Demon King Academy, the next morning.
Dravok walked into the Year One class, his boots echoing across the cold stone floor. The air was thick with tension, a suffocating dread that clung to every corner. Some students hadn't even shown up—reality of what had happened the previous day to other students during the tests had driven them to drop out entirely.
He took his seat beside Elara, who occupied the highest-tier seat closest to the door. She wore a crimson red gown that stopped just above her knees, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal the delicate line beneath her collarbone.
Her face flushed at the sight of him, but the feeling didn't last. His presence warped the atmosphere, making it heavier, hotter—like the sulfuric breath of an ancient volcano. That casual smile he once wore was absent. In its place was a mask of silence, unreadable yet dangerous. He looked like a man burdened by the weight of the world.
Her morning greeting died on her lips as she drowned in unease. His eyes hadn't met hers—not once since sitting down; they stared into the air, as if watching a world she couldn't see.
"What's the matter?" she whispered, gripping his arm. Her eyes pleaded with his, sensing the heaviness inside him.
Dravok lowered his gaze and exhaled deeply, as though freeing himself from chains only he could see. He finally looked at her, scanning every detail—her honey-brown eyes, her soft curls, her carefully carved beauty. A jolt ran through his chest.
His mana flared uncontrollably like an erupting spark of fire. For a flicker of a moment, he saw her—dead—pierced by Dravos's blade. An illusion, but too vivid to dismiss.
The class froze in dread. The aura he released was lethal, cold, and full of murderous intent. Nobody dared to speak, but only Elara understood—this wasn't rage.
It was love.
I only came to warn her about Ely's rebirth, Dravok thought. But now I can't even stand to look at her.
Just then, Instructor Ravien entered through the students' door behind the classroom. He paused as the oppressive air hit him. Its source was obvious.
What's wrong with Dravok? Yesterday he radiated confidence, and now he's worse than a broken-hearted soul.
He didn't bother with a full introduction—everyone was already turned, facing the presence that overshadowed the room like a lion uncaged.
"Good day," he said, trying to lighten the mood. But no response; the students barely noticed him until now. He let out a quiet scoff, then straightened his posture, allowing authority to radiate from him.
"We'll be heading to the Human Kingdom for a friendly duel. It begins at 8 a.m. sharp tomorrow at the Saints Academy. Latecomers should consider themselves expelled."
That was all it took to break the class from their stupor. Even hybrids and demons couldn't resist the chance to face a pureblood human—let alone escape the suffocating air. They dashed toward the door like they all got free tickets.
Instructor Ravien turned his attention back to Dravok.
"Dravok Velcrune," he called.
Dravok glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Elara was still clinging to his hand, her gaze sharp with concern.
"The Second Elder Demon is here to see you."
Dravok rose at once, as though he had anticipated this. Elara's eyes widened, her heartbeat thundered. Her hand shot to her chest as realization struck—this had something to do with the Demon King.
He left her behind, walking out with a heavy gaze. At the entrance, cloaked in shadow, stood Dagon Meridax—the Second Elder Demon. His crimson velvet eyes glowed beneath a black hood. He dropped to one knee as Dravok approached.
"My Lord, forgive me," Dagon said, head bowed.
"What do you seek?" Dravok asked, eyes drifting toward the wide windows overlooking Daelgrin—the ancient, elegant capital.
"A place beneath your command."
Dravok's voice was cool. "What makes you think you deserve my trust?"
"I bring vital information… about Dravos's plans. It might be shocking to hear, but his plans don't please me."
"I'll give you my ear. Only because you see him not as a king—but as Dravos."
Dagon remained on one knee, his voice low and deliberate. He spoke of betrayal, strategy, and invasion. Each word painted a clearer picture, and Dravok's knuckles whitened, crushing the window sill with a slow, controlled rage. For the first time in many years, he felt inevitability.
"That's all, my Lord."
Dravok averted his gaze, now locking it on Dagon. He didn't plan to be fallen by the rebirth of a so-called grudge.
"I have one task of loyalty for you," he said at last.
"I'll accept anything."
"Behead your brothers. Their numbers are dangerous."
"Consider it done, my Lord."
With a blur of shadow, Dagon vanished.
Dravok stared at the door of the Year One class. Elara stood there, worry etched deep in her eyes.
"What's the matter, my Lord?"
He turned back to the window, eyelids lowering in slow resolve.
"I'm going back in time."
Her confusion deepened. Her heart was pricked by invisible needles—painful, yet unclear.
"Why? What timeline?"
"I'm not going back to reverse things," he said. "I'm going back to be time. I will kill the Time God… and take his blade."
"Why all of this… so suddenly?" she whispered.
"The man on the Demon King's throne has declared war—I'll show him what war truly means."
His words struck like twin blades—one of confusion, the other of dread. She remembered his reply to a question she once asked: 'With a blade in your neck.'
He saw it in her eyes. It didn't weaken him—it sharpened his resolve. He cupped her chin gently, his eyes fractured deep in hers like he laid a promise.
"I won't let any of that happen."
And just like that, he vanished.
He teleported to an open field beyond the borders of Daelgrin. The field stretched wide with soft grass underfoot. The air had once been cool, but his presence alone distorted it, made it thick with mana.
Time is the only way I can handle this alone, he whispered.
He dropped into a running stance—right foot forward like the leg of a crouching chair, left leg arched behind. He took one deep breath.
Then he moved.
A blur of motion. Wind clashed around him in violent currents as his speed increased. He was a black flash spiraling in a perfect circular arc. His pacing intensified—until his form was no longer visible. The surge of mana was massive; all of Daelgrin felt it.
And Dravos Valkarion was not left out.
He stood by the throne room's thick window, watching the swirling force below with a twisted smile.
"He's finally making his first move," Dravos said.
But what he didn't know was—Dagon was his first move.
A moment later, a rift tore open in the air like a wound in space itself. A black void yawned wide, spinning with cosmic energy. Dravok vanished inside.
The realm he entered was not a void—but infinity. Countless screens hovered in the air, each displaying a different timeline across galaxies. No sky, no floor—just endless dimensions.
From behind one of the time screens emerged a figure.
A shinigami-like entity. It stood tall, its face a white wooden mask with hollow eyes. A skeletal body cloaked in a black, tattered kimono. In his hand—a blade.
Its hilt was an hourglass, sand falling with each second. Its blade shimmered with silver light, etched in glowing runes that shifted like clockwork. The edge pulsed dangerously, alive with time itself.
Chronos—the Time God.
"Dravok Velcrune…" the god's hollow voice rang out. "You have made a wise… but fatal… choice."
Dravok stared into those abyssal eyes—unshaken.
"Don't bore me with your words," he replied, conjuring a magical blade from mana in his grip, purple and ordinary.
He pointed it directly at the god.
"Then prove it—with facts."