The Misfit of Demon King Academy: Volume 11 (Light Novel)

1. Auflage 2026
ISBN: 978-1-7183-8772-0
Verlag: J-Novel Club
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 250 Seiten

Reihe: The Misfit of Demon King Academy (Light Novel)

Equis, the self-proclaimed 'will of the world,' has been defeated, and the world has been born anew. But the stolen firedew still hasn't been found, leading Anos and his friends to theorize that there may be an entirely separate world outside of their own. Just as they begin their research they're attacked by a mysterious existence which seems to prove them right. And while their unknown assailants are extremely powerful-as much as the mightiest warriors of the Mythical Age-no one seems to have heard of them. Could these figures, all wearing matching emblems, truly be from the outer world? Find out in the Sacred Silverwater Sea arc!

Autoren/Hrsg.

Shu

Weitere Mitwirkende

Shizumayoshinori

Z., Mana

Leseproben

§ Prologue: The Soul of an Artist

Fasima trees were tall and thin trees that absorbed toxins and miasma in the air through their leaves and branches, then filtered and purified them through their trunk. In other words, they had their own natural spell formulas built in. The fibers harvested from fasima leaves could be used to create extra absorbent fabrics for both magic and paint and were commonly found in painting canvases, while the sap from the fasima tree was used in paint. Even their branches were ideal material for paintbrushes.

It was because of these trees that Domunfulus was known as the holy land for painters. Over the years like-minded artists had gathered at Domunfulus and created a stronghold to defend the Fasima Groves from succumbing to the ravages of war, whether from demonic civil wars or conflicts between humans and spirits.

In the purified air of the Fasima Groves, one man currently stood facing his canvas, painting. His name was Farris Noin, and he too had come to Domunfulus Island to protect the groves. He wore loose beige clothing, with his sparkling blond hair artistically bundled into a ponytail. As he painted his brush moved across the canvas like an extension of his arm, rendering in both paint and magic.

When he drew flames in the sky, everything in flight burned to a crisp. When he drew dirt in the sea, the water parted to reveal islands. The fearsome power of creation magic was sealed within Farris’s canvas. His mighty power and refined magic technique were by-products of his efforts to create the ideal painting. In every white space of a blank canvas rested a piece of his soul.

Farris paused in the middle of his intense painting session and sighed; he had sensed a presence behind him.

“Am I interrupting?” a voice asked.

Farris turned to see a young man in black clothes. For some strange reason, his face couldn’t be seen. There was some kind of magic casting a dark shadow over him and obscuring his true face.

“No, I was just about to take a break,” Farris replied.

“It’s a beautiful painting.”

The young man stepped forwards and stood right behind Farris. The canvas was filled with bare branches and trunks. It was decidedly abstract in its depiction, yet it felt as if its subject would start to glow at any moment.

“So this is what this grove looks like in your Eyes.”

“How did you know it’s grove?” Farris asked, showing an interest in the young man’s words. While the strokes on the canvas could be interpreted as trees, Farris had painted them too small to be a grove. Yet the young man had correctly guessed what Farris was painting in a single glance.

“I merely followed your gaze. Your Eyes were looking over the entire grove, not just the tree before you. It was fascinating.”

The corner of the young man’s mouth peeked out of the shadow, revealing a smirk.

“What’s so fascinating?”

“That this is what you’ve made after starting into the abyss of the grove. You were looking into the fasima’s abyss, yet at the same time, you weren’t looking at all.”

Farris was impressed. What the young man was saying was correct. What he had been drawing wasn’t the true nature of the fasima trees.

“Can you tell what I’m looking at?” Farris asked.

“Not at all. I’m unfamiliar with artwork like this.”

“If you guess correctly, I’ll paint you something of your choice.”

“Oh?”

This time, the young man was the one who sounded interested.

“You’re not a demon from this island. And if you’re not an artist or painter, you’re one of two things: an invader or a potential patron.”

“Doesn’t sound like I’m welcome here.”

“Only those with worthless ambitions would seek the power of an artist.”

“How strict.”

Farris stared at the young man. He was closer than before, but his face was still unclear.

Artists had excellent Magic Eyes. Advanced use of creation magic required the ability to see the true nature of objects. The fact that Farris Noin—a renowned master of creation magic—still couldn’t see through the disguise meant this was no ordinary young man.

