DEMON KING'S Love Redemption

Chapter 3: A Heart-Pounding Encounter

Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the main corridor at Aethelgard Academy, reflecting off marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen. The scent of cinnamon from the dining hall still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly extinguished magical candles. To any other student, this was just the start of another dull day in Mana Theory 101. But for Vann, every step down this hallway felt like walking a razor-thin tightrope over a bottomless abyss.

Vann adjusted his uniform collar, which felt a bit too tight. A phantom scar on his chest—right where Freya’s sword had once pierced his heart—seemed to throb every time he took too deep a breath. He tried to ignore the whispers surrounding him. Last night’s incident, the "black fire" explosion in his room, had spread faster than a plague. Students passing him instinctively pulled away, clearing a path as if he were a harbinger of doom.

"Don’t be so tense, buddy. You look like a man walking to the gallows," quipped Elric, who strolled beside him with a carefree gait, acting as if he hadn’t a single worry in the world.

Vann merely muttered, "I’m just short on sleep."

"Short on sleep, or just terrified because Professor Mordred is watching you like a hawk?" Elric chuckled, then nudged Vann’s arm. "Look, forget about the explosion. Just think of it as a minor hiccup for a great mage-to-be. Today, we’ve got joint physical training at the West Arena. You know what that means, right?"

Vann stopped in his tracks for a moment. His heart hammered against his ribs. He knew exactly what it meant. Joint training meant their regular class would be merging with the S-1 Elite Class. The class where the "Goddess of Light" resided.

"Freya will be there," Vann whispered to himself.

"Exactly!" Elric exclaimed with far too much enthusiasm. "And speak of the devil, here comes our leading lady now."

At the far end of the vast corridor, the great hall doors swung open. A group of students in robes adorned with gold embroidery—the hallmark of the elite class—stepped out with an unmistakable air of elegance. In the center of the crowd, as if the world had intentionally dimmed all other lights just to highlight her, stood Freya van Aethelgard.

Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, revealing her slender, porcelain neck. She wore lightweight silver armor over her academy uniform, a training sword hanging at her left hip. Her expression was cold, focused, and breathtakingly beautiful—exactly as she had looked standing amidst the ruins of Vann’s castle before she took his life.

Vann froze. The world seemed to stop spinning. Memories of blood staining Freya’s face and the tears falling from her blue eyes as he died surged through his mind. A deep, agonizing love, a searing regret, and a desperate urge to protect her all exploded within his chest at once.

Stay calm, Vann. She doesn't know you yet. She isn't your enemy here. You're just an unremarkable classmate, Vann warned himself silently.

He forced his legs to move forward. His plan was simple: walk past her, offer the most polite, friendly smile he could muster, and perhaps offer a gentle greeting. He wanted to show her he was a different man now, someone worthy of standing by her side.

The distance between them closed. Five meters. Three meters.

Vann began rehearsing the lines in his head. 'Good morning, Freya. Lovely weather, isn't it?' No, that was too cliché. 'Good to see you at practice today.' Yes, that was better.

But just as their eyes were about to meet, something terrible happened.

Freya, possessing combat instincts far beyond her years, subconsciously released a sliver of her holy aura while speaking to a friend. To an ordinary person, it would feel like nothing more than a warm, comforting presence. But to Vann’s soul, which had reached the pinnacle of darkness over hundreds of years, that holy energy was a direct threat.

The Demon King’s survival instincts, etched into his very marrow, reacted automatically.

Before Vann could stop it, his soul issued a defensive command. His wild, dense mana erupted from his heart silently, yet with overwhelming pressure. The temperature in the corridor plummeted so sharply that the breath of those nearby turned into white mist.

ZING!

It wasn't a romantic greeting that came out, but a pure Aura of Dominance. The air around Vann grew so heavy that the marble floor beneath his feet began to spiderweb with fine cracks. Students within a five-meter radius suddenly felt their lungs constrict, as if an invisible, giant hand was squeezing their chests. Elric, being the closest, collapsed to his knees, his face turning deathly pale, unable to make a sound.

Vann’s eyes widened. He wanted to scream, to pull back the black energy seeping from his pores, but his body was locked in a perfect combat stance. His pitch-black eyes now shimmered with a faint, dangerous red glow.

Freya reacted in a split second.

Sensing a killing intent so thick and alien, her hero instincts screamed in alarm. To her, the boy in front of her had suddenly transformed from a mundane student into a starving monster ready to devour the entire hallway.

Sring!

The sharp sound of steel biting the air echoed through the hall. Freya had drawn her training sword with a speed the human eye could barely follow. The tip of the blade stopped exactly one inch from Vann’s throat. A white-blue light radiated from the blade, cutting through the shroud of darkness surrounding him.

"Don't move," Freya’s voice was no longer sweet. It was cold, as sharp as her blade, and laden with lethal authority. "Who are you, really? What kind of foul energy did you just release?"

Silence smothered the corridor. Every student stood frozen, horrified by the scene. The Academy’s Goddess was holding a weapon to a somber-looking student’s throat.

