I Reincarnated as a Demon King,I Will Kill Everything

The second cycle of training had just begun when Kirx—the lesser demon I had summoned—raised his hand, his face still forced upright by the 30x gravity.

"My Lord,anchor? Why do we call it an anchor?"

The hall was silent. Even the clink of Selena's halberd was restraining itself. I turned to Noa Genesis—the gem on the back of his hand throbbing softly.

"Good. Questions are rewarded with answers," I said. I patted the air; the circular rune in the center of the floor lit up, projecting the image of your body, your true name, and your Domain—three normally invisible silhouettes.

"Listen carefully. The anchor is the knot that binds these three together: your body (vessel), your name (identity), and your Domain (domain). We don't call it a core because it's just a battery. We don't call it a heart because it's an organ. We use the anchor because its function is to keep you from being swept away when a magical storm comes."

I pressed my palm to the space. A fine line appeared—a name-knot—a name-knot on the projection's chest. From there, a faint tether extended to the Domain.

"Holy attacks—especially lunar ones—cut it. That's what happened to Zereth: lunar shear. Choir prayers grind it down. Excess elixir burns it. If the anchor breaks, you'll still be standing but you're no longer yourself. You start hearing other people's voices in your head , your Domain stutters, skills go astray."

Noa broadcasted numbers into the air: the anchor's rhythm scale from 0.60 to 1.00, like a black metronome.

"A quick rule before we storm the Cathedral," I continued. "A rhythm of ≥0.90 is safe. 0.85–0.89: caution. <0.85: exit the ring ward, don't drink elixir."

I pointed to the three bottles of Celes' elixir on Algor's cart. "This is a knife, not sugar. Take half five minutes before contact, the rest upon contact with the ward. If there's a 0.6 Hz rhythmic tremor, splitting vision, or any memories that aren't yours—run to Clarissa for a cooldown. We don't bargain with echoes."

Clarissa held up a bag of cold blood crystals. "Cooldown ready."

I looked at Rena. "You'll be an example."

Rena activated a narrow [CHAOS DOMAIN]. I sent a beam of synthetic sacred litany from the Algor rig. The light path tried to infiltrate her name node—the Chaos Domain closed it without impact, but rather enveloped it.

"Remember the difference: we don't fight the moon with impact. We extinguish its voice," Rena said flatly. "The sacred isn't lost—it just stops singing."

"Our training is geared toward anchors, not muscles," I continued. "Morning: Training set I–III from Amon's records—Breath of Void, Abyssal Stance, Ebon Pulse. Afternoon: Blood-Forge Circuits— Selena, Nana, and Malrik circulate aura through the body's 'iron pathways' during the holy bath. Afternoon: Soul Callus and Moon Rotations—callousing the skin of the soul and rotating the lunar element without inserting it into the knot. Evening: King's Loom and Soul Splint—stitching micro-cracks after training."

Selena raised her halberd. "What if the ward explodes?"

"Nana's Cheondan advances: Shield Fortress ➜ Guard Break. You cut the pillar with ice, but don't forget your blood circuits—otherwise the choir will eat you from the inside."

Nana nodded, her shield trembling against the hail of rune arrows from the rig. "Focus on the anchor. Understood."

I knelt in front of Kirx. "You asked, so you're getting an extra burden too. Two cycles, an hour early, 40x gravity. The goal is one—to thicken the anchor. A strong slave is still a slave if he doesn't have an anchor. A thin king is still a king as long as the anchor is intact."

Kirx's eyes blazed with fear and hunger. "Ready, My Lord!"

I stood, staring at everyone. "In the Cathedral, what they have is voice. What we bring is forced silence. Remember this phrase: Domain isn't enlarged—it's narrowed until it's beautifully heavy. A strong anchor = a precise strike. A weak anchor = you become a church trophy."

Noa struck a final note, cold and precise. "Raid checklist:

— Rhythm ≥0.90 before departure.

— Half-and-half elixir.

— Cooling if bleeding symptoms occur.

— Post-cycle suturing.

— Sacred abstinence for Zereth until rhythm stabilizes at 0.95."

I raised my hand. The gravity rune increased by 5%; the entire floor groaned.

"Start again. Forty counts of Breath of Void. After that—Ebon Pulse into [Dragon Shot] compression. Every blow must have weight."

A simultaneous roar of breath filled the hall. Rena ignited and extinguished the Domain to the beat of a 0.92 metronome. Selena danced among the shards of ice and false prayers. Nana nailed the rhythm behind the shield wall. Malrik opened a rift as small as a fingernail, closing it again without slicing through the space. Nysha disappeared into three shadowy points, returning precisely on the beat. Clarissa measured the temperature of each soul.

I stepped into the storm we had created.

"The anchor," I said quietly, so everyone could hear, "is the reason you return home as you, not as the name on their bell."

The night in Crowmere wasn't black—it shimmered. Elven trees towered like pillars of glass; veins of light flowed down their trunks, leading the gaze to the High Cathedral: its bell tower crowned with a moon-rim, its walls embroidered with litanies. The wind carried a faint hum—not a sound, but the intention to sing.

We arrived through a shadowy rift on the northern slope. Rena was at my side, the Hell Gate armor silent; Selena, Nana, Malrik, Nysha, and Clarissa formed a fan of assault. Algor and Simon monitored via scry-plate from the castle; Zereth remained under the care of Soul Splint.

Noa Genesis pulsed in my hand. "Anchor rhythm—check: Rena 0.93, Selena 0.90, Nana 0.94, Malrik 0.89 (caution), Nysha 0.92. My Lord 0.91. Condition: ready."

I nodded. "Dosage."

Rena opened the vial of Celes' Elixir—the first drop. Selena and Nana followed suit. A bluish silver gleam touched my tongue, then subsided to the nadir of my pulse like a docile, cold moon.

"Phase I—Silence," I said softly. "Nysha."

The shadows shattered silently. Nysha vanished into the northern airwell—the airwell at the base of the tower. Two minutes that felt like a long prayer. Then, from afar, the soft bark of the glyphs crumbled one by one.

Nysha's whisper trickled from the darkness: "Bellward extinguished. Rope of Choir unraveled. Planting Shadow Spikes—point one… two… three. Moonbane Spikes ready."

Noa confirmed, evenly: "Choir buzzing down 38%. Spike correlation: successful."

"Move," I said.

We crept down the hill. Nana opened the way—Cheondan: Shield Fortress was lightly activated, holding back the fragments of the still-active ward. Selena walked in the shadow of the shield, her halberd encased in ice to prevent reflection. Malrik inoculated the ground with a small sigil—a spore rift for retreat.

The first lunar fence—was breached. Fields of elven grass glowed with phosphorescent shimmer. Ranger patrols passed in the distance, unmoving; Nysha's Shadow Spikes kept our steps from registering on the ground.

The proximity of the tower made the hum of the litany even clearer—a silent voice. Noa broadcast the exposure level: "Holy radiation rising. Recommendation: consume half a bottle for the breach team."

"Now," I ordered.