The Fallen Hero Reincarnates as the Demon King's Son
Chapter 100 - 99 - Day Two

Chapter 100: Chapter 99 - Day Two

The sun had barely moved, but Caliste felt like he had aged a decade.

"Alright, nap time’s over," Daimon said, kicking Caliste’s boot. "Let’s move on to Phase Two."

Caliste opened one eye. "There’s a Phase Two?"

"There’s a Phase Twenty. Now get your ass up. I didn’t survive the Massacre of Thandor by babysitting fainting squirrels."

That probably wasn’t a real thing.

Probably.

Caliste groaned as he rolled to his feet, limbs trembling like jelly. His shirt was torn, his pants burned at the edges, and his once-proud boots had been reduced to sad, flappy leather socks.

Daimon led him to what looked like a giant hamster wheel. Except it was made of rusted iron, covered in spikes on the inside, and about five times too big for any sane creature.

"Behold. The Wheel of Fortitude."

"...That name already hurts me."

"Good. Now climb in. You’re going to run in it while it spins downhill."

"Wait—did you say downhill?"

Too late. Daimon kicked the wheel. It started to roll, slow at first, then faster. Caliste barely got a grip inside as the whole death contraption tumbled forward. Each step became a desperate lunge to stay ahead of the spikes that threatened to skewer his heels. Dirt and sky spun in a nauseating blur.

The wheel hit a bump.

Caliste flew.

Splat.

He landed in a shallow pond, face-first.

"Eh," Daimon called from the top of the hill. "Six-point landing. Not bad. We’ll work on style."

Caliste groaned and stood up. Fish fled from him in terror. His arms shook. His pride was in shambles. And yet, somehow, he was still moving.

"You’re doing good, sissy boy! Most people die before lunch."

"That’s... comforting."

They moved to a different part of the field—if it could even be called that. It was more like a junkyard filled with horrors: training mannequins made of stone, punching bags filled with gravel, a log treadmill over a pit of snapping eels, and a sparring circle surrounded by electrified runes.

Daimon clapped. "Time for reflex training!"

Caliste was not comforted by the man’s enthusiasm.

"Here’s how it works," Daimon explained. "You stand in the circle. Don’t step out. Don’t fall over. I’m going to throw weapons at you."

"You’re going to what—"

A dagger flew.

Caliste yelped and ducked.

"That was the warm-up throw!"

A second blade whistled past his ear.

"This one’s aimed at your face!"

Caliste twisted to the side. The blade nicked his shoulder and embedded itself in the wooden post behind him.

"You’re insane!"

"Thank you."

Dagger. Axe. Brick? A chicken?

Was that a live chicken?

Yes. It was flapping. Caliste swatted it aside, too confused to even panic.

He was sweating bullets by the end of it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A dozen near-misses and three bruises later, Daimon finally called a halt.

"Huh. You actually got better by the end."

"Because I was going to die otherwise!"

"That’s the spirit."

Daimon tossed him a water bottle. Caliste downed it in seconds, slumping to his knees.

But Daimon wasn’t done.

"Oh, don’t get too comfy. Now we move on to The Gauntlet."

The what now?

Daimon led him to what could only be described as a hellish obstacle course. Imagine a castle siege, a dungeon crawl, and a playground for giants—all rolled into one nightmare.

"You’ve got to make it through from start to finish. No stopping. No crying. No dying."

"That third one seems important."

"Agreed. Now go!"

The Gauntlet began with a climb—a sheer rock wall greased with some sort of oil that smelled like rotten eggs. Caliste’s hands slipped three times before he got the rhythm. From there, he had to crawl under a canopy of swinging pendulums, leap over fire pits, and shimmy across ropes strung over pits of snapping metal jaws.

At one point, a monkey—yes, a monkey—threw a coconut at his head.

"What the hell is that monkey doing here?!" Caliste shouted.

"That’s Kevin! He’s the final boss."

Kevin shrieked in response and began pelting Caliste with walnuts.

By the time Caliste stumbled across the finish line, he was covered in grime, bird droppings, and what he sincerely hoped wasn’t goblin pee.

"Okay..." he wheezed. "Tell me that’s the worst part."

