DEMON KING'S Love Redemption

Chapter 22

The arrow didn't just hit the ceramic plate. It vaporized the target into dust, punched through the thick oak backboard of the stall, and continued its flight until it slammed into a decorative bell tower at the far end of the plaza.

The destruction didn't end there. Because the arrow was coated in Vann’s leaking dark mana, the kinetic energy exploded outward.

CRACK!

The entire prize rack—rare dragon plushie and all—was launched into the air. The stall’s support beams snapped like dry twigs. The canvas roof ripped in two, incinerated by the sheer friction of the air. In an instant, what had been a cheerful game stall was transformed into a disaster zone of splintered wood and stuffing that drifted through the air like snow.

"Uh..." Vann stood frozen, the shattered remains of the bow still in his hand.

The entire plaza fell deathly silent. The crowds stopped. The harp music cut out. The stall owner collapsed onto the remains of his counter, eyes bulging as he stared at the spot where his business had been, which was now little more than a shallow crater in the dirt.

"The plushie..." Vann murmured. He turned toward Freya, his face now glowing a pale, humiliated purple. "I think... I hit it?"

Freya stared at the wreckage of the stall, her mouth hanging slightly agape. She glanced at Vann, then at the small child beside them who had begun to wail in terror at the recent explosion. Freya let out a long, heavy breath—a sigh that carried a weary mixture of exhaustion, irritation, and a tightly suppressed urge to laugh.

"Vann," Freya said, her voice dropped to a low, urgent whisper, "we need to run. Now."

"But your prize—"

"Forget the prize! You just wiped out that man's entire livelihood and probably crippled the city's drainage system!" Freya grabbed Vann’s hand, her fingers locking firmly around his wrist, and hauled him into the crowd before the city guards could arrive.

They bolted through narrow back alleys, putting distance between themselves and the heart of the festival. Freya’s laughter finally began to break through her ragged breaths. Vann, being pulled along like a disobedient child, could only stare at her back with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He felt like an absolute failure. This date was supposed to be romantic, not an act of public sabotage.

They eventually slowed to a halt on a secluded stone bridge, far from the festival’s frantic energy. The river beneath them flowed quietly, its surface shimmering with the reflection of the stars. Freya let go of Vann’s hand and bent over, resting her palms on her knees as she laughed until her shoulders shook.

"You... you’re a literal monster, Vann," Freya managed between bouts of laughter. "I invited you out tonight to keep an eye on you, but I never imagined the 'threat' you posed would be the total annihilation of a stuffed animal stall. Do you have some kind of personal vendetta against that blue dragon?"

Vann stood stiffly, his hood having fallen back to reveal a face that still retained a faint, residual glow. "I only wanted to win it for you. The vendor was cheating; he was using magic. I just wanted to pay him back for his dishonesty... I may have been a bit excessive."

Freya stood up straight again, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. She looked at Vann with an expression that was hard to pin down. There was no malice in it—only a sense of wonder seasoned with something that felt remarkably like warmth.

"You don't need to blow things up just to impress me, Vann," Freya’s voice softened. "Sometimes, just walking with me without making your face glow like a streetlamp is more than enough."

Vann looked down, staring at the fingers where traces of dark mana still lingered. "I ruin everything, don't I? Even when my intentions are good, my power always ends in destruction. Maybe... maybe I don't belong here, with you."

Freya fell silent. She stepped closer, standing beside Vann at the bridge’s railing as she gazed out at the vast night sky. "The world is a strange place, Vann. There are people who possess light yet use it to swindle others, like that vendor. And then there are those filled with darkness who, for some reason... keep trying to save cats or win dolls for people."

Freya turned toward him. "I don't know who you really are. I’m still suspicious of you. But tonight... for the first time, I don't see a threat that needs to be neutralized. I just see a foolish boy who needs to learn how to control his own strength."

Vann felt a tightness in his chest—the pleasant kind. He wanted to say something, to confess, but his tongue felt like lead.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered.

Vann felt a sharp, violent shift in the air pressure. His senses flared as he picked up a killing intent so thick it was suffocating, far sharper than anything he had felt before. It wasn’t coming from the city guards, but from the square they had just fled.

Black smoke began to billow from the center of the festival. The sounds of celebration curdled into heart-wrenching screams of panic.

Vann spun around, his eyes flashing a dangerous crimson in the dark. "Freya, stay behind me."

In the distance, atop the ruins of the stall Vann had just leveled, several cloaked figures emerged from the shadows. They didn't run for safety like the other citizens. Instead, they stood tall, forming an ancient magic circle that radiated an energy Vann knew all too well.

It was the symbol of the Diabolos Cult—the worshippers who, in his past life, had been his most fanatical servants.

"They’re looking for someone," Freya whispered, drawing her concealed short sword. "This aura... it’s pure demonic energy."

Vann clenched his fists. One of the cloaked figures turned toward the bridge, as if sensing Vann’s presence through the thousands of panicked people. The figure knelt amidst the rubble, their voice echoing through a transmission spell across the entire area.

"My Lord... We have found you. Cease this play-acting with these mortals and return to your blood-soaked throne!"

Freya froze. She stared at Vann, her eyes wide with a fresh wave of doubt and horror. "Vann... what are they saying? Who are they calling for?"

Vann didn't answer. The light on his face died out completely, replaced by a black aura that began to seep from his skin like poisonous vapor. This tense little date had just spiraled into the very apocalypse he had been trying to outrun.

"It seems," Vann whispered, his voice no longer that of a teenager, "the game is over."

Under the pale moonlight, Vann’s shadow began to stretch and warp, twisting into a massive silhouette with wings and a crown of thorns. Before them, the cultists began to crawl forward, ready to reclaim their king who had been "lost" in love.