He woke up slowly.
The battlefield was gone; the screams and shadows melted into nothing. Only a warm, golden glow greeted him as he opened his eyes.
A grand mural covered the ceiling above: a warrior driving a spear through the skull of a massive dragon. Its wings were broken, blood splashing into painted clouds.
"Dragons. Great. I reincarnated into a fantasy world. I was supposed to retire."
He shifted his gaze. His crib was pure gold, inlaid with gems that glittered under the chandelier. Genuine, expensive gems.
Four maids stood around him. Their voices were a continuous, meaningless blur; he couldn't understand a single word yet, but their expressions spoke volumes: anxious, tired, and trying very hard to look cheerful.
One maid picked him up gently and brought him to her chest.
His mind screamed.
"Wait. Wait. Woman. I am mentally a grown man. Can we talk about this first?"
But his infant body didn't care; instinct took over immediately.
The system flickered weakly.
[System: Observation: Host seems to be enjoying this more than necessary.]
"Shut up."
He glared inwardly, which only made the maid smile as if he were making a cute baby face.
Up close, he examined her expression. It was professional, automatic, and utterly devoid of affection.
"She doesn't feel like my mother. A real mother wouldn't hold me like a borrowed basket."
"System," he thought sharply. "Where is my mother?"
The reply came instantly.
[System: Host's mother is deceased.]
[System: Host's father is the red-eyed man who attempted termination after birth.]
His tiny hand reflexively clenched the maid's gown.
"So that man was my father. Perfect. Born and almost murdered within the hour."
The maid finished feeding him and began pacing the room to keep him calm. She lifted him slightly and, without meaning to, angled him toward a tall mirror.
Damyan froze for a moment.
He saw himself clearly: small round face, fair skin with a faintly warm tone, black hair, and those eyes: red, deep red, not glowing but unmistakably demonic.
He instantly compared them to the memory of the man who had thrown him toward the wall. They were the same color, the same intensity.
"So I really am his child. A demon. Great. I reincarnated into a species with natural murder instincts."
The maid adjusted him and set him back into his crib. He soon drifted back to sleep.
He woke to a new day.
The door opened softly.
A man entered the room with steps so quiet even the maids straightened instinctively. Damyan watched from the crib.
The man moved with elegance, almost floating. Crimson red hair framed a sharply handsome face. His blue eyes held a gentle smile, but something cold flickered beneath it.
He wore a perfectly fitted butler uniform that was almost too refined.
He approached the crib and spoke in a calm tone Damyan could not yet understand.
Damyan stared at him with the unimpressed gaze of a retired assassin reading a death threat.
The man, Lucian, lifted him gently. Lucian studied the infant's face, expecting crying, flinching, or confusion.
Instead, the red-eyed baby simply looked at him: quiet, observing, almost evaluating.
Lucian narrowed his eyes slightly.
"He is far too calm. A child should not look at anyone like that, as if measuring them, as if he already knows danger when he sees it."
Yet he smiled warmly. To the maids, it was a standard noble smile, but to Damyan, it was too perfect.
"This man… dangerous. Very dangerous. The kind who could kill you politely."
Lucian eventually handed him back and bowed with practiced grace before leaving the room.
The door clicked shut, and Damyan blinked once.
No comment. No dramatic thought. Just quiet awareness settling in his gaze.
The room fell silent again.
Seven months passed.
The world slowly began to take shape in Damyan's mind. Words that were once meaningless sounds now carried fragments of meaning. They weren't complete sentences, but they were enough for him to follow the mood and intent of conversations.
He listened to maids speaking in the hall, guards talking outside the door, and Lucian humming quietly while arranging documents.
He understood around half of it now. It was a slow but natural process.
He lay in the crib, staring blankly at the ceiling while two maids quietly folded clothes nearby.
He listened.
"Prince… healthy… growing fast…"
"…Lord Lucian said… frighteningly quiet…"
"…eyes… like the King…"
Damyan sighed internally.
