Path to Dominance in the Demonic Realm

The road was rough, and the cart shook with every rock it rolled over, making sitting inside uncomfortable. The cold morning air seeped through the wooden gaps, stinging Zarathos' frail skin, but he didn't care. The cold was nothing compared to what he had endured in his previous life.

Instead, his entire focus was on his new body.

He closed his eyes, trying to feel every part of it—every muscle, every bone, every drop of weak energy moving within him.

"This body is so weak... but it holds great talent."

He had already noticed it. Despite its current frailty, there was a hidden flexibility within, a kind of ease in absorbing energy. It was like a sponge, waiting to be drenched in power.

In his past life, when he was Zarathos, gaining strength had sometimes required immense effort. His body back then had been strong, but not exceptionally gifted. But this body… was different.

He knew he had to take advantage of this.

"But how can I do that now?"

He had no resources, no weapons, not even freedom of movement. He was trapped in this cart with the other slaves, under the ever-watchful eyes of the guards.

But that didn't mean he could do nothing.

"Alright, let's start with the basics."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, focusing on his inner energy, trying to move it through his body as he had in his past life.

At first, nothing happened.

But Zarathos was not one to give up easily.

He tried again, slower this time, more precise. He felt something faint, barely noticeable—like a warm current sluggishly moving inside him.

"Huh...? Is this all I have?"

It was frustrating, but not surprising. He was still at the first level of the Embodiment Layer, and he had no training in this body yet.

But he didn't stop.

He began trying to guide this tiny current, moving it through his body. It was a slow process, like pushing heavy water through a narrow pipe, but he could feel it.

"Better than nothing."

In his past life, he had mastered dozens of techniques to strengthen himself, but now, he had to start over. He needed to build a solid foundation.

He decided to try one of the simplest techniques he had learned before—the Energy Purification Technique.

This technique involved taking any raw energy within the body, refining it, and making it more efficient. He knew it wouldn't bring immediate results, but he was willing to repeat the process over and over until he saw progress.

He focused, inhaling deeply, trying to control the energy. He sent it to his limbs, then back to his core, like a wave flowing and returning.

"A simple movement, but the foundation of everything."

Sweat began to gather on his forehead, despite the cold. That was expected. His body wasn't accustomed to this process yet, and his energy reserves were minuscule.

But that didn't matter.

"It's not about quantity, but repetition."

If he kept doing this throughout the journey—over the next six days—he might be able to increase his strength, even if just a little. Even a small step toward the peak was worth it.

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling mild exhaustion, but he expected that.

He looked around, making sure the guards hadn't noticed anything. Luckily, they didn't care much about what the slaves did, as long as they didn't cause trouble.

"Good... I'll keep doing this every day."

Six days might seem long to some, but to him, they were only the beginning.

No matter how weak he was now, he knew he wouldn't stay that way forever.

Because Zarathos was never one to accept weakness.

He closed his eyes again and resumed his training.

"This time... I won't die before reaching the peak."

The journey was long, longer than it had seemed at first. The six days that passed weren't just a transition from one place to another—they were a test of endurance and survival. Zarathos spent every moment trying to improve his body, even if only slightly.

At first, he felt exhausted after every attempt to move his energy, but as the days went by, his body gradually adjusted. The progress wasn't dramatic, but it was there. He could feel that the energy within him was becoming smoother, more responsive to his control. It was a small improvement, but it meant everything to him.

The others, however, were in a miserable state. The journey had been harsh on all of them. There wasn't enough food, sleep was uncomfortable, and the cart shook violently over every bump and hole in the road, making their suffering constant.

And while Zarathos was focused on his internal training, he kept a close eye on his surroundings. He needed to understand this place—to know who his potential enemies were, who could be exploited, and who should be avoided entirely.

—Day Six—

Finally, after six days of hunger, exhaustion, and being crammed into the cart, the caravan came to a stop. Everyone felt the guards moving off their horses, their commands rising in the air.

"Get up, slaves! We've arrived!"

Zarathos slowly opened his eyes, looking around.

Everyone was staring outside with eyes filled with dread, as if they were gazing upon the gates of hell itself.

"Where are we?" someone muttered beside him.

Zarathos stepped out of the cart with the rest of the slaves, and at last, he saw the place they had arrived at.

They stood before a massive gate made of black steel, adorned with strange engravings resembling ancient runes, glowing with a faint red hue. Beyond the gate, a towering wall stretched as far as the eye could see, like a fortress designed to ensure no one could escape.

Torches lined the wall, their dark flames casting eerie shadows.

But the most important thing Zarathos noticed was the energy radiating from the very ground beneath them.

"This land is saturated with power... but not just any power—it's demonic energy."

He sensed it immediately, faint but dangerous waves, as if the very place itself was trying to consume those who stepped upon it.

This was no ordinary place.

This was a prison.

This was the Shadow Mine.

One of the most terrifying locations in the world, where no one left unless they were either a corpse or stronger than when they entered.

Zarathos stood in silence, observing while the other slaves whispered in fear. Some of them began to cry, others could barely stand.

But Zarathos wasn't afraid.

"This place... may be hell for others."

"But for me? It's just another challenge."

"Welcome to the Shadow Mine."

A deep voice cut through everyone's thoughts.

They looked forward, where a tall man stood, clad in black armor adorned with dark gold engravings, his eyes glowing like embers.

This man was Lord Karon himself.

He gazed at them with contempt, as if they were insects unworthy of his attention.

"Some of you will die here within days."

"Some may last a few months."

"But only a very, very few... will survive for long."

A cold smirk formed on his lips before he added, his voice dripping with mockery:

"We shall see who endures... and who becomes just another forgotten number."

Zarathos met his gaze without fear.

"We will see indeed..."

"But I will not die here."

"I will leave this place stronger than I ever was."

To be continued...