The following day, after another quick breakfast, Algernon made his way to the training space. The estate's training area was a vast, open room with high ceilings, perfect for sparring, magic practice, or physical conditioning.
The walls were lined with weapons and training dummies, but the room had a certain neglected air to it. Few devils ever bothered with training here, preferring to rely on their innate power or the passage of time to bolster their strength. This complacency, Algernon thought, would be their downfall—but not his.
Algernon had no intention of sitting idle while his power grew passively. He was determined to forge his own strength. After all, there were no shortcuts to power—only the will to push oneself beyond limits.
The room was eerily silent as he stepped inside, the only sound the soft echo of his footsteps on the polished floor. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, centering his thoughts. "Time to begin," he muttered to himself.
His first focus was on his demonic magic core. Demons, unlike other supernatural beings, had an internal source of power that they used to fuel their abilities. The core was usually located deep within the body, a reservoir of magical energy.
For most devils, this core was activated as they matured, growing stronger with time, but it was a devil's bloodline that determined its capacity and nature.
Algernon didn't have a bloodline ability. His core was simple, colorless—an empty, pure vessel. This was typical of Low-Class devils who lacked a specialized heritage. However, it did not mean the core was useless.
In fact, the absence of a bloodline trait meant there were no inherent restrictions on how he could develop his core. It would be slow, but Algernon was confident that with the right methods, he could push beyond the limitations most devils settled for.
He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and began to concentrate. He reached inward, searching for the small, pulsing feeling of magic that every devil possessed. The core, he found, was a smooth, formless lump of energy, its magic undifferentiated and neutral.
Unlike many devils with specific powers tied to their bloodlines, his core was just a void—a blank canvas. Still, that gave him an advantage.
With a focused thought, Algernon began to draw from the ambient magic in the atmosphere. He could feel the ebb and flow of energy around him—the magic of the world itself. As he reached out with his mind, he began to pull that magic into his core, carefully guiding it.
The process was slow, requiring both concentration and patience. His core absorbed the magic, but at a gradual rate, a fraction of what most devils could take in.
'This will take time,' he thought, gritting his teeth. But the effort wasn't in vain. With each passing moment, his core filled just a little more, the neutral energy beginning to expand its capacity.
Though it was a slow process, Algernon could feel the potential within him stirring. His reserves were growing, if only slightly.
He opened his eyes after a few minutes, satisfied with his progress—however incremental it might have been. 'This is only the first step,' he thought. The real work had only just begun.
Next, he turned his attention to the physical aspect of his training. While absorbing magical energy was crucial, physical prowess was just as important—especially if he wanted to stand out among devils who relied too heavily on their innate abilities. In particular, he needed to find a way to push his body beyond its natural limits, to build strength and endurance on his own.
There were no books that specifically addressed the technique used by Sairaorg, the future famous devil in anime known for his use of Touki (demonic ki).
While devils generally didn't focus on martial arts or physical training—preferring magic as their primary tool—there were legends of devils who had used their demonic power to enhance their physical bodies. Algernon would need to figure it out himself.
He placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, focusing on his internal energy, his demonic core.
'Let's see if I can tap into my own power,' he thought, narrowing his eyes.
He exhaled slowly and began to apply pressure, channeling the raw energy within his core to his limbs. The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced before—pressure building up, forcing his muscles to react as his body tried to accommodate the influx of demonic power. It wasn't a technique he had been taught; rather, it was something he was forcing his body to do.
Algernon felt the strain in his arms, his legs, his core. His muscles groaned in protest, but he didn't relent. He pushed harder, focusing the pressure into his muscles, forcing them to adapt. This was forging his body—compressing his muscles, making them denser, stronger.
After several minutes, the pressure began to feel unbearable, but Algernon wasn't finished. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he transitioned into basic exercises: push-ups, squats, and sit-ups, all while maintaining the pressure on his body. His limbs trembled under the strain, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.
Each movement felt like it was pushing him closer to something—an edge he couldn't yet see. The demonic power inside of him, no longer just filling his core but spreading throughout his body.
"I can feel it," he thought, his pulse quickening. "This is only the beginning. If I push myself harder, I'll forge my body into something stronger than I ever could have imagined."