"Forty to fifty percent comprehension. Not bad for a baby. I should add this to my resume if I survive."
The system flickered suddenly. A small spark of light danced across his mind.
[System: Internal anomaly detected.]
"You again? What broke now?"
[System: Host cognitive growth has reached threshold.]
A small glowing panel appeared in his vision.
[Skill unlocked: Intellectus]
[Rank: Uncommon]
[Effect: Enhances comprehension, reasoning, and language acquisition.]
[Current state: Awakening.]
[Side effect: Possible temporary dizziness.]
Damyan blinked once. "So I get this now? After seven months? About time you woke up."
[System: Clarification. Skill unlocked due to Host's natural development. Not granted by System.]
Damyan stared upward silently for a full five seconds.
"So you really have been doing nothing this whole time."
[System: Incorrect. System has been monitoring survival stability.]
"Monitoring? That's what CCTV cameras do."
The system did not reply.
Before Damyan could make another sarcastic remark, the first wave hit him: a sudden rush of clarity. Voices sharpened. Words connected. Meanings assembled in real time.
He inhaled sharply, startled by the sudden increase in understanding.
A maid noticed his movement. "Oh? Prince is awake!"
He understood that clearly. The awakening had begun.
His vision flickered briefly.
Then darkness.
--------
Far away. Underground.
The air was cold. The stone walls were carved with demonic sigils that glowed faintly, illuminating hundreds of hooded figures filling the vast hidden chamber.
A tall demon stood on an elevated platform. His voice was steady and powerful, echoing against the walls.
"We gather today not as rebels, not as traitors, but as true children of our fallen blood."
The crowd responded in a low rumble.
"Centuries ago, our kind ruled this continent, under one king, one conqueror: a Demon King who bent the world to his will."
"Glory. Strength. Fearlessness."
"But look at us now. We have withered. Our blood thins. Our power declines. Our kingdom shrinks. Humans mock us. Elves ignore us. Dragonmen look down on us."
A unanimous snarl rippled through the mass.
"Our rulers today do nothing. They watch us rot while pretending the throne still commands respect."
The leader's voice sharpened. "Tell me, for how long will we tolerate weakness?"
The crowd roared. "Never!"
"We will no longer kneel to failure!" the leader thundered. "It is time we reclaim our destiny."
His voice dropped lower, colder.
"And to cleanse this kingdom, the royal blood must be spilled, every one of them."
A unified, thunderous cry erupted.
"For the race! For supremacy! For our future!"
The leader raised his fist.
"We will drink their blood. We will tear them down. And when the last one falls, the world will learn to hate and fear demons again."
The hall exploded with cheers.
In the dim back corner, a cloaked demon with faint green eyes murmured to himself.
"The purge will begin soon."
--------
Back in the palace. That same night.
Damyan woke from his short nap with a more focused gaze than before.
The world sounded clearer. Words had shape, meaning, and color.
A maid entered the room, followed closely by two palace Knights carrying scrolls. They bowed respectfully.
One whisper caught his attention.
"Inform the palace steward," the head maid said. "They need an update on the Crown Prince's condition."
Damyan froze.
Crown Prince.
He replayed the words. Twice, then three times.
"I am… the Crown Prince?"
He expected panic, but none came. Only annoyance.
"Out of all possibilities, I had to be born as the high-value target of an entire kingdom? Not as some rich merchant's spoiled son? No. I get dropped into the most dangerous seat in the entire demon race."
The system appeared.
[System: Host realization confirmed.]
[System: New calculation available.]
[System: Updated survival chance… 3 percent.]
Damyan's left eye twitched slightly.
"Fantastic. Cut in half. At this rate I will hit zero before my first birthday."
He stared blankly at the ceiling again.
"Crown Prince," a maid whispered lovingly nearby.
Damyan closed his eyes slowly.
"I hate this place already."