DEMON KING'S Love Redemption

The sky above Pandemonium Castle was no longer a void of black, but a searing, violent crimson, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding out. The stench of sulfur and rusted iron choked the air, mingling with the copper tang of the thousands of lives that had been extinguished beneath the tower. Amidst the shattered remains of a throne reduced to splinters, Vann—the most formidable Demon King in human history—was down on one knee.

His breathing was heavy and ragged, echoing inside a suit of black armor that was spider-webbed with cracks. A thick, dark purple fluid—the pure blood of a demon—dripped from the corner of his mouth, staining the cold marble floor. Standing before him was a woman in silver plate that shimmered in the firelight. Her long blonde hair whipped about in the gale tearing through the hall’s ruined roof.

The woman was Freya, the Holy Hero. Her eyes, a blue as deep as the ocean, usually held a calm serenity, but now they burned with pure hatred and an unwavering resolve. Her hands trembled as she gripped the hilt of the holy sword, Aethelgard, its tip pressed firmly against the left side of Vann’s chest.

"This is the end, Vann," Freya’s voice wavered, yet remained as sharp as a razor. "Put an end to this madness. The world’s destruction stops with you."

Vann looked up. From behind his cracked silver mask, his glowing red eyes searched Freya’s face. There was no rage there. No hatred. Only a profound, aching longing and a pain that had nothing to do with his physical wounds.

"You look so beautiful when you are angry, Freya," Vann whispered. His voice was hoarse, yet it carried a tenderness that felt jarring coming from the man known as the Ravager of the Nine Kingdoms.

Freya flinched. Her eyes narrowed, clouded by a momentary flash of doubt. "Shut your mouth! You are a monster who slaughtered millions. Do not dare speak my name with your filthy tongue!"

Vann gave a bitter smile. He knew he was far beyond the point where words could save him. He knew the world saw him as a pure demon, but no one knew that every step he had taken into the darkness was a futile attempt to keep Freya from a fate far worse than death.

"You are right. I am a monster," Vann said, leaning forward and allowing the tip of the holy blade to begin piercing the skin of his chest. "But did you know? Among all the sins I have committed, there is only one I have never regretted."

Freya held her breath. "And what is that?"

Vann reached out and grabbed the blade of the holy sword with his bare hand. His flesh immediately blistered and began to smoke upon contact with the holy energy, but he did not let go. Instead, he pulled the sword deeper toward his own heart.

"Loving you," Vann whispered, his voice barely audible over the magical storm raging outside. "Even as you drive this sword through my heart, I feel this is the most beautiful fate... because at least, I die by your hand."

Freya’s eyes widened. Her pupils trembled violently. Memories buried deep in her subconscious suddenly flashed before her eyes. Shadows of a quiet youth in the academy library, of someone who secretly left flowers on her desk, of a back that always shielded her from the shadows.

"V-Vann? You... it can't be..."

Thwack.

Vann did not wait for Freya to pull the trigger. He thrust himself fully onto the blade. A blinding white light exploded at the point of impact, incinerating the darkness that had shrouded the Demon King’s body for so long. Blood sprayed, splattering across Freya’s face, which was now wet with tears she didn’t realize were falling.

"Thank you... for being... my hero," Vann’s final words vanished as his consciousness faded into the dark.

Total darkness swallowed him. An absolute chill. Vann felt his soul being pulled into a bottomless vortex where time no longer held meaning. He surrendered. He was ready to rot in the deepest pit of hell for his sins.

*

Chirp... chirp...

The cheerful sound of birdsong shattered the silence. Warm sunlight pierced Vann’s eyelids, forcing him to rouse from his long slumber.

Is hell always this bright? he thought cynically.

Vann tried to move his hand, expecting the searing agony of the holy sword’s burns. Instead, he felt the soft, plush surface of fabric. He sat up with a jolt, his eyes snapping open.

He was gasping for air, his hand immediately flying to his left chest. There was no hole. No blood. There wasn't even a trace of the heavy black armor. He was wearing nothing but an oversized, thin white linen shirt.

Vann looked around, his breath hitching. His heart hammered against his ribs, nearly bursting out of his chest.

Sturdy stone walls, wooden bookshelves lined with basic-level magic scrolls, a cluttered desk stained with spilled ink, and a large window overlooking a vast green courtyard with pointed spires in the distance.

"Is this... the Aethelgard dorms?" his voice cracked. It wasn't the deep, authoritative rumble of the Demon King. It was the voice of a teenage boy on the cusp of puberty.

Vann scrambled out of bed and ran toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. He froze at the sight of his reflection.

The face in the mirror no longer bore the cruel lines or the terrifying red eyes. His black hair fell messily over his forehead, framing clear, jet-black eyes. His cheeks were a bit thin, but there were none of the battle scars that usually marked his face as a warlord.

He had returned to the past.

Vann touched the glass with trembling fingers. "Sixteen? I am back to being sixteen years old?"

