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C16 Demon Heir
Muyeon stood frozen, Seob Meng's offer—"Wanna be my apprentice?"—ringing in his dorm room's stale air. The Right Guardian's boots propped on his bed, liquor bottle in hand, was a far cry from the original story where Yeo-Woon caught the Crazy Blade's eye.
His mind raced, piecing it together. Without Nano, Yeo-Woon's first test showing was merely surprising, but Muyeon's unscathed dominance had turned heads, Seob Meng's most of all.
This chance was his now, even though it was supposed to be reserved for Yeo-Woon.
Muyeon would gladly seize this opportunity, uncaring for his half-brother's loss.
He stepped forward, bowing low, voice steady. "I accept, Master Seob Meng." He agreed, humility masking his ambition.
Seob Meng's grin faltered, eyes widening. He'd braced for a Dark Clan heir's arrogance, the spoiled pride of clan elites, but Muyeon's swift respect disarmed him. The kid was different—sharp, grounded.
"Ha, didn't expect that," Seob Meng rasped, sloshing his bottle. His doubts about choosing Muyeon over Yeo-Woon, the clanless heir, faded. This boy had potential.
Seob Meng rose from Muyeon's bed, his grin wide at his apprentice's humility. He pulled a small wooden chest from his cloak, thrusting it into Muyeon's hands. "Take this, kid."
Muyeon opened it, revealing a large, glossy black pill—the Black Dragon Medicine Ball—its surface pulsing with faint Ki. His ambition surged, the pill a key to new heights.
"Absorb it and rest," Seob Meng rasped, voice rough but warm. "I'll be back soon—training starts then." He strode to the open window, cloak billowing, and leaped out, vanishing.
Muyeon stared at the pill, its weight heavy in the chest. Seob Meng's choice over Yeo-Woon, the clanless heir, felt right.
He set the chest on his bed, fingers tracing the pill's edge. Training with Seob Meng would be brutal, but this pill was the first step. His path to the Demon Lord's throne started here.
Muyeon settled on his bed, the Black Dragon Medicine Ball heavy in his palm, its dark surface pulsing faintly. Without hesitation, he swallowed it, the bitter taste sharp, and closed his eyes, sinking into meditation to cultivate its Ki.
Suddenly, Nano hummed to life, its voice sharp in his mind.
{Detecting high Ki energy. Optimizing absorption now.}
Invisible threads of data wove through Muyeon's meridians, guiding the pill's power.
In seconds, a surge erupted within him, Ki flooding his core. His body trembled as he broke through, leaping from peak Advanced Realm to entry-level Expert Realm, the barrier shattering like glass.
Muyeon's senses sharpened—stone walls seemed to hum, the air's weight tangible. Power coursed through his veins, a river unchained, Nano's precision turning the pill's raw energy into refined strength. He exhaled, awed by the speed.
The room felt alive. This breakthrough, faster than any in the history of the cult, was Nano's doing—a cheat code for dominance.
Muyeon's lips twitched, a flicker of wit at Nano's efficiency. The Expert Realm at fifteen was a legend's start, his path to the top accelerating.
His meridians thrummed, each breath deeper, his body a honed blade. The academy's crucible had forged another edge, Nano's aid the whetstone. Muyeon's ambition burned, the Demon Lord's throne closer.
The pill's energy settled, perfectly absorbed, with no drop wasted. Muyeon opened his eyes, the room's shadows sharper, his senses a predator's.
Muyeon's path was clear, Nano's role was undeniable. This rapid growth was his weapon, and the cult would feel its weight. The Expert Realm was just the beginning.
————
Outside, Seob Meng crouched on the branch of a tree, peering through Muyeon's window, his flask tucked away. He nodded, pleased by his apprentice's diligence, Muyeon's meditative form steady as he cultivated the Black Dragon Medicine Ball's Ki.
A pulse of energy rippled from the room, and Seob Meng's jaw dropped. Muyeon's Ki surged, shattering the Advanced Realm's peak to claim entry-level Expert—an impossible feat for a 15-year-old.
Seob Meng's heart raced, his cloak rustling in the night breeze. An Advanced Realm genius was rare, a once-in-a-thousand-year prodigy, but an Expert at Muyeon's age was unheard of, a myth reborn.
'Could this boy be the next Heavenly Demon?' The thought gripped Seob Meng, his initial doubts about choosing Muyeon over Yeo-Woon dissolving like mist. Yeo-Woon's surprising test performance paled against this.
Muyeon's room glowed faintly, his silhouette unwavering. Seob Meng's mind churned with plans—rigorous training, secret techniques—to forge this prodigy into a legend.
The Crazy Blade's grin returned, sharp and eager. Muyeon wasn't just a Dark Clan heir; he was a force to be reckoned with, or at least he would be in the future.
Seob Meng had chosen right.
He stood, cloak sweeping, and slipped into the shadows, departing. His steps were light, thoughts racing with drills to push Muyeon's new Expert-level strength.
The academy would tremble.
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Meanwhile…
Hancock settled into her dorm room down the hall, unpacking her gear on a small bed, the stone walls cold around her. Her white tag rested on her belt, a quiet mark of her survival. Footsteps echoed, and a group of girls from their group burst in, led by a sharp-tongued girl with a venomous glare.
