The night before his engagement to Alice, Valen found himself standing in an endless white expanse. There was no sky, no ground—only an infinite stretch of pale nothingness. Yet, at the center of it all sat a throne. Upon it rested a figure, shining so brilliantly that his features were impossible to discern.

  Valen took a step forward and asked, "Who are you?"

  The figure's presence was overwhelming. He calmly replied, "I am Azael Crimsonstar, the Second Heavenly Demon."

  Valen's eyes widened slightly before he lowered his head in respect, offering a slight bow. "It's my honor to meet the progenitor of the Crimson Sun Cult."

  Even as he spoke, he tried to pierce through the radiance, to glimpse the face behind the light—but it was futile. Azael's form remained obscured.

  Azael snorted, "You hold your head too high. Kneel."

  Before Valen could react, a crushing force descended upon him. The weight of it bore down like an unseen hand, commanding submission. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as the invisible force pressed against his shoulders, his spine, demanding he kneel.

  Azael's voice carried a note of disdain. "Tyras must have filled your head with useless thoughts—things like 'we are equal.' wake up. Your level is far too low to stand as our equal."

  Valen gritted his teeth, refusing to be humiliated like this. The weight of Azael’s presence pressed down on him, but he held firm. His voice remained calm. "Even if you're stronger than me, you can't embarrass me like this. I doubt you came to me without a reason. You want something, don’t you? Is this really the attitude to have when asking for a favor?"

  The pressure intensified, crushing down with even greater force, but Valen endured. His muscles burned, his vision blurred at the edges, but he refused to kneel.

  Then, Azael chuckled. "You’ve got guts. At the very least, you’ll need that if you want to be a Heavenly Demon."

  Just like that, the weight lifted. Valen inhaled sharply, his lungs finally free to take a full breath. He steadied himself, shoulders still tense, as Azael allowed him a brief moment of reprieve.

  "Do you know why I created another seed of the Heavenly Demon class?" Azael asked.

  Valen straightened. "Why?"

  Azael’s voice was calm, yet there was something ominous in his words. "To nurture another equal—to slay Tyras."

  Shock ran through Valen like a lightning strike. His mind reeled at the revelation. He forced himself to meet the blinding figure’s gaze—or at least where his eyes should have been.

  "Why do you want to kill the First?"

  Azael replied, "Tyras isn’t the person you think he is."

  Valen frowned. Tyras was majestic, powerful, and charismatic. Those were the images he had in his mind. A being who commanded respect, one whose mere presence could shake the heavens. Valen had a good impression of him.

  "What do you mean?" Valen asked, his tone wary.

  Azael didn’t answer directly. Instead, he posed a question of his own. "Tell me, what do you know about the First Demon?"

  Valen’s brows furrowed as he recalled the stories he had read. "The First Demon… He was terrifying. Wherever he went, destruction followed. Kingdoms fell, civilizations crumbled. He was a force of ruin, feared by all."

  Azael let out a quiet hum before telling the story about the first demon. "There is some truth in those stories. The First Demon was indeed feared, his name spoken in terror, but there is one thing people get wrong."

  Valen listened closely, his mind piecing together the implications.

  "The First Demon wasn’t some monstrous abomination, nor a mindless beast of destruction," Azael continued. "He had a beautiful appearance, a figure that radiated power and charm. He carried himself with dignity, and his words could sway even the strongest of minds. To most, he seemed upright—honorable, even. Behind that mask, he was manipulative and cruel."

  Valen's expression hardened.

  "He didn’t just want destruction," Azael went on. "He wanted to erase everything—Celestial Realm, Mortal Realm, Netherworld. It didn’t matter to him. He sought to bring an end to all existence, to reduce everything to nothingness."

  Valen clenched his fists.

  "The celestials couldn’t ignore him. They had no choice but to work together to kill him."

  A heavy silence followed before Valen finally spoke. "And what does that have to do with the First?"

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Azael’s voice dropped lower. "There’s a secret I uncovered. One I shared only with the strongest demons and the celestials." He paused, letting the silence stretch before he spoke again.

  "The First Demon didn’t die."

  Valen’s breath caught.

  "He reincarnated," Azael continued. "As Tyras."

  Valen stiffened. His mind reeled, grasping at the implications.

  "His purpose hasn’t changed," Azael went on. "He still seeks to destroy everything. The realms, the balance, existence itself. I might be cruel, but even I don’t wish for complete annihilation."

  The air around them felt heavier.

  "But Tyras… he’s a problem." Azael’s voice carried a hint of frustration. "Right now, he isn’t as powerful as before, but it’s only a matter of time before he surpasses even the strongest celestial."

  Valen narrowed his eyes. "Then why not kill him now?"

  "Because nothing can truly kill him," Azael said. "Not in the way you’d hope. He did something to the Netherworld, so that even the celestials couldn't enter it. There's also a condition to kill him."

  A moment passed before Valen finally asked, "What’s the condition?"

  Azael exhaled slowly. "Tyras divided his soul into seven pieces."

  Valen’s eyes sharpened. This didn't seem like just some common forbidden technique.

  "This isn’t like the Doppelg?nger’s forbidden technique," Azael continued. "What he used is something far more dangerous—phylactery creation."

  Valen felt a chill run down his spine.