Memories whirled through his mind. This was his second year at the Aethelgard Academy of Magic. The year everything began to go wrong. The year his dark magic talent began to awaken, leading to his ostracization and eventually driving him into the arms of the demon cult in a desperate search for the power to protect Freya.

Vann clenched his fists. "This time... it won't be the same."

He took a long breath, trying to steady a soul still reeling from the memory of his own death. He remembered every detail of the gods' wicked schemes, every betrayal by the nobles, and most importantly, he remembered how broken Freya had been in those final moments.

"I will not become the Demon King," he whispered to the empty room, a vow made to the silent walls. "I will be the top student. I will become a great mage worthy of standing by her side. I will erase this darkness..."

Vann tried to summon a small spark of mana within his body. He intended to call forth a tiny flicker of light, a low-level spell students used just to light up a room.

However, as he concentrated, a familiar cold aura surged from his pores. Instead of a warm white light, a dense, oily mass of pitch-black mist coalesced in his palm. The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. Black ice began to crawl across the legs of his bed and desk.

Vann’s eyes went wide, and he immediately cut off the flow of mana. "Damn it!"

That power. The Demon King’s power had not vanished. In fact, it felt far purer and more immense than he remembered it being at this age. It was as if his soul, which had reached the pinnacle of dark power, had carried that energy back into a teenage body that wasn't yet ready to contain it.

"This is bad," Vann rubbed his face in frustration. "Freya absolutely loathes dark magic. If she sees this, she will see me as a monster from the very start."

Knock, knock, knock!

The loud pounding on the door startled him.

"Vann! Are you awake yet? Professor Gilder's class starts in ten minutes! If you're late again, you'll be stuck cleaning the Gryphon stables!"

That voice. Vann knew it instantly. It belonged to Elric, his roommate who had fallen during the Great War against the demon hordes. Hearing that voice, alive once more, made Vann’s throat tighten with a surge of raw emotion.

"Y-yeah! I'm coming out!" Vann shouted, struggling to steady his voice.

Vann quickly grabbed his academy uniform—a deep navy robe adorned with a silver crest. He smoothed his hair, desperate to hide the tremor in his hands. He had to act normal. He had to be the old Vann—the quiet, unremarkable student.

He threw open the door to find the dormitory corridor bustling with uniformed students. The scent of cinnamon wafting from the canteen below and the cacophony of teenage laughter felt both jarringly foreign and achingly familiar.

"Took you long enough," Elric said, slinging an arm over Vann’s shoulder. The brown-haired boy offered a wide grin. "Why so pale? Another nightmare about being chased by a Succubus?"

Vann managed a thin smile, one that felt forced on a face that had long grown accustomed to being expressionless. "Just... a bit of a headache."

"Anyway, let's move! There's a big announcement today. I heard our class is being merged with the elites for sparring drills," Elric said, dragging Vann toward the stairs.

Vann froze halfway down the steps. "The elite class?"

"Yeah! Which means our 'Goddess' will be there. Freya van Aethelgard!" Elric gave him a knowing wink. "Another chance for you to pine after her from a distance, buddy."

Vann’s heart hammered against his ribs. Freya. He was going to see the teenage version of her. The Freya who didn’t yet hate him. The Freya who hadn’t yet driven a holy sword through his chest.

As they emerged from the dormitory toward the academy’s main square, the morning sun bathed the sprawling Aethelgard complex in golden light. At the end of the path, beneath a blossoming linden tree, he saw her.

A girl in a perfectly tailored academy uniform was laughing softly while chatting with her friends. Her golden-blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, and that smile... the smile Vann had always wanted to protect... was right there. It was so pure, untainted by the weight of the world.

Freya seemed to sense his gaze. She turned, and for the first time in this new life, those cerulean eyes met Vann’s dark ones.

Vann caught his breath. It felt as though the world around him had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them. He wanted to run to her, pull her into an embrace, and beg for forgiveness for all the suffering he would cause her in the years to come.

But then, something happened that was beyond his control.

Overwhelmed by his emotions, a single drop of dark mana inadvertently leaked from his heart. A thin, frigid aura radiated from his feet, causing the grass beneath him to wither and blacken instantly.

Freya’s brow furrowed. She felt a jarring sensation—something fundamentally at odds with the light element coursing through her veins. She fixed the boy at the end of the path with a wary look, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the practice sword at her hip.

Vann snapped back to his senses and suppressed the aura immediately, but the damage was done. The first impression had been made.

"Vann? What’s wrong?" Elric asked, confused by Vann’s sudden halt.

Vann clenched his fists inside his robe pockets. A chilling realization washed over him. Even though he had returned to the past with nothing but love in his heart, it seemed the world and destiny were still intent on seeing a blade driven through his chest.

His struggle to avoid becoming the 'villain' had only just begun. His greatest challenge wasn’t going to be gods or monsters, but figuring out how to love someone who was predestined to be his executioner.

"It’s nothing," Vann whispered as he stepped forward, though he knew that with every stride, he was leaving behind an invisible trail of darkness. "Let’s get to class."