Departure to Plati

With only one day away Azazel has been practicing nonstop to get to the same level of swordsmanship as before, he swung his blade at the log infront of him multiple times since the morning.

He's been staring at it all day as he tries to bring forth the attack he's creating, " 2,278, 2,290, 2,300 " With his 2,500th swing a red aura burst towards the log cutting it in multiple pieces.

In the fading light of the day, Azazel marveled at the red aura that emanated from his sword, the very essence of his unique swordsmanship. With each swing, he felt the power surging through him, reminiscent of his days as the demon king.

"I finally got my unique aura back, being able to make multiple slashes with one swing," Azazel whispered to himself, wiping the sweat from his face. His sister, who had been watching in awe, couldn't contain her amazement. "Can I do that someday?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Of course you can," Azazel replied, his voice gentle as he wore a warm smile, patting her head affectionately.

Deep within his thoughts, Azazel knew the truth about her abilities. She had inherited the gift from the sword hero, the very same hero who had defeated him in his previous life. Azazel pondered, 'To be honest, if you imagined the same aura as you swing your sword, you would be able to do it. That's the gift the sword hero had, but he never copied my style since it was deemed evil.'

Sitting down to catch his breath, Azazel's gaze drifted to the sky. 'Since I decided to keep this one, I'll have to protect her from now on,' he thought, his expression softening with determination. His path was no longer that of a demon king but one of a protector, guarding his sister from the shadows that once consumed him.

"Who would've thought I'd end up doing something as disgusting as those heroes?" Azazel laughed to himself, his laughter tinged with bitterness and irony.

His sister sensed his melancholy and, in an attempt to brighten the moment, hurried off to fetch ice cream. As they sat together, indulging in the sweet treats, the siblings found solace in each other's company, blissfully unaware of the challenges that lay ahead, and the intricate balance between darkness and light that defined their intertwined fates.

' Then again, it's not like I'm keeping her alive for a good cause. ' A smirk grew on Azazel as he bit the rest of the ice cream.

…

In the dim light of dawn, Azazel meticulously adjusted his black suit, a stark contrast to his previous attire. The fabric clung to his form, accentuating the strength and determination that lay beneath. As he finished dressing, he met his family at the door, each member wearing a different expression.

Tears welled up in his sister's eyes, sadness clouding her gaze as she bid farewell to the brother with whom she had bonded so deeply. His older brother bore a proud look, silently acknowledging Azazel's first steps into his chosen path. Their father, though proud, wore a cold facade, and his mother mirrored his sister's tearful expression, hugging Azazel tightly before he left.

"Good luck in the academy," his mother whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

"Take care, brother!" his sister exclaimed, pushing their mother away in a comedic attempt to hug him once more. Azazel gently patted her head, reassuring her. "I'll be fine, don't worry, guys."

As he stepped out of the door, a waiting carriage marked the beginning of his journey. The academy awaited in Plati, a city renowned for its beauty. Azazel's annoyance simmered beneath the composed exterior he wore for his family.

"My blood thirst is slowly being released," he muttered, gripping his arm to quell the rising tension. "I need to kill someone or something soon."

Inside the carriage, his maid, a formidable woman, settled in front of him. "Why are you coming?" Azazel inquired, curious about her presence.

"I'm a pretty strong individual, just in case of anything!" she replied, her eyes gleaming with excitement, a thirst for battle evident in her demeanor.

As they began their journey, Azazel's great-great-grandfather waved goodbye, his gaze lingering with unspoken questions. He can't help but remember the Aura he felt from Azazel when he was peeking at his training. Deep within the recesses of his memories, the elderly man grappled with a vague recollection, an echo of a long-forgotten battle and an opponent whose identity remained shrouded in mystery.

He could clearly feel the battle that was engraved into his body, this awoke his dormant thirst for battle.

But alas he's an old man now, old man is a compliment as he's nothing but a bag of bones now. But the mistery is still there, who did he fight that day? Why does his grandchild remind him of that opponent? Why did they fight? Should he be worried?

Without Azazels knowledge he may have slipped up already.

Azazel departured in the carriage, the wheels rolling forward, carrying him toward the unknown challenges that awaited him at the academy.

Inside the carriage Azazel bore a smile as he caught a peek at Jay, 'You're too old to remember unlike us demons, the only way you can remember is if we had a fight. That won't ever happen though, you're too weak. ' He thought as he took a nap on his maids shoulder.

What else is a maid useful for? Can she really protect someone stronger than her?

…