  "He embedded fragments of his soul into seven artifacts, each scattered across the world. As long as those phylacteries exist, he cannot be truly killed. Destroying his body would mean nothing—he would always return."

  Valen clenched his fists. "Then we have to find them first."

  Azael nodded. "And that’s not all. Tyras didn’t stop at just himself. He did the same thing to the Netherworld’s Heart."

  Valen’s breath hitched.

  "He sealed it away," Azael said, his tone dark. "Then he created seven keys, each one necessary to open the gate to the Netherworld. Until those keys are gathered and the gate is opened, no ascended-class individual can enter or leave the Netherworld."

  Valen felt the weight of the task settling onto his shoulders. "So before we can even think of killing Tyras, we need to destroy his phylacteries and unseal the Netherworld’s Heart."

  Azael’s voice was firm. "Exactly."

  Valen exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his voice. "I’m only an expert-class. What could I possibly do to help?"

  Azael remained unmoved. "The locations of the Netherworld Keys and the phylacteries are unknown… except for one."

  Valen’s eyes narrowed.

  "It lies on a special island, one that only elite-class individuals can set foot on," Azael continued. "The island appears once every century. The next opening is in three years."

  Valen’s breath steadied as he listened.

  "That’s why, Valen Valehn," Azael’s voice grew heavier with expectation. "If you want to be acknowledged as a Heavenly Demon, reach elite-class within three years and uncover the clue hidden on that island."

  The weight of the challenge pressed down on him, but Valen didn't waver.

  "You have the Heavenly Demon class," Azael added. "Among your peers, there should be no equal."

  Valen’s hesitation vanished. He met Azael’s unseen gaze and spoke with certainty. "I will do it."

  Azael nodded, pleased. "Good."

  A strange shift in the air followed, as if the very space around them responded to Azael’s will. Then, he declared, "From this moment on, I shall be your patron."

  A system message flickered before Valen’s eyes, its words imprinting themselves into his mind. His breath caught as he read it. "This is..."

  "You are unmatched among your peers," Azael said, his tone carrying a warning. "But Tyras is cunning. He will find ways to trouble you. That gift is one of my personal abilities. You may use it only once, and only when you are in true danger."

  Valen clenched his fists, then bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Lord Second."

  Azael gave a slow nod. "I expect great things from you, Valen. Become an elite-class in three years. I have no doubt you can do it."

  ---

  [Conquest Sword Art: First Form – Impose] was Arayn’s strongest attack, the pinnacle of his swordsmanship. It was the first time he had used it in an actual battle, and it was so difficult to unleash.

  To execute it, he had to channel a massive amount of energy into his blade, forcing him to remain motionless—a fatal opening against a foe. The sheer concentration required to compress and stabilize the power made the technique impractical in a fast-paced fight. However, once unleashed, it carried enough force to overpower even Valen’s strongest attack.

  Yet… Valen still stood.

  Even after taking the full brunt of [Impose], after being torn apart and burned down to raw flesh, he had survived. His most devastating technique had landed perfectly, had pushed back Valen’s so-called ultimate attack, and it still wasn’t enough.

  Valen threw his head back and laughed. “So your class is called Demon Hunter, and your demon form is Conquest Demon,” he said. “I see now… That’s why you can match me. A class specifically designed to hunt demons and demonic classes—how fitting.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “To think you could push me this far… I commend you.”

  Arayn narrowed his eyes. How did Valen know about his class? There was no way he had known before. Now, he spoke with certainty. That meant only one thing—Valen was communicating with his patron in real time. If Arayn’s guess was correct, then there was only one patron who would have such knowledge.

  A smirk tugged at his lips. “You actually support your grandson’s enemy.”

  Valen’s eyes widened. “You can guess my patron?”

  Arayn scoffed. “Who else could it be, if not the Second Heavenly Demon, Azael Crimsonstar?”

  An avatar loomed above Valen, its form taking shape in the air like a god descending from the heavens. A man with long white hair and piercing red eyes gazed down at Arayn.

  “I've heard about you and your clever mind. It seems the rumors were true.”

  Arayn tilted his head, unfazed. “I also know a lot about you, grandfather.”

  Azael Crimsonstar chuckled. “I acknowledge you as my grandson, even if we are not related by blood, but you... you’ve chosen the wrong side. Tyras isn't as good as you think.”

  Arayn let out a laugh. “Good? Bad? We are demonic beings, living in the shadows of the world. I thought our motto was to become the best by any means necessary.”

  “Stupid grandson,” Azael sighed. “You can only use anything if there is something left to use. Tyras will leave nothing. His very existence is an omen of apocalypse. He is fated to end this world.”

  Arayn didn’t react. He had already known.

  Azael's eyes narrowed. “That look… Don't tell me you knew this and still chose to support him.”

  Arayn’s grip tightened around his sword. “That’s exactly why I’m going to slay Valen.”

  Azael's voice turned cold. “Ungrateful Child. Then today will be your last.”

  Arayn smirked. “I’ve already died once. It was a nice experience. Go on, end me if your champion has the capability to do so.”

  Azael turned his gaze toward Valen. “I permit you to use my personal skill, Valen.”

  With those words, the avatar vanished, leaving behind those two. Demon Hunter and Heavenly Demon. This would be the final clash.