"What's your relationship with Cheon Muyeon?" the leader, Soryu, hissed, her eyes blazing with ambition. The others flanked Hancock, jealousy turning their stares hostile.
Hancock's jaw tightened, Kuja pride flaring. "What's it to you?" she snapped, voice low, dangerous.
…
..
.
————
Yeo-Woon stood in his group's dorm, the air thick with distrust as his 25 teammates argued over leadership. The stone chamber buzzed, voices sharp, until Kungwun, Mukeum, and Jongsum, the heirs, turned on him, their eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"You broke your oath," Mukeum growled, fists clenched. "No clanless runt like you could've even attempted that test without practicing Ki before the academy." Kungwun's sword hand twitched, Jongsum's sneer echoing the accusation.
Yeo-Woon's jaw tightened, his tag swaying on his robe. "I don't know what you're talking g about," he played dumb, voice steady but edged, his test performance a sore point. The heirs stepped closer, their Ki flaring, the argument teetering toward blows.
"You!" Kungwun hissed, hand on his blade. Yeo-Woon braced, defiance masking his unease, when a shadow loomed at the door. The Left Guardian's voice cut through, "Enough! Disperse—now."
The heirs froze, Mukeum's scowl lingering, but they backed off, the Guardian's glare unyielding. Yeo-Woon exhaled, shaken, sensing the intervention wasn't a mere chance.
The Left Guardian's face was stern, but his eyes flicked to Yeo-Woon, a fleeting shield. He turned, robe sweeping, and left, his intent hidden behind a mask of authority. The dorm fell silent, tension simmering.
Yeo-Woon's hands trembled, his position precarious, the heirs' hostility a constant threat. Yet the Left Guardian's aid, subtle as it was, sparked question.
"Why protect a clanless heir?"
Mukeum muttered to Jongsum, their glares promising retribution. Yeo-Woon stood firm, defiance his only armor, his survival hinging on wits and unseen allies. The academy was a viper's nest.
The Left Guardian's footsteps faded, his protection a quiet lifeline. Yeo-Woon's challenges mounted, but his resolve held, bolstered by a guardian's hidden hand. His path, though fraught, wasn't alone.
————
In a shadowed chamber, torchlight flickered on obsidian walls, the Demon Lord seated on a high throne, the masked Great Guardian a silent specter at his side. The Left and Right Guardians knelt, their reports heavy in the air. Seob Meng's cloak brushed the floor, his flask hidden.
The Left Guardian spoke first, voice measured. "The academy's batch is strong, despite minor hitches. Muyeon's genius shines the most—Dark Clan or not, he's exceptional."
Seob Meng held back a smile, pride for his apprentice swelling, Muyeon's Expert breakthrough vivid in his mind. But he didn't report it, knowing the Demon Lord's hatred for his new apprentice's clan.
After all, the Dark Clan was among the list of suspects for his favorite wife's murder.
The Demon Lord's eyes, cold beneath his mask, shifted. "And Yeo-Woon?" His tone softened, a rare crack in his steel, betraying favor for the clanless heir.
The Left Guardian hesitated, then spoke. "Yeo-Woon struggles—hostile heirs, leadership disputes—but his potential holds." His words were cautious, hinting at the boy's resilience without overstepping.
Seob Meng's jaw tightened, his silence loud. Muyeon's prodigy outshone Yeo-Woon's grit, yet the Demon Lord's bias was clear, a political thread woven through the cult's heart. The Dark Clan's shadow loomed, despised by their leader.
The chamber's air grew heavier, the Great Guardian's masked gaze unreadable, a silent judge of the exchange.
The Demon Lord leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Keep watch on Yeo-Woon," he ordered, voice low. "His path matters." The Left Guardian nodded, masking relief, while Seob Meng's pride in Muyeon burned brighter.
The Guardians rose, dismissed, their steps echoing. Cult politics simmered, the Demon Lord's favoritism a fault line. Yeo-Woon's struggles were his burden, but Muyeon's rise was a threat to all.
The chamber darkened as the Demon Lord sat back, eyes distant. His complex favor for Yeo-Woon clashed with Muyeon's ascent, a storm brewing in the cult's core.
————
That night, Muyeon stretched on his bed, his body humming with new power, the Black Dragon Medicine Ball fully absorbed. His breakthrough didn't stop at the entry-level and soared straight to the proficient level of Expert Realm, sharpening his senses. The dorm's stone walls almost alive under his gaze. Hunger gnawed, urging him toward the cafeteria.
He strode down the corridor, tag pinned to his robe, red number 1 stark. The academy's pulse thrummed in his veins, his Expert-level Ki a quiet storm.
The cafeteria's wooden doors creaked as Muyeon entered, expecting a quiet meal. Instead, Hancock sat at a central table, the group's women bustling around her, serving food and bowing like attendants to a queen. Their eyes held fear and awe.
Hancock leaned back, a plate of steaming rice before her, her presence commanding. The women moved with precision, their earlier hostility tamed by her strength.
Muyeon's brow arched, a smirk tugging his lips. "What happened while I was cultivating?" he muttered, voice low, shocked.
A/N: 1800 words :)
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