DEMON KING'S Love Redemption

Chapter 9: An Accidental Blow

The sun sat heavy at its zenith, baking the stone floor of the Aethelgard Open Arena. Heat distortion shimmered above the ground, thick with the sharp tang of ozone left over from the magical energies unleashed since the duel began. Thousands of eyes from the stands were locked onto the center of the field, barely daring to blink. The silence was so profound that the rustle of the academy banners sounded like the sighs of a giant waiting for a tragedy to unfold.

Vann stood on the northern edge of the arena, carefully pacing his breath to sound ragged and labored. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, though his body hadn't even begun to truly warm up. In his mind, he repeated a private mantra over and over: Be weak. Be a loser. Don't give him any reason to be suspicious.

"Why do you keep dodging, you gutter rat?!" Kael roared from across the field.

Kael van Hestia looked like a wrathful god of war. His silver armor was now etched with fine scuffs from swirling dust, and his handsome face was flushed a deep crimson, clashing with his disheveled blonde hair. He brandished a new enchanted blade—no longer a wooden practice sword, but Lux Aeterna, his family's heirloom silver sword capable of doubling the intensity of light mana.

Vann swallowed hard, forcing a look of sheer terror onto his face. "I... I don't want to hurt you, Lord Kael! Can't we just stop now? You've already won on technical points!"

It was a blatant lie. Since the duel began ten minutes ago, Kael had unleashed over fifty high-level magical slashes, and not a single one had so much as grazed the hem of Vann's cloak. To the casual observer, Vann seemed to be "lucky," constantly tripping or ducking at just the right moment. But to those with sharper eyes, Vann moved with a chilling efficiency—a dance of death hidden behind a mask of clumsy affectations.

"Technical points? I don't need a technical victory!" Kael slammed his foot down, releasing a pulse of light that cracked the arena floor. "I want to see you on your knees! I want you to vomit up that foul black energy of yours so everyone knows exactly what kind of monster you are!"

Kael hoisted his sword high, gathering a mass of light mana so immense it formed a sphere the size of a carriage above his head. This was Solar Flare, a Grade-A destructive spell that was strictly forbidden in student duels.

In the high seats, the professors rose in alarm. "Kael! Stop! That's far too dangerous for a lower-class student!" Professor Hiddleston shouted. But Kael was deaf to anything but his own rage.

Vann looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. Dammit, if I take that hit, this cloak is history and the Demon King mark on my chest will be exposed. But if I dodge using magic, Freya will be even more convinced I’m not human.

Vann glanced toward Freya, who was sitting in the front row. She wasn't screaming. She didn't even look worried. Instead, she leaned forward, her sea-blue eyes fixed on Vann with an intensity that felt like it could dissect his very soul. She wasn't watching a duel; she was observing an anomaly.

"Die in the light!" Kael swung his blade downward.

The massive orb of light plummeted, incinerating the air in its path. The roar was like a thousand claps of thunder exploding at once. The ground beneath Vann’s feet began to fracture under the gravitational pressure of the dense mana mass.

Vann had to act fast. He decided to use a modified 'Shadow Step,' making it look like he’d simply stumbled in a panic. He threw himself to the side, but just as he moved, a thick cloud of dust from the surrounding soil billowed up violently.

The dust tickled Vann's nose. The nerves in his face twitched.

"Hatchi...!"

Vann didn't actually sneeze. However, because his concentration was split between suppressing his mana and dodging the attack, his primal instincts took over for a split second. As his hand flew up to shield his face from the irritating dust, his middle finger and thumb accidentally snapped into a flicking position.

Snap.

To Vann, it was just a casual flick of the fingers to brush away the dust in front of his eyes. But to the arena’s atmosphere, it was a catastrophe.

The air pressure in front of Vann’s fingertips suddenly condensed to an absolute point. A microscopic amount of the darkness mana he had been suppressing leaked out, and given its pure quality, it acted as a catalyst for a kinetic explosion. A transparent shockwave, shaped like a thin disc, tore forward at supersonic speeds.

The wave struck Kael’s Solar Flare dead center.

BOOM!

Instead of shattering, the sphere of light was sliced cleanly in half, as if it had been struck by an invisible giant's blade. The shockwave from Vann’s flick didn't stop there. It kept going, carving a perfectly straight trench through the arena floor before slamming into Kael’s chest while he was still mid-swing.

Kael didn't even have time to scream. The air pressure hit his light shield like it was made of thin glass.

Crack!

Kael’s body was hurled backward with impossible velocity. He skipped across the arena boundary, smashed through the reinforced magical barrier until it splintered into a thousand fractures, and finally embedded himself in the stone wall ten feet off the ground. His sword, Lux Aeterna, flew from his grip, spinning through the air before stabbing into the earth right in front of Vann.

A deathly silence blanketed the arena. Total stillness. No cheers. No whispers. Even the distant chirping of birds seemed to stop out of fear.

Vann stood frozen, his hand still in a flicking posture. He stared at the fifty-meter-long trench bisecting the arena, then looked at the unconscious, ungraceful Kael pinned to the wall.

"Eh?" Vann let out a small, awkward sound. "Lord Kael? Did you... did you trip on the wind?"

Vann quickly lowered his hand, hiding it behind his back. His heart was hammering—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer horror of what he’d just done. Crap. Dammit. I’m dead. That was... I just wanted to clear the dust! Why is my power so damn sensitive?!

Professor Mordred was the first to react. He leaped down from the stands, landing in the middle of the trench Vann had created. He knelt, touching the blackened earth—not charred by fire, but eroded by the sheer pