How to Make the Perfect Demon Lord

Red light blazed violently through the gym—

brighter than any bulb could ever produce. The entire room shook, vibrating up and down at a frequency so intense it rattled bones. Thin, hairline cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, their fractures widening with every escalating pulse of energy.

"What the fuck is happening?"

He was speechless. Even as a veteran, he'd never witnessed a skill like this before.

Jamie's body trembled uncontrollably, his hands shaking—not from cold, but from the raw, overwhelming force coursing through him. His eyes burned crimson, each iris reduced to a single, dark star at its center, like a ravenous lion circling its prey, driving it into a corner with primal intensity.

Steam—thick, red, and endless—billowed from his skin as though he'd just emerged from a scalding bath, except this vapor carried no heat, only power.

"Woooh…"

A man muttered in stunned disbelief as the vibrations rippled outward, shaking even the distant forest. He wore a red shirt and black trousers—just an average player who'd come to test his luck. Nothing more.

---

[0:59]

---

In the arena's stands, a few pairs of eyes began drifting between the two figures locked in combat: *The Lord of Hope*, and the square, opaque barrier that shielded them both. The division spared no one—not even the captains' section. Somehow, they saw through the box. Their eyes, laced with string magic, pierced the veil, witnessing everything. A new contender was performing a move that would stir chaos long after this moment passed.

Swiftly.

Clack.

At the top corner, a fissure dropped straight down.

"No way… how is he—?"

Disbelief choked the words in his throat. The boy he'd just punched was tearing through reality itself—using nothing but vibrations.

Clack.

A second line split the middle, wider than the first.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

More cracks followed, shattering the structure like dry grass under a crushing force. The walls collapsed, fragments scattering in all directions—only to disintegrate into shimmering motes of light before they ever touched the ground.

Within the ruin, two figures remained standing. One radiated crimson mist as if it were mundane. The other stood pinned in the corner, hands raised like a boxer bracing for the final blow.

Those who watched were awestruck. As if Alexander hadn't been enough—another player had defied the odds. And this time, it was a nobody… wielding overwhelming, godlike skill.

Bray and Castor's eyes locked in silent recognition. They knew that technique. Castor had activated it once during their gym training—but they'd never seen it fully manifest. Medusa had interrupted them before it could bloom.

"I'm impressed," Castor thought admiringly. "He caught on to it quickly."

All along, Red Sun had been an upgraded form of Yellow Sun. Showing Jamie the Red Sun wasn't just demonstration—it was motivation. A glimpse of the bigger picture. It revealed just how strategic Castor truly was.

But his admiration was cut short by murmurs among the Midgard Overseers.

"Look… there," whispered a small boy, pointing at Jamie. His voice was childlike, his frame even more so—so much that one wondered how he'd been chosen as an Overseer at all. Strapped to his back was a massive knight's helmet, its thick metal walls betraying its immense weight. Etched faintly along its rim was the name Sten —a mark of ownership, should it ever be lost.

Every eye in the group swiveled toward Jamie with the sharp, analytical focus only Overseers possessed.

"Is that… what I think it is?" asked a woman, her voice calm but laced with something unusual—dread, perhaps.

"It is," Sten confirmed, his tone measured, almost reverent. "*Red Sun*. An evolution of *Yellow Sun*. A divine skill, reserved solely for gods and Overseers."

"A mere mortal wielding it…" she hissed, fury now boiling beneath her words, "is a disgrace."

Their tone said it all: Jamie had been marked. Targeted. Condemned for daring to touch what they deemed sacred.

Castor, reading the room with practiced ease, understood immediately. Jamie already carried enough enemies on his back. On top of losing a friend he thought he knew, now two Overseers had joined the growing parade of hatred aimed at him—something he absolutely did not need.

"Let's not get hasty," Castor said smoothly, his voice weaving the first thread of a new idea.

"We'll wait for the Goddess's decision. After all…" He let the implication hang, deliberate and unshakable. "She's the one who created the skill, isn't she?"

The argument landed like a blade through doubt. When it came to the Goddess, even Overseers were powerless—mere puppets bound to her will. To defy her was to invite a punishment so horrific that many would beg for true death just to escape it.

High above, the Goddess smirked, her eyes gleaming with pride. Like a creator beholding her masterpiece.

This was the first time a mere human had reached Red Sun and not just any human, but a newcomer who'd only recently arrived in Midworld. Unlike the Overseers, she wasn't blind to the truth. She knew of the secret protocol—the one even Midgard's systems couldn't access.

The gods selected an Anchor Being: someone strong enough to hold a collapsing world together. Each chosen one received a glitch—and a randomly crafted divine skill, offered as a choice.

And there he stood: a former Anchor, replaced for reasons known only to the gods themselves.

---

[00:00]

[The location of the first free tiles has been revealed. Good luck.]**

Beep.

System screens flared to life across the realm, projecting the estimated coordinates of the tiles.

In an instant, the tension shifted. Veterans, vice-captains, and opportunists alike surged toward the newly revealed zones. Others held back, calculating—waiting to strike when their enemies emerged exhausted.

But two figures remained locked in battle, undeterred by the chaos unfolding around them.

"I'm coming for you, Jamie," Greg muttered, leaping from tree to tree. Knowing Jamie's nature, he was certain the boy would chase a tile immediately. Heading straight for the tile zones was the fastest way to find him.

What Greg didn't know was that the very target he hunted was already embroiled in a fight that could cost him everything—including his chance to win.