend, erased. My bridge to the Source—severed.
He clenched his fist.
No spiritual link. No magic. No army.
Just a five-year-old in a house where he ranked behind the family hound.
It was unbearable.
Soft hands suddenly rested on his shoulders.
They were gentle and familiar.
“Again…?” he muttered, without turning.
“Does this satisfy the young master?”
Came a teasing voice that sounded like an angel's.
This was Luna Keldros—she was Lucian's guard-maid.
In noble houses, it was common for young lords to be assigned a guard-maid, someone who acted both as a personal maid and as a bodyguard when needed.
Usually, guard-maids were much older than the children they served. Part of their job was to teach their young lords how to read and write, do basic math, learn the family’s history, understand the Code of Banners, and pick up the basics of heraldry and noble manners.
But Lucian's father, Lord Varrian, didn't care much about his youngest son. He only allowed Lady Mirel to choose guard-maids from a group so old they were jokingly called “old cargos” half fossils and barely able to lift a sword.
Still, Lady Mirel wanted only the best for Lucian.
She managed to get Luna, who was just five years older than her son. Luna had been looking after Lucian since he was two years old, and in many ways, she'd been more than just a maid or a guard.
Yes, she's been an annoyance!
Lucian’s eye twitched.
“Unhand me, child…”
He spped the hands away and turned around.
The girl pouted instantly as her tender cheeks puffed like buns in an oven.
She rubbed her hand dramatically.
“You're so mean! I'm older than you, you know! At least call me by my name—Lunaaa…”
Lucian narrowed his eyes.
“Child, you may be older in body, but I have lived through centuries. You are but a leaf dancing in a single season of the long forest I have walked.”
He folded his arms.
“Know your pl—”
Luna was already giggling uncontrolbly.
She spped a hand over her mouth to stifle it, but the damage was done.
KAHAHAHAHAHA—!!
Lucian gred at her like an insulted schor.
“Tch. She always ughs at my speeches.”
He grumbled as he soullessly crawled back onto his bed.
“Children today have no reverence for greatness.”
Seeing his mood, Luna quickly sobered up.
She quietly crept closer like a guilty little kitten and peered over the bed.
“Is the young master… angry?”
Lucian didn’t respond.
She whispered again, softer. “I was just teasing…”
Still nothing.
She puffed her cheeks again.
Then—without warning—she pounced.
“Wah—!”
THUD.
She straddled him as her little skirt fred out and her small butt settled on his belly.
Lucian looked up in shock.
“You—! What do you think you’re—”
“Come ooon, Young Master Lucian~”
She teased, her feather-soft hands now on his chest.
Her face glowed like she was a mischievous imp.
“Won’t you forgive meee~?”
He clicked his tongue. “Shameless child…”
And just then—
SLAM.
The chamber doors burst open.
A deep voice barked, “Young Master, it’s time fo—”
Silence.
Standing at the threshold, eyes wide and mouth agape, was a battle-hardened knight in full ceremonial pte.
His snowy beard bristled with shock.
His eyes locked on the scene — his precious daughter on top of the young master, grinning like a devil.
Luna froze. Her smile shattered.
“FA—!”
Her face turned beet red.
“FA— FATHER!?” she shrieked.
Lucian sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh. Gorvain.”
The old knight dropped his halberd.
“YOU LECHEROUS SPAWN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY INNOCENT DAUGHTERRRR—!!”
Lucian folded his arms behind his head and said ftly—
“She's the one who straddled me. As always.”
“I DID NOTTT!!”
Luna screamed louder than a crying child.