Farris gathered his magic power in his Eyes and stared deeper into the shadows.

“I want a ship,” the young man said. “One that can fly through the sky of destruction.”

“You jest. Nothing can fly in the glittering sky of the Sun of Destruction. Any sky fortress that attempts to would be burned and fall instantly.”

“All except one.”

Farris looked at the young man.

“The one you’ve hidden beneath this island and have spent the past one hundred years painting—the one that’s nearly complete. The Sky Fortress Zeridheavens,” the young man said.

Farris fell speechless. Several seconds passed in silence before he managed to reply.

“How...did you know?”

“I heard some rumors, so yesterday I went in secret to check it out.”

Farris frowned. It wasn’t easy to sneak around a stronghold of artists with excellent Magic Eyes.

“What are you trying to do?” Farris then asked.

“Bring down the Goddess of Destruction,” the young man replied casually—as though bringing down a castle was much the same as a walk in the park.

“Go home,” a voice behind the young man snapped. Out of nowhere, demons emerged from the grove in large numbers. They were all artists like Farris.

“You’re wrong. Zeridheavens isn’t a weapon. It’s a work of art,” said a middle-aged man—Van, the founder of Atelier Domunfulus, the artist and painter association formed on the island.

“I know,” the young man replied.

“If you just need our power, we can come to terms and sell it to you. If you need a ship created, we can work something out. But the art of an artist is their soul.”

“That’s what I’m asking for,” the young man said. “I’m asking him to sell me his soul.”

The group of artists surrounding the young man straightened, their Magic Eyes turning sharp with clear hostility. They all drew magic circles and took their magic brushes into their hands.

“Just by your attitude, I can tell you’re a powerful demon,” Van said. “A lesser one wouldn’t have been able to sneak onto this island alone. But the soul of Atelier Domunfulus is not for sale. And if we have to make you leave here, we will.”

They started drawing Iris magic circles with their brushes, prepared to attack the young man if he made a single move.

“Please stand down, Master Van,” Farris said, flustered.

“Don’t worry, Farris,” Van said. “This is our holy ground. We will not forgive those who trample across it.”

Van drew a magic circle with his brush. The young man moved his fingers slowly as Van used Iris immediately—but the spell didn’t activate.

Van’s magic circle had been covered in white paint. Farris had rewritten Van’s spell with his own Iris.

“Stop, Master Van,” Farris said. “Continue and this holy ground will sink.”

“Is he that strong of an opponent?” Van asked.

“Does decadent beauty have a scent?” Farris replied in a quiet tone. “The lack of a form makes it all the more apparent.”

“Wha—?!” Van was at a loss for words. He immediately understood what Farris was trying to say. “Are you saying this man is the leader of Dilhade, the one who defeated the Sorcerer King Bomiras—Demon King Anos Voldigoad?”

Farris must have seen through the shadow. He turned to the young man whose face was still in shadow. “Am I wrong?” he asked, though his voice was firm with conviction.

“Impressive Eyes you have there,” the young man said. “I cannot afford to have the gods find me here, so please excuse my rudeness in not revealing myself.”

The shadow around Anos vanished, revealing his face. At the same time, the artists around him suddenly began to tremble, as if their bodies were responding to a threat their minds had yet to recognize. Their superior Magic Eyes meant they could see into his abyss—and the vast amount of magic power residing there made them shake in fear. They buckled at the knees, at any moment liable to fall before Anos and bow at his feet.

Even Master Van was struggling to remain standing. The only one who could move freely was Farris.

“You may take me wherever you wish,” Farris said. “I offer you my life, Demon King Anos. But I will sell neither the Atelier nor my soul.”

“What if I say I won’t allow it?”

“My brush and my soul exist for beauty. And though you may have the power to defile both, a tainted soul will merely rot away.”

Farris stared at Anos without hesitation. He knew what he was risking by rejecting the Demon King and potentially igniting his ire, but this was one thing he refused to yield.

“Hmm.” Anos looked away from Farris and back at the canvas he had been painting. “It truly is a beautiful painting. It’s the Fasima Groves that exist in the abyss of your heart, no? What you’re looking at isn’t the...