During their first class, the students of Babyls were gathered for a flying race, an annual tradition supervised by their homeroom teacher, Kalego.
Each student stood in front of the starting line as Kalego explained the details of the course.
"This year," Kalego began in his usual strict tone, "you will be racing through Warbling Valley. As always, it's a long route filled with hostile demon birds and aggressive plants."
He paused, glancing at the class with narrowed eyes.
"In past years, students were given a choice between Warbling Valley and Cutthroat Valley—a more direct but far more dangerous route. However..." Kalego's gaze darkened slightly, "...Cutthroat Valley is off-limits this year. The guardian beast that resides there has been agitated and is attacking anything that enters."
A murmur ran through the students—disappointment, awe, and even some excitement. Then, Sabnock Sabro stepped forward with his usual booming confidence.
"Wait a second! Cutthroat Valley's still an option, right? Then I'll take that path!"
Kalego sighed sharply. "Like I care. Go get yourself eaten. Just so you know—Cutthroat is full of jagged mountains, and Warbling Valley is mostly an open flying field."
At that, Iruma's eyes narrowed slightly in thought. He didn't say anything aloud, but inside, his mind was already analyzing the terrain.
So... Cutthroat is basically a line of smaller mountains. If I use them right, I wouldn't even need to fly the whole way. I could leap from one peak to another and minimize air time...
Iruma gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to himself—agreeing silently with Sabro's reckless decision.
[ Just like in naruto who they climb tree to tree ]
As the students prepared to launch, Clara bounced excitedly in place, her eyes sparkling.
"Yep yep!" she chirped, flailing her arms in the air. "Let's goooo! What about you, Eggy-sensei?"
Kalego's eye twitched.
"Do not call me that," he growled, clearly annoyed. "I will be waiting at the finish line."
Without another word, Kalego placed two fingers against his forehead. With a sudden burst of wind, dark, purplish wings spread wide from his back—his demonic form now active. In a swift motion, he soared into the sky, quickly followed by other teachers and students, their wings flaring open one after another.
Among the buzz of wings and excitement, Iruma crouched low near the edge of the starting point. His eyes scanned the direction of Cutthroat Valley, calculating silently.
If I aim it just right... I can use the stone as a marker.
He reached down and picked up a small rock from the ground, weighing it in his hand. His fingers tightened around it—not to throw, but to mark.
With Amenotejikara... I can switch places in mid-air, right at the last second. No wings needed.
His eyes narrowed for a second, the faintest glow pulsing behind them. In his mind, the strategy was already set. He'd throw the stone toward one of the ridges in Cutthroat Valley—and just before touching down, he'd swap places with it. A clean teleport.
No wings....and no one needs to know how I did it.
From above, Kalego's voice echoed loudly through the sky.
"As of now... the Flying Race begins!"
---
After a few moments, once Professor Kalego had flown off toward the finish line, a student shouted out,
"Okay, now! On your mark... get set—GO!"
In an instant, a rush of wind and excitement filled the air as students launched forward, wings flaring and magic blazing. Most of them surged toward Warbling Valley, the safer and more navigable path. But two students chose differently.
Sabnock Sabro, driven by pride and the desire to prove his strength, spread his massive wings and bolted toward the forbidden route—Cutthroat Valley.
Not far behind, Iruma stood calmly on the ground. His expression was unreadable as he rolled a small rock between his fingers, eyes locked on a distant cliff along the jagged path. A flick of his wrist, and—
Swish!
The stone flew through the air like a bullet, soaring toward the edge of a mountain deep in Cutthroat Valley.
A brief flash flickered in Iruma's Rinnegan. In the same instant, he vanished from the starting point and reappeared midair—swapping places with the stone using Amenotejikara.
He landed hard—but not on the rocky mountaintop he'd aimed for.
The ground beneath his feet shifted slightly. It was warm. Breathing.
Iruma's eyes widened. "...This isn't a mountain."
