DEMON KING'S Love Redemption

Chapter 23

The fine sawdust from the puppet stand Vann had just leveled still hung in the air, caught in the light of lanterns that now swayed violently in a sudden, biting wind. The echoes of Freya’s laughter had died away, replaced by a suffocating silence. On the deserted stone bridge, Vann stood frozen. His heart hammered against his ribs—not with the fluttering nerves of a teenager on a date, but with the frantic rhythm of an internal alarm screaming of imminent danger.

That smell. It was the pungent scent of pure sulfur laced with the metallic, cloying stench of magically preserved blood. This wasn’t a festival scent. It was an aroma dragged straight from the Abyss, the darkest reaches of the underworld.

"Vann... what is that?" Freya whispered. She didn't wait for a reply. With a fluid, practiced motion, she reached beneath the folds of her blue dress and drew a concealed silver dagger. Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared toward the town square, which was now being swallowed by an unnatural, black fog.

Vann remained silent. He stared ahead at the hooded figures emerging from the shadows of the burning food stalls. Five, ten... no, nearly thirty of them. They moved with chilling synchronization, weaving through the panicked crowd like predators circling a school of minnows.

The silver glow on Vann’s face—the lingering effect of a botched tooth-whitening spell—pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The light caught the reflection in his black eyes, which were beginning to burn with a faint, crimson fire. He wanted to grab Freya and run, but he knew the window of escape had slammed shut. They were already marked.

"Don't let go of my hand, Freya," Vann said. His voice had changed. The awkward, bashful tone of a moment ago was gone, replaced by a deep, commanding resonance that made the very air vibrate.

Freya flinched at the shift in his tone, but she didn't pull away. "Who are they, Vann? Why are they carrying that symbol of the closed eye? It's the same one we saw in the library’s hidden chamber!"

"Fanatics with terrible timing," Vann snarled internally.

In the center of the square, the black fog condensed into a swirling vortex. From its depths, a tall man in robes embroidered with dark gold thread stepped forward. His face was obscured by a silver mask fashioned into a goat’s skull. In his hand, he gripped a staff of black wood tipped with a massive Void crystal.

"Citizens of Aethelgard!" the masked man bellowed, his voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the city. "Today, the prophecy is fulfilled! The stars have aligned, and the Prince of Darkness has revealed his radiance in your very midst!"

The fleeing townsfolk ground to a halt—not out of curiosity, but because their feet were anchored to the cobblestones by a low-level gravity spell cast by the other cultists. Screams of terror erupted everywhere as they realized they were trapped.

The man in the goat mask turned toward the bridge where Vann and Freya stood. Even behind the mask, Vann could feel a burning, fanatical gaze boring into him.

"Behold!" the man shouted, pointing his staff directly at Vann. "The face that shines amidst the gloom! The silver crown that heralds the return of the Sovereign! He has hidden behind the guise of a mere mortal, seeking to understand the fragility of these pathetic creatures!"

Vann cursed under his breath. A shining face? You think I turned my head into a garden lantern on purpose to announce my identity?! Damn you and your tooth-whitening charms!

Freya stared at Vann with a look of dawning horror. She wrenched her hand from his grip and stumbled back a step. "Vann... what is he talking about? A silver crown? A shining face? You... you really were lying to me last night?"

"Freya, listen to me, it's just a coincidence!" Vann tried to reach for her again, but she parried his hand with the hilt of her dagger.

"Don't touch me!" Freya’s voice shook with a mixture of rage and fear. "Why are they worshiping you? Why is your aura now... exactly like the darkness coming from that fog?"

Before Vann could offer an explanation, the robed cultists began to move. Instead of attacking, they did something that made Vann want to hurl himself into the river below.

In perfect unison, all thirty cultists dropped to their knees on the cold stones. They bowed so low their foreheads struck the ground. The collective thud of their knees hitting the pavement sounded like a synchronized drum of doom.

"WE WELCOME YOU, BEARER OF NIGHT!" they chanted in one voice. "WE WELCOME YOU, LORD VANN! LEAD US TOWARD THE DESTRUCTION OF THIS NEW WORLD!"

The festive atmosphere had vanished, replaced by the grotesque spectacle of a heresy worshipping its god. And that god was Vann—an academy student with a glowing face, standing beside a Holy Hero who was currently holding a blade to his throat.

Vann closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath that felt like swallowing glass. Every effort he had made to be a top student, to court Freya like a normal person, and to bury his past... it had all disintegrated in seconds because of a group of overzealous fools.

"Vann..." Freya whispered, her voice cracking with tears she could no longer hold back. "So it’s true... Kael was right, the professors were right. You are the monster. You brought me here... to make me an offering for them?"

"No, Freya! By everything in this world, NO!" Vann roared. He spun to face her, his eyes now burning a true, blood-red. His dark aura exploded outward, reducing the stone railings of the bridge to fine dust. "I don't know who these people are! I never asked them to come here!"

The man in the goat mask rose and began to approach the bridge with a slow, majestic gait. "Do not fear, my Lord. We know this mortal has ensnared you with her false beauty. We shall liberate you from the shackles of such disgusting human 'affection.' We will offer the heart of the Hero of Aethelgard as the first feast of your awakening!"

At the mention of "Freya's heart," something inside Vann snapped. The patience he had carefully cultivated over months evaporated, replaced by a raw fury that could make the oceans boil.

Vann stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Freya, shielding her with his body. He threw back his hood completely, revealing a face that no longer just glowed, but radiated an aura as thick and black as ink.

"You lot," Vann’s voice emerged as something inhuman. It was a sound from the deepest pit—heavy, authoritative, and capable of shattering the sanity of anyone who heard it. "You dare speak her name in my presence?"