Chapter 3 — Testing the Impossible
The elegant chamber no longer resembled a prince’s quarters.
Pillows and blankets had become barricades; tables were shoved against the wall under an avalanche of scrolls and stubbed candles. Even the great bed—worth more than a noble estate—was half-buried beneath cushions scavenged for “experiments.”
In the middle of the chaos sat a silver-haired boy with glittering golden eyes.
“Asura Satomi,” he intoned with mock grandeur, “True Demon Lord, grandson of the Demon King… and proud owner of a cheat system.”
He puffed his chest, raised one hand to imaginary spotlights, and grinned. “Time for experiments.”
He flicked through the glowing menu only he could see. “Appraisal? Done. Storage? Yes. Teleportation? …later—ideally not into a wall.” A nervous chuckle. “Start safe.”
? Master Crafter
Crafting sounded harmless. Compared to teleporting into rock or blowing a hole in the castle, what could go wrong?
His eyes landed on a food tray and the plain spoon beside it.
“Perfect.”
He clasped it, focused, and whispered, “Craft.”
Light pulsed. Metal softened and unfurled like living silver, stretching and spiraling. Runes burned pale-blue, searing into steel. Mana thrummed through the chamber; Asura’s hair lifted in the charged air.
Silence.
The spoon was gone. In his hand lay a longsword—runed blade humming like a heartbeat, edge so clean it seemed to cut the air, grip wrapped in something like dragon hide.
“…I just made a legendary sword out of a spoon.”
He gave it the faintest test swing.
Whoosh.
Across the room, velvet curtains parted top to bottom as if sliced by an invisible tailor. They sagged, then folded to the floor.
“Yeah. Okay. Not indoors.”
He willed the weapon away; the runes flared and dissolved into embers. Only the scent of hot metal remained.
Asura stared at his empty hands, breath quick. Then the grin returned.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“If a spoon does that… what happens with real materials?”
? Unlimited Storage
“Storage should be safe,” he told himself. “Worst case, I lose a pillow. Best case, I break reality.”
His gaze settled on a massive blackwood dresser veined with crimson inlay.
He pointed. “Store.”
Pop.
Gone.
He sprinted to the empty space, peered under the bed, tapped the wall—then laughed, half-disbelieving. “Bring it back!”
Pop.
The dresser reappeared exactly as it had been. The candle atop didn’t even flicker.
“It’s perfect storage,” he breathed. “No time drift, no scuffs, exact placement.”
Chair: pop, back. Bookshelf: pop, back. Each flawless return widened his smile.
“…I could hide an army.” Siege engines, supplies that never spoiled—an entire campaign in a pocket. A shiver ran through him—half terror, half glee.
“Or,” he added, eyes sparkling, “a lifetime of snacks.”
He flopped onto the carpet, laughter bouncing off marble. Convenience? No—power.
? Aura
Aura wasn’t a trick; it was presence. It was his grandfather entering a room and nobles bowing without being told.
Just a fraction, he promised himself.
He inhaled and willed it forth.
Pressure detonated outward. Air thickened to iron. Marble cracked in jagged lines; the chandelier shrieked against its chain; curtains whipped like storm flags.
Outside, Keith Von Talon buckled. Armor groaned as the veteran knight jammed a hand to the wall, lungs seizing under invisible weight.
This pressure… monstrous…
Inside, Asura’s eyes went wide. “Cancel!”
Silence snapped back. The chandelier stilled, floor scarred.
The door opened. Keith staggered in, sweat beading beneath his helm. “My lord… was that… you?”
“…Maybe,” Asura said, scratching his cheek.
Keith stared—no words.
A chill threaded Asura’s spine. If the castle felt that… if Grandfather did…
He swallowed, then couldn’t help a tiny, guilty smile. “Wow. I really am terrifying.”
Keith did not disagree.
? Teleportation
“Next up—Teleportation.”
Dream skill. Freedom in a single word.
“Keep it simple,” he told himself. “The hallway.”
He lifted a hand. “Teleport.”
Space folded like heated glass. Sound cracked. Weightlessness yanked at his stomach—
—snap.
He blinked at an upside-down room.
“…uh-oh.”
He was standing on the ceiling.
Gravity remembered him.
“GYAAAH—!”
He fell into a fort of pillows, bounced, and lay dazed, staring up at the chandelier—now correctly above.
“…Still a success,” he groaned, rubbing his head. “Just… aim better.”
? Flight
“Time for something cool,” he told the ceiling. “Flight.”
Nothing. Then—lift. He rose, wobbling toward the chandelier on currents of his own mana.
“Yes!” he whooped. “Isekai dream—unlocked!”
He leaned too far.
Crash.
Crystal rained. Feathers drifted. He landed in a velvet avalanche.
The door burst open. Keith stormed in, blade drawn—then froze at the sight: the Demon King’s grandson wrapped in blankets and feathers, coughing through laughter.
“I’m fine!” Asura said, brushing off a shard. “Note to self: practice outside.”
Keith lowered his sword, defeated by absurdity.
“Flying is awesome,” Asura added solemnly. “Chandeliers are the natural enemy.”
? The Realization
He lay amid feathers like falling snow, bruises dulled by obscene stats. Pride smarted more than skin.
“I nearly flattened Keith with Aura, teleported to the ceiling, and murdered a chandelier,” he muttered.
Yet the grin stayed.
“So this is my power,” he whispered. “Not a small cheat. Something this world hasn’t seen.”
Curtains cut by a spoon-sword. A dresser blinked from reality. A knight forced to a knee. Every test said the same thing: he didn’t fit the world’s rules—he bent them.
“This world,” he said, golden eyes burning, “is about to get interesting.”
Feathers settled. In the Demon King’s shadow, a boy laughed in the ruins of his own chaos and set foot on a path no one else could follow.