A rumble echoed from below. Slowly, the massive form beneath him stirred.
Standing on a broad, feathery back, Iruma realized he had landed directly on the lost child of the Guardian Beast—the very one Kalego warned about. The creature slowly turned its head, locking eyes with him.
Iruma immediately dropped into a fighting stance. His three-tomoe Sharingan spun to life, crimson eyes locking onto the beast's movements.
So this is the guardian...? No. Something's wrong.
His expression softened slightly when he noticed the creature's leg was torn and bleeding, deep crimson soaking into the rocky ground. It was hurt—badly.
Kneeling down, Iruma reached out, focusing his chakra into his hands.
"Hold still…" he muttered.
Blue light began to form in his palms. He tried to press the healing chakra into the beast's wound—but the energy scattered uselessly. The injury didn't close.
"Tch—it's not working. Chakra doesn't respond to demonic lifeforms…"
He clenched his fist. The scene of his master's death flashed briefly in his memory—along with the words of the demon who'd killed him:
"Only a human can kill or heal a demon."
Iruma stared at the beast, then at his own hand. A moment of hesitation passed… before he made his decision.
Without flinching, he cut a shallow line across his palm, blood welling up immediately. Then, gently, he pressed his bleeding hand onto the creature's wound.
A faint glow spread outward from the contact point. Iruma's blood shimmered unnaturally, as though reacting to something ancient and primal. Slowly, the beast's torn flesh began to knit itself together.
The bird let out a low, surprised cry. Its massive head tilted toward Iruma.
Then it bowed slightly, extending one wing and tilting its body down—as if to say, "Climb on."
Iruma blinked, unsure.
"You... want to take me to the finish line?"
The bird didn't answer, of course. But it stood patiently, waiting.
Iruma gave a small, uncertain smile.
"Well... this'll be faster than running."
He leapt up onto its back, settling between its shoulder blades. With a beat of enormous wings, the guardian beast took flight—carrying Iruma high above the treacherous cliffs of Cutthroat Valley, heading straight toward the finish line.
---
(2 Minutes Later)
Deep within the jagged cliffs of Cutthroat Valley, the air was thick with the scent of scorched earth and blood. The wind howled like a dying beast.
Sabnock Sabro, bruised and battered, knelt on one knee. His breathing was ragged, his muscles trembling from exertion. Cuts lined his arms, and one of his wings was torn. Just ahead of him loomed a massive shadow—the Guardian Beast, its gaze sharp and unrelenting.
Sabro gritted his teeth, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.
"Cursed… I was gravely mistaken."
His thoughts were heavy with frustration. His pride, once a flame that fueled every move, now weighed him down like a stone.
"If I fall here… then I'll never become the Demon King."
He clenched his fists.
"I must fight—"
But before he could stand, a rush of wind surged past him. A large wing unfurled directly in front of him, shielding him from the beast's presence.
Sabro's eyes widened.
Floating just above the ground was a navy-blue cloak, fluttering in the wind like a banner in war. A figure stood in its center—calm, unmoving, resolute.
The handle of a sword was gripped in both hands, rope loosely tied around it, the ends drifting eerily in the air as if weightless.
It was Iruma.
He didn't look back. He stood like a wall between Sabro and the beast, dark hair tousled by the wind, and Sharingan glowing faintly in his eyes.
Then, he spoke—quietly, but with conviction.
"A Demon King must be someone who is both feared by demons… and loved by them."
Sabro stared, stunned into silence.
Iruma didn't turn around, his gaze fixed on the guardian beast ahead.
"A demon who only knows how to fight will never rule. Because power alone… can't protect anyone."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Sabro's fists unclenched slightly, his breath catching. There was no mockery in Iruma's tone—only honesty.
A moment of silence passed between them, pierced only by the distant cries of other students still struggling in the valley.
Then Iruma took a single step forward, his presence pushing back the pressure of the beast's killing intent.