By the time he finished, his body was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching in exhaustion, but there was a strange exhilaration in his chest.
"I can already feel the difference," he thought. Though his progress was slow, the beginning of something powerful was taking root inside him.
Algernon wiped the sweat from his brow, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. "I will be stronger," he whispered, his voice low and determined. "I'll prove it to myself and to the world."
________________________________
Algernon sat against the cold stone wall of the training room, wiping the sweat from his brow. His body was sore from the exertion, and his muscles ached with every movement.
But that was only the surface—what really troubled him was the strange sensation that had begun to creep through his mind. The deeper he pushed himself during his physical training, the more the pressure seemed to build, not just in his muscles but in his head.
At first, he thought it was just fatigue, the natural result of pushing his body beyond its limits. However, as he continued, the pain intensified. It wasn't just a dull ache—it was sharp and insistent, a throbbing that pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
His vision began to blur, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. It felt as though something was pressing against his skull, tightening with each passing second.
He stumbled, falling to one knee, and instinctively reached up to clutch his head. The world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, it felt like he was about to lose consciousness. 'No,' he thought, gritting his teeth. "I can't stop now." But his body refused to comply, the pain too overwhelming to ignore.
Algernon gasped for air, his breaths shallow and uneven. As much as he wanted to keep going, he realized he had no choice but to stop. His body was rejecting the pressure, and the toll on his magic reserves was too much.
"I've overdone it," he admitted, his voice hoarse.
His magic core, which had been steadily absorbing energy, was now drained to the point where it could offer no more power. It was as if the well had run dry. The symptoms of overexertion—the painful throbbing in his head, the dizziness, the blurred vision—were clear signs of magical depletion.
"I didn't expect this... No one warned me about this," he thought bitterly.
Algernon slowly stood up, leaning against the wall for support as he closed his eyes and focused inward. He needed to recover, to let his magic slowly return to its usual levels. But as he did, he couldn't help but reflect on the strange phenomenon he'd just experienced.
"Is this the cost of pushing my magic reserves so low? No wonder this method isn't written about in the books," he mused. "The symptoms are unbearable... and dangerous."
As he sat in the silence of the training room, he meditated, drawing his focus inward. It took time, but gradually, he could feel the familiar tug of magic returning to his core. It was a slow process, much slower than the initial absorption, but it was effective. He could feel the reserves filling up again, replenishing at a steady pace.
The headache, the dizziness—it all faded away as his magic returned to him, slowly but surely. After several minutes, he found the pain completely subsiding, and his head cleared. When he opened his eyes, he felt a sense of relief wash over him.
Then he spent the rest of the afternoon recovering, continuing to meditate and regain his strength. As the sun began to set, he felt the last of his reserves return to normal. His body was still aching from the physical training. But there was something else—an unfamiliar sense of strength.
"My reserves... they've grown." His eyes widened slightly as he mentally assessed the state of his core. What was once a small, colorless reservoir of magic was now noticeably larger. It was a subtle change, but the difference was undeniable.
He could feel the increased capacity, the way the energy now surged through him when he tapped into his core. The magic was more abundant, and yet it didn't come with the same sense of strain. "So this is the result of pushing my limits... This method works, but it's risky."
Algernon leaned back against the wall, allowing himself a few moments of rest. His body was still sore from the physical training, but the sensation of his magic reserves growing was an encouraging sign.
'I can't push it too far again, or the symptoms might become worse,' he thought. 'But this method... I'll have to refine it. There's potential here—real potential.'
He closed his eyes, focusing on his core once more. The painful lesson he'd learned today was clear: strength came with a price. Overexertion could lead to debilitating symptoms, but by pushing the boundaries of his magic and physical endurance, he could grow exponentially. The key was balance.
Algernon sat up straight and took a deep breath, allowing his magic to settle into a comfortable rhythm. 'I'll have to be more careful next time,' he thought. 'But this is progress. A true step forward.'
His body was still aching from the physical training, but now there was a sense of accomplishment mingled with the exhaustion. "Tomorrow, I'll train again—but more wisely this time."
And so, Algernon began the long, grueling process of transforming his body and mind. His training had only just begun, but with each passing day, he would come one step closer to realizing his true potential.