The sun rose on the Thirty-First Day of hell.
The first month of conditioning training was over—but no one celebrated.
There were no congratulations.
No applause.
Just scars, bruises, and memories of exhaustion that haunted their every step.
But… they survived.
And that alone meant everything.
And now…
It was time for the second phase.
Yujiro stood on a tall platform above them, arms folded, hair flowing in the early wind.
His eyes scanned the line of once-mighty Demon Lords—now humbled warriors in training.
Milim, still grinning through dirt and cuts.
Guy, eyes calm but wild within.
Rimuru, steady and observant.
Leon, quiet but burning inside.
Velzard, Velgrynd, Rudra, prideful flames tempered by humility.
And so many others—all now aware:
They were not gods. Not here.
Yujiro raised his hand.
He snapped his fingers.
With a quake, massive stone boulders—each as large as a carriage—rose before every person.
"This month," Yujiro said, voice as cold and unshakable as the rocks themselves,
"You will not run. You will not lift. You will not swim."
"You will break."
"Break your limits. Break yourself. Then break this rock."
He dropped into a traditional karate stance.
"No magic. No energy. No aura."
"Just you. Your will. And your fist."
He slammed his fist into the rock beside him.
It shattered—like glass.
"You will keep punching until your rock breaks."
"One punch at a time."
Each of them took their stance.
Feet planted. Wrists tight.
Punch.
Punch.
Punch.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Flesh tore.
Knuckles bled.
Bones cracked.
But the rocks… did not.
Shion, blood dripping down her hands:
"What… kind of madness is this?! It's not even cracking!"
Benimaru, panting, sweat pouring:
"I've never felt pain like this… not even in battle…"
Velzard, whispering to herself:
"This is how humans feel when they fight monsters like us…"
Luminous, gritting her teeth:
"So this is what I've avoided for centuries… weakness… fear…"
Carrion, groaning in agony:
"We've never truly suffered. We've only ever been lucky to be born strong…"
Yujiro stood silently, sipping from a cold cup of Dwargon wine.
He watched as their punches grew slower.
Then more desperate.
Then more… precise.
"They're learning," he murmured to himself.
"Not just how to fight. But what they are without their power."
By Week Six, new horrors began.
Yujiro brought them to a high ridge.
Across it stretched a 1-mile tightrope, no wider than two fingers.
He handed them each a massive boulder—balanced across their backs or shoulders.
"Walk."
That was it.
No safety net. No magic. Just wind, fear, and pain.
Rudra slipped within five steps.
He hung upside down by one leg.
"DAMN IT!! What is this supposed to teach us?!"
Yujiro simply replied:
"Balance is control. Without control, you're nothing."
Velzard, teeth clenched, crawled on her knees to keep steady.
Dino, eyes wide with vertigo:
"This is it. I'm gonna die. I swear I'm gonna die—!"
Milim, laughing:
"This is like a circus!"
Leon, moving inch by inch:
"This isn't about strength anymore… It's mental. All of it…"
At night, their fists were wrapped.
Bones splinted.
But no healing magic allowed.
Veldora, staring at his hands, whispered:
"Yujiro's not just breaking our bodies… he's carving out our weakness."
Draguel, silent as ever, quietly nodded.
"I understand now… We've lived in strength so long, we forgot what it meant to earn it."
Diablo, on one knee, fingers broken and bent, grinned weakly.
"Master Rimuru… this… is what it means to follow a man like Yujiro Hanma…"
On Day 60, Milim stood in front of her shattered rock.
Her fists were red, swollen, raw.
But it was broken.
She turned and raised a hand to everyone.
"I did it!"
One by one, the others looked at their own rocks.
Some were cracked.
Some were bleeding.
But all of them kept punching.
Because now… they understood.
Around the fire, Yujiro stood before them.
"You've bled."
"You've cried."
"You've nearly died."
"But not a single one of you has run away."
He pointed to his head.
"Now… your minds are starting to understand what your power never taught you."
He then pointed to his chest.