Sabro looked at his back. The navy-blue cloak. The calm, unwavering stance. And the sword — still sheathed.
He gritted his teeth, not out of anger… but shame.
"He's…so cool."
---
The tension in the air was heavy. The Guardian Beast towered before them, muscles coiled, wings flared, and eyes locked onto Iruma. Every breath it exhaled shook the dust from the jagged rocks below.
Iruma's grip on his sword tightened ever so slightly. His Sharingan rotated slowly, reading every twitch of the beast's movement. One misstep, and they'd both be crushed.
He whispered without turning, "Sabro… if this goes wrong, I'll grab you and we jump to the next ridge."
Sabro, still kneeling behind him, didn't respond—but he didn't object either.
And then—
A shadow passed over them.
From the sky, a smaller winged figure descended, its feathers marked with deep crimson patterns and faint silver light pulsing from the tips. It let out a sharp, yet melodic cry.
The Guardian Beast—the very embodiment of power in Cutthroat Valley—froze.
Its blood-red eyes widened.
The smaller beast landed between Iruma and the towering behemoth with a thud, wobbling slightly. Its wing was still bandaged with makeshift wrapping—Iruma's chakra-infused cloth, still glowing faintly.
It looked up at the massive beast and let out a series of chirps, growls, and low rumbling calls—a language older than Netherworld dialect, understood only by kin.
Iruma narrowed his eyes, shifting into a cautious stance.
Is this… the beast I healed earlier? And who brought me here ?
Wait… it's speaking to the Guardian...?
The Guardian let out a low, thunderous growl in return. Their conversation—silent to the Both iruma and sabro—was rich with meaning.
The Guardian lowered its massive head. Its gaze now held no hostility, only something ancient… respect.
It turned to Iruma.
And then, the impossible happened.
With a graceful, almost ritualistic movement, the Guardian Beast bowed—its massive forelegs bending, head dipping low, wings folding inward. The ground trembled beneath it. The very air stilled.
Sabro gasped. "Wha…?"
Iruma didn't flinch, but his brows furrowed.
It's… bowing to me?
The small beast let out a soft chirp and wobbled up onto the Guardian's back. Once atop, it curled into a fluffy ball of feathers and scales… and promptly fell asleep.
Iruma tilted his head slightly. He's asleep already? Maybe… he's still weak from the injury.
The Guardian then motioned with a subtle nod of its head—gesturing to its back.
Iruma sheathed his sword, stepping forward slowly, never taking his eyes off the beast. "I guess this means… it's safe."
Sabro blinked. "W-We're getting on that thing?"
"Unless you want to climb the next ten mountains with your injuries," Iruma replied coolly, turning his gaze toward him. "This'll get us to the finish line in style."
Sabro hesitated… then grunted and stood, brushing dust from his cloak. "Tch. Fine. But only because I don't want to lose."
With a small leap, Iruma landed softly on the Guardian's back. Sabro followed, wincing slightly but refusing to show weakness.
As they both settled behind the small sleeping beast, the Guardian let out a thunderous cry that echoed across the valley—a declaration.
Its wings unfurled—huge, ancient, regal—and in a single, powerful beat, it launched into the sky.
The wind screamed past them. Below, the rocky ridges and chasms blurred. Iruma's cloak fluttered like a flag behind him, his eyes glowing with the crimson brilliance of the Sharingan, scanning the horizon.
Sabro held on, eyes wide. "Hah… I've never flown like this before."
Iruma smirked slightly. "Me neither."
Up ahead, the finish line shone in the distance, with Kalego-sensei already waiting—arms crossed, unimpressed.
But he wasn't expecting Iruma and Sabro to arrive atop the Guardian Beast itself, with its child resting peacefully between them like a royal escort.
A flash of awe lit the skies of that day, as the class watched the impossible—Like a demon tamer and a war-driven noble riding side by side on a creature that should've destroyed them.
No one could have predicted it.
But this was only the beginning of Iruma's reign of Cycle.