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The past month had been a grueling ordeal, one filled with endless cycles of physical strain, recovery, and study. Algernon's training room—a space long abandoned by the Gremory Branch House due to the notoriously lazy nature of most devils—had become his sanctuary.
Here, he pushed himself beyond what most demons would even consider, all in pursuit of power. And today, as he stood amidst the dimly lit chamber, his sweat-drenched body trembling from exhaustion, he realized the effort had borne fruit.
He had done it. He had ascended to Mid-Class.
This wasn't to say the journey had been easy. The system had granted him a head start, pushing him to the peak of Low-Class when he first gained access to its power.
But moving beyond that was his own effort—every drop of sweat, every ache in his muscles, and every drained magic reserve was a result of his own unrelenting determination.
"Finally," he thought, clenching his fists. His muscles no longer felt frail compared to the monsters lurking in this world. He was far from their level, but for the first time, he could see the faintest glimmer of hope on the horizon.
Algernon took a deep breath, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light of the training room. His body was now a fortress of compact strength and resilience, honed through his unique self-developed method of using demonic magic to forge his physical form.
It wasn't a traditional technique—there was no guidebook for what he had done—but it worked. However, he'd discovered the reason no one else attempted it.
The headaches, nausea, and debilitating symptoms he had suffered when overusing his reserves were a grim reminder of the danger. Lowering his magic reserves beyond a certain threshold was akin to courting death, a cost that explained why such methods had been left out of the books.
"The difference between Low-Class and Mid-Class isn't just about power," he thought. "It's a transformation."
At Low-Class, his strength had been a mere tenfold increase over a Tier 0(ordinary human). Now, as a Mid-Class devil, he estimated himself to be at least a hundred times stronger, physically speaking.
His speed, stamina, and durability had all skyrocketed, giving him a level of physical dominance he had never thought possible in his previous life. Still, he knew this was just the beginning.
His mind hadn't been idle during this transformation. Every moment he wasn't training, he had been in the library, devouring books like a man starving for knowledge. The library was a treasure trove of basics—perfect for someone like him, who lacked the upbringing of a noble devil.
He learned about demonic energy manipulation, its practical applications, and even theories on advanced techniques. The problem, however, was the gap between theory and practice.
Algernon still hadn't used demonic magic for combat. His training thus far had focused entirely on his physical body and magic reserves. He knew that raw power alone wouldn't carry him far in this world. Strategy, precision, and mastery over his energy were equally crucial.
Standing in the center of the room, he extended his hand and focused. Closing his eyes, he reached inward, searching for the core of his magic. It was a sensation he had grown familiar with over the past month—a colorless, formless energy that pulsed faintly within him.
Unlike those with unique bloodline abilities, his magic core was unmarked, raw and untapped. Yet, it was brimming with potential.
Slowly, he drew magic from the core, feeling it swirl and expand within his body. The power was intoxicating, but he kept his focus. Letting it run wild would accomplish nothing.
"Control. Precision. That's the key."
He channeled the energy into his palm, forming a small, flickering orb of demonic power. It wavered, unstable and unrefined, but it was progress. He grinned, feeling the weight of the orb in his hand.
"This… is just the beginning," he muttered to himself.
Satisfied with his progress for the day, Algernon extinguished the orb and stepped back. His body demanded rest, but his mind raced with possibilities. The gap between Mid-Class and High-Class was vast, but he now had a glimpse of the path forward.
To truly stand out as a devil—and to achieve the greatness the system demanded of him—he needed to master his demonic energy with precision.
Thus, he began incorporating a new element into his daily routine: crafting and shaping his demonic energy.
At first, it was a simple exercise. Algernon created a single orb of magic energy, channeling it into a compact, glowing sphere in the palm of his hand. The goal was to shape it into various forms, gradually increasing the complexity of each design.
A cube, a pyramid, a simple silhouette of a person—each day, he pushed himself further, his crimson eyes narrowing in focus as he coaxed his energy into new shapes.
But Algernon wasn't satisfied with mere shapes. As the weeks went by, he aimed for intricacy and detail, striving to make his creations as lifelike as possible. It was grueling work, each failure a test of his patience and determination. Yet, with every attempt, his control improved.
By the end of the month, he reached a milestone that left even himself in awe. Hovering in front of him was a sculpture of himself sitting regally on a throne.
Every detail was immaculate—from the folds of his imagined cape to the ornate design of the throne. In his hand was a sword, its blade gleaming with an otherworldly sheen, as though it were real.
Algernon smiled faintly, the glow of his creation illuminating his face. "A throne, a sword… symbols of conquest and rulership," he thought, his voice barely above a whisper. It was a vision of the future he sought to claim for himself.
Creating such a masterpiece required more than just brute power. It demanded control, precision, and an understanding of how his energy flowed.
While his body and magic reserves had grown during this time, he realized that brute force alone would not carry him to the next level. Mastery was key.
Despite the progress, Algernon knew the climb to the peak of Mid-Class would be slow. He estimated that it would take nearly two years of continuous effort to reach the pinnacle of his current tier. But that didn't discourage him.
On the contrary, it fueled his resolve. "Every step forward brings me closer to my goals," he reminded himself.
Not one to grow complacent, Algernon introduced a new challenge to his training. Instead of shaping a single orb of energy, he began crafting multiple orbs simultaneously. At first, controlling two orbs would be a significant challenge. Splitting his focus caused the forms to waver, and more often than not, the orbs would destabilize and collapse.
The training wouldn't be just about splitting his focus; it was about achieving harmony. Each orb had to be stable, each shape deliberates, and each movement precise.
"Control is the foundation of power," he thought. "If I can master this, I'll be ready for the next step."
The next day, Algernon began his training once again, determined to refine his techniques further. Day by day, he forged ahead, each session a step closer to unlocking the immense potential that lay dormant within him.