A cold wind blew through the Baron Estate, rustling the banners that bore the family crest—a golden lion standing over a broken sword. The grand mansion stood tall under the moonlight, its windows glowing softly with warm candlelight.
Tonight was a special night.
Ethan Baron, the third and youngest son of the Baron Family, had reached his tenth birthday.
Yet, unlike the grand feasts and celebrations held for his elder siblings, the halls were silent. No servants hurried to prepare banquets. No nobles gathered to offer gifts.
Ethan sat alone in his dimly lit chamber, curled up on a wooden chair with a book in his lap. His dark hair fell messily over his pale face, and his deep purplish-blue eyes, inherited from his father, reflected the candle's flickering light. His thin frame was wrapped in a silk robe that hung loosely over his shoulders, emphasizing his sickly appearance.
A quiet knock came at the door.
"Third Young Master," whispered an old servant, peeking inside with hesitant eyes. "You should rest."
Ethan glanced at him but said nothing. He knew what the old man wanted to say.
Why do you still try? You have already lost.
He had heard the whispers in the estate.
"The weakest Baron."
"A disgrace to the bloodline."
"He won't live past twenty."
He clenched his fists. He was not blind to his circumstances.
His elder brother, Alexander Baron, was a prodigy in swordsmanship and magic, already hailed as a future grand knight at only fifteen. His elder sister, Selene Baron, was an unparalleled strategist, mastering battlefield tactics beyond her age.
And then, there was him.
Born with a weak body, unable to wield a sword properly or control mana efficiently, Ethan was an embarrassment to his noble lineage.
His father, Duke Reinhardt Baron, had long since stopped acknowledging his presence. The servants treated him with pity at best, indifference at worst. Even his siblings did not bother mocking him—he was too insignificant for that.
Ethan closed the book in his hands.
Was this to be his fate?
Would he truly remain nothing more than the forgotten son of the Baron Family?
A sudden pain shot through his skull.
His vision blurred. His breath caught. His body trembled as an unbearable heat spread through his chest.
And then—memories came crashing down upon him.
—A throne of skulls, bathed in moonlight.
—A sword drenched in the blood of warriors.
—Men and gods alike kneeling before him.
—The fall of sects, the rise of an empire, the echoes of his name carried by the wind.
A name that once made the heavens tremble.
천마왕.
Cheonma Wang.
The Heavenly Demon King.
Ethan gasped, clutching his head as his mind split between two identities.
He was not just Ethan Baron.
He was also the supreme ruler of Murim, the feared master of the Cheonma Sect (천마문, Cheonmamul)—the greatest demonic sect in history.
He had stood atop the world, commanding thousands, defying fate itself.
And he had died fighting the heavens.
But now, he was here.
A new body. A new life. A new chance.
Then, amidst the swirling storm of memories, a cold mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
[Heavenly Demon Magical King System Activated.]
[Synchronization with host's past life: 5%... 10%... 20%...]
His weak body convulsed as an ancient power stirred deep within him. His blood, his very soul, trembled in recognition.
For the first time in his life, Ethan Baron felt alive.