Chapter 26: Moonlit Discipline
Chapter 26: Moonlit Discipline
The empire saw Sirius Farah Von Ross as a prodigy, a genius born once in a millennium.
But Sirius did not see himself that way.
He simply trained.
He trained under the moonlight—when others slept, he moved.
Steel met steel in empty courtyards at dawn.
Arcane runes swirled around him in perfect silence as he broke the known limits of magic.
He never asked for praise. Never looked to anyone for approval. And he never needed teachers—just time. And silence. And the sky above.
At thirteen, Sirius was already a 7th Class magician.
By the time the next winter came, his mana control had become so precise, he could carve a signature into obsidian using just a strand of it.
He didn't show it to anyone.
What for?
The estate's servants had long since learned not to disturb him. They left his meals by the door and stepped away quickly. If they glanced into his study, they'd see nothing but black ink, silver parchment, and moonlit books stacked like towers around him.
He didn't keep them for display.
He remembered everything he read. But he liked their presence—silent, thoughtful, weighty. Like her.
The moon.
His swordsmanship progressed just the same.
At fourteen, he no longer trained with anyone.
The Grand Duke—his father—watched once from the balcony, saying nothing, just observing.
The boy below moved through ten thousand forms in a single session. Each step, perfect. Each strike, silent.
Even the wind hesitated around him.
By the end of it, the Grand Duke whispered to himself:
"He doesn't need a master anymore."
The world outside the estate was restless.
More nobles tried to reach out. The court invited him to events. Daughters were presented, letters sent, portraits painted and gifted—
But none were ever opened.
Not a single woman was worth his eyes. Not a name worth remembering. He did not hate them.
He simply didn't care.
His soul, his gaze, his breath—none belonged to the world of courtiers and dreamers.
They belonged only to her.
Abylay.
On the rare nights when the estate was quiet and no one watched, Sirius would sit by the window of his locked room.
A soft glow bathed the ink-covered desk. Paintings of the moon hung in silence behind him. Books he had written—poems, prayers, promises—lined the shelves. Magic cleaned the floor. No servant had ever stepped foot inside.
He sat there and watched the moon, always in silence.
Not waiting.
Not hoping.
But remembering.
And in that stillness, one could almost hear it—
The heartbeat of the Demon King… wrapped in mortal flesh, waiting to rise again.