Vann swallowed hard, feeling the cold bite of the blade against his skin. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He could see Freya’s pupils trembling—not out of fear, but out of pure loathing for the dark energy she had just felt.

"I... I..." Vann tried to speak, but his voice came out heavier and deeper than he intended. "I only wanted to say hello."

"Say hello?" Freya narrowed her eyes, the pressure of her sword intensifying. "You call a blood-chilling killing intent a 'greeting'? I have trained with many holy knights, but none possess an aura as putrid as this. Tell me, are you a spy for the demon cult?"

Vann felt his world crumbling. This was their first real meeting, and he was already at the end of her sword, suspected of being a terrorist. Damn it. Why did fate always insist on putting them on opposite sides?

"Lower your sword, Freya," a deep voice interrupted.

Professor Mordred emerged from the crowd, his gaze shifting sharply between Vann and Freya. He could see the cracks in the floor and the remnants of frost that hadn't yet melted.

"He attacked first, Professor! He released dark magic!" shouted one of the elite students, who had finally caught their breath.

Vann immediately raised both hands, trying to show he was unarmed. He had suppressed his dominance back to its lowest point, but the damage was done. The entire corridor was staring at him with looks of disgust and fear.

"I... I didn't mean to," Vann began his explanation with a trembling voice, this time truly forcing himself to look pathetic. "I'm still recovering from last night’s explosion..."

"My mana is still unstable. When Freya approached, it reacted reflexively because I felt intimidated by her overwhelming power. I apologize; I simply couldn't control it."

Mordred stepped closer, inspecting the lingering traces of energy in the air. "Reflexes, you say? This pressure felt more like a predator marking its territory."

Vann bowed his head low, hiding the flash of desperation in his eyes. "I am just a lowly student, Professor. How could I possibly harbor ill intent toward the honorable Lady Freya?"

Freya didn't lower her sword immediately. She scrutinized Vann, searching for the soul behind the youth's dark eyes. Something felt wrong. To an outsider, his explanation was plausible—unstable mana following an accident could indeed flare up unintentionally. Yet, her instincts told her something else. There was something about the way he stood, the way he had looked at her just moments ago... that wasn't the gaze of a terrified student.

It was the gaze of someone who knew her intimately. Someone who had watched her for a thousand years.

"Your name is Vann, isn't it?" Freya asked, her voice softening slightly though she remained wary.

"Y-yes, Lady Freya," Vann replied, doing his best to mimic the tone of a shy young man.

Freya slowly withdrew her blade, sliding it back into its scabbard with a crisp click. "Keep your apologies. If your mana is truly that unstable, stay away from others. You are dangerous."

Vann felt a sharp pang in his heart hearing the word 'dangerous' come from the lips of the woman he loved. "I understand. I will keep that in mind."

"Dismissed! Joint training begins in five minutes. Anyone who is late will be running a hundred laps around the academy!" Mordred commanded sternly.

The students scattered in a hurry, leaving the corridor feeling heavy and awkward. Elric stood up with Vann’s help, still trembling. "Vann... what was that? I felt like death itself was standing right in front of me."

Vann simply patted Elric’s shoulder without saying a word. He watched Freya’s retreating back as she walked away with perfect posture, never once looking back.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot! Vann cursed himself internally. Instead of being a hero in her eyes, you’ve landed yourself at the top of her blacklist.

Yet, amidst his frustration, Vann noticed something. When Freya had drawn her sword earlier, there had been a tiny flicker in her eyes—a momentary hesitation that shouldn't exist in a Holy Hero. Had she felt the same resonance? Or was her holy sword, Aethelgard, already starting to recognize its arch-nemesis before their fates truly entwined?

Vann took a long breath, trying to steady his racing heart. A meeting that should have been the start of a new romance had accidentally turned into a declaration of war.

As he headed toward the West Arena, Vann looked down at his own hands. Faint traces of black smoke were still dissipating from his fingertips. He knew that hiding his identity as the Demon King in this academy would be far more difficult than winning the war in his previous life.

"If she hates the darkness, then I must become a light brighter than any other," he whispered softly. "Even if I have to burn my own soul to do it."

In the distance, atop one of the academy’s spires, a cloaked figure watched the interaction with a faint smile. "A Demon King trying to be a sheep... how intriguing. Let’s see how long you can keep your fangs hidden, Vann."

Vann was unaware of the surveillance. His focus was entirely on Freya, who now stood in the center of the arena, preparing to begin the drills. Vann clenched his fists. This meeting might have been heart-pounding for all the wrong reasons, but at least Freya knew his name now. In a world where he had once died as a nameless figure in her heart, this was progress—no matter how small.

However, he did not know that Freya was currently gripping the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles were white. In her mind, she kept repeating one thing: Why did my heart feel like it was being sliced by a blade the moment I looked into that boy's eyes? Who are you really, Vann?

Fate had just reshuffled the deck, and the game was only beginning. In the vast expanse of the West Arena, beneath the blue skies of Aethelgard, that heart-stopping encounter was merely the first spark of a fire that would consume both their futures.