Daimon rubbed his chin. "Hmm... Nah. Next we’re doing Endurance Forging."

"Please no."

"You’re going to make your own sword. While lifting weights."

"That’s not—how does that even work?!"

"Oh, you’ll see."

They entered a small forge shack. Inside was a massive anvil, a furnace roaring with flames, and racks of iron bars.

"You’ll alternate between hammer strikes and squats. Every ten strikes, twenty squats. Every five minutes, hold a plank over lava."

"I’m going to die."

"Don’t worry. I’ve got healing salves."

Caliste staggered to the anvil, picked up the hammer, and began. The clang of metal rang in his ears. He squatted. He hammered. He squatted again. The muscles in his legs and arms screamed. His sweat sizzled against the forge’s heat.

By the time he completed the blade, it looked... decent.

Not great.

Definitely not straight.

"Looks like a banana," Daimon commented.

"I hate you."

"I’m proud of you too."

Daimon handed him a cloth and a bowl of cold stew. It was tasteless, probably more root than meat, but Caliste devoured it like a man starved. As he ate, Daimon sat beside him.

"You’re tougher than I thought, kid."

"...Thanks?"

"Still a sissy. But less of one."

Caliste chuckled despite the pain. "You always this... encouraging?"

Daimon grinned. "You should’ve seen what I did to Albert his first time."

"What did you do?"

"Let’s just say it involved bees, a maze, and a talking skull."

"...I don’t want to know."

"You really don’t."

They sat in silence for a bit, the sun beginning to dip lower.

"Why do you train people like this?" Caliste asked.

Daimon’s grin faded a little. His tone turned thoughtful. "Because this world doesn’t care about potential. It only cares about who survives. I saw my whole family slaughtered once. Strength isn’t a luxury. It’s the minimum requirement."

"I see..."

"Albert’s different. Always had the strength and the heart. Me? I just have rage and calluses."

"You both care. You just show it differently."

Daimon blinked. Then grunted. "Stop saying smart things. You’re ruining your sissy image."

Caliste smiled.

Then Daimon stood up, cracking his neck. "One last challenge."

Of course.

They returned to the field.

Daimon pointed to a coffin-sized pit dug into the ground, filled with pitch-black mud. Above it was a large hanging bell made of bronze.

"You’re going to stay submerged in that pit for five minutes. Your only breathing will be through this." He held up a thin reed straw.

"...What’s the point of this?"

"It teaches stillness. Focus. Endurance. Also, we used to do this to spy on enemy camps."

Caliste stared at him. "This is a spy technique?"

"Or a punishment. Depends on how long you stay down."

Without another word, Caliste lowered himself into the mud. The cold slithered around his chest. Daimon handed him the straw and timed him with an hourglass.

The mud was thick. Suffocating. It filled his ears. His nostrils. He could barely move. Time slowed.

He wanted to panic.

But he didn’t.

He thought instead of the fire. The training. The pain. The pride.

And Albert. The man who had taken him in when no one else would.

He wasn’t going to disappoint him.

When Daimon finally pulled him out, he was shivering—but smiling.

"That’s enough," Daimon said, brushing mud from his forehead. "You’re done."

"...Alive," Caliste muttered.

"Barely. But yeah, you are."

They sat again, watching the sun finally touch the horizon.

"Tomorrow," Daimon said, "we start real training."

Caliste didn’t even flinch this time. He just nodded.

"Okay."

Daimon smirked. "Not bad, kid. You might make a barbarian yet."

Caliste leaned back, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave.

But even through the ache, he knew one thing for certain.

This was the worst day of his life.

And strangely...

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

He had a feeling that tomorrow would be even harsher on his body. However, while he had suffered today, he couldn’t help but think that deep down, he was progressing much faster than ever before.

And more importantly, every night, he would drink the silver liquid, and he was finally starting to see some changes to his body.

Caliste had never been welt built, he was more of an agile fighter. But he could feel his body growing in size and his muscles also growing at an important rate.

It was only a question of time before he would become strong enough to rival Alek and even the Demon King.

The only thing that was in between them was time.

Given his talent, as long as the Demon King didn’t kill before he was ready. He would be able to catch up to them.

Alek would be the first one and the Demon King would be next.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.