"Your hearts are beginning to remember what it means to fight with purpose."
Then finally… to his fist.
"And soon… your bodies will respond. Without magic. Without skills."
"Just will."
He turned.
"Month Two ends soon."
"And when Month Three begins… so does combat."
They stared in silence.
Tired. Broken.
But ready.
The morning of the ninety-first day broke cold and unforgiving.
But there was no cold in the air.
Not for them. Not anymore.
Their bodies had become furnaces.
Fueled by pain.
Shaped by discipline.
Tempered by Yujiro.
The Demon Lords, once towering divine forces of nature, were now mere students lined in rows—scars visible, eyes hardened, muscles firmed by sheer will.
No auras.
No transformations.
No flashy skills.
Only the raw essence of warriors.
Yujiro stood before them with a new energy in his eyes.
"You've walked through fire. Now it's time to learn how to fight."
He didn't speak of magic or power levels.
He didn't talk about cosmic laws or divine titles.
Instead, he showed them form.
Muay Thai.
Karate.
Judo.
Aikido.
"These are not just arts," he growled, tying a black cloth around his waist,
"They are truths passed down for thousands of years by humans who had no magic—only survival."
The first week of martial arts training was brutal.
Their first opponent: humility.
Rimuru was slammed flat by a shoulder throw.
Guy was disarmed and tripped in a flash.
Leon took a knee strike to the gut and coughed up blood.
"You've relied on invincibility too long," Yujiro barked.
"Now you learn what happens when you're not invincible."
Hinata, pride shattered again and again:
"I used to think swordsmanship was everything. But this… this is warfare."
Velgrynd, clutching her ribs:
"I've never lost a fight… now I'm losing every day…"
Diablo, eyes wide, gasping:
"So this is… what it means to be powerless. And yet… still fight."
By Month 4, something terrifying and beautiful began to bloom.
They no longer looked like gods.
They moved like warriors.
Shion's punches no longer relied on brute force.
Now, she used momentum, control—her center.
Benimaru, once a firestorm of power, now dodged, flowed, redirected attacks like water.
Carrion, known for overwhelming force, now learned precision.
Luminous, quiet but fierce, found control in every breath.
She whispered one night to Hinata:
"For the first time, I feel like I know myself."
Week 14.
Yujiro threw them into open combat. One-on-one.
No breaks. No magic.
When Milim fought Leon, the earth shook—but not from power. From impact.
Elbows cracked jaws. Knees slammed into ribs.
Blood stained the field—not from spells, but fists.
Draguel was knocked unconscious by a hip toss from Velzard.
He smiled as he hit the ground.
"I didn't see that coming… that's new..."
Guy Crimson and Rimuru clashed—punch for punch, kick for kick—no flashy ultimates, just true martial arts.
Yujiro watched, smirking.
"They're beginning to forget they were ever Demon Lords."
Yujiro took them to a forest far from Milim's palace.
There were no buildings. No food. No sleep.
"This is the survival month," he said.
"You don't eat unless you win. You don't sleep unless you last."
He unleashed them against each other.
Teams. Ambushes. Night fights.
All with only one rule: no magic, no healing, no mercy.
Rudra, once a prideful emperor, now limped with broken fingers and mud-caked hair.
"This… this is more than training… this is rebirth..."
Veldora, once filled with arrogance and playful ignorance, sat under a tree one evening, panting.
"He's turning us into monsters… but not the kind we used to be."
Velzard, voice low:
"No. He's turning us into humans. And that might be worse…"
The palace had grown silent.
No more boasting. No more arrogance. No titles.
Only warriors.
Eyes sharpened. Muscles honed. Souls awakened.
Yujiro gathered them on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Forgotten Sea.
Behind him: a massive wooden structure.
In front of him: torches lit, as if a ritual had begun.
"Now you know how to punch. How to kick. How to move."
"But none of that matters… if you forget what you're fighting for."
"You've lived your lives at the top. But for six months, you crawled."
"Now rise."
He stepped back.
"One last fight."
Each one of them would face a replica of themselves.
Same speed. Same skill. Same pain tolerance.
No tricks.
No power.
Just will.
Guy gritting through a broken nose, using a judo throw he once failed a dozen times.
Luminous, her knees bleeding, choking out her mirror-self with perfect form.
Benimaru screaming as he landed a knockout elbow, eyes wet with fatigue.
Milim, laughing in pain, taking hit after hit before dropping her doppelganger with a knee to the jaw.
Rimuru stood at the end, fists clenched, eyes burning.
His mirror charged.
He didn't flinch.
CRACK.
The fight was over.
Yujiro stood, nodding slowly.
"You are no longer Demon Lords."
"You are warriors."
"True strength… is finally yours."
The group sat in a circle, scarred but proud.
Leon, voice quiet:
"I forgot what it meant to struggle… but I never want to forget again."
Hinata, staring at her bandaged fists:
"If I had trained like this years ago… I could've changed everything…"
Velgrynd, smirking:
"Now if we face that enemy… we won't be scared. Even without magic."
Rimuru, smiling faintly:
"This was never about the enemy. This was about finding out who we really were…"
Far beyond the grasp of time...
Beyond space...
Beyond the multiverses themselves...
There exists a realm not written in any scripture, not whispered in the ancient tongues, not even dreamt of by the gods.
A realm veiled in eternal stillness—a palace made of star-born crystal and floating light, resting atop the Cosmic Pillars of Infinity.
This was the Sanctum of the Supreme One.
A divine dominion that no being—not even the Celestials, the Dragons, or the Primordials—could reach.
And seated upon a throne sculpted from existence itself, watching everything with eyes that saw past fate, past beginnings and ends, was the one true creator...
Veldanava.
He sat draped in a robe woven from the threads of galaxies, his golden hair flowing like strands of the cosmos, each one humming with the melody of creation. His eyes held within them the reflection of countless worlds—thriving, dying, fighting, growing.
Around him, twelve radiant orbs floated—each a manifestation of a law of reality.
One glowed with Creation.
Another pulsed with Destruction.
One shimmered with Hope.
Another darkened with Despair.
But his gaze today was fixed upon a single world...
The Cardinal World.
Suspended before him in a mirror-like sphere was the image of the Demon Lords—once mighty, arrogant deities of destruction and dominance—now battered, humbled, yet transformed by a human's hands.
They were bruised.
Scarred.
Worn.
But Veldanava smiled—not with amusement, but pride.
His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of universes.
"So… they are finally awakening."
He waved his hand, and the image shifted—showing Rimuru striking his mirror-self with unrelenting resolve. Guy Crimson locked in a flawless stance. Luminous breathing rhythmically, her body flowing like practiced water.
Then Veldanava's eyes narrowed as another presence filled the mirror...
A void that consumes everything and gives nothing back.
Atraval—the Bane of All Power.
Veldanava's expression dimmed, the room quieting as the cosmic orbs froze.
"He moves. The one I created to teach them a lesson"
"Yujiro's warning was not in vain."
He leaned forward, his divine hand resting on the arm of his throne.
"To defeat Atraval, they must cast aside what they are… and embrace who they must become."
He raised a single finger. A ripple spread through the cosmos—an echo only those attuned to the deepest truths of existence could hear.
"You cannot fight that which feeds on power… with power."
"Only will can match the void."
Then… he smiled again.
A celestial breeze moved through the hall. Stars outside pulsed brighter. Entire galaxies trembled as if his emotion alone moved the fabric of reality.
"Yujiro... you've done well. Teaching them."
"Let us see now… how they will apply all they've learned..."
He stood from his throne.
And when Veldanava stands,
fate itself holds its breath.
"The storm is coming… and the era of gods may yet fall to fists, will, and the spirit of mankind."
Far below, unaware of their watcher, the Demon Lords sleep.
Tomorrow, the winds of war will begin to stir.
Tomorrow, Atraval begins to move.
And in the heavens…
The Supreme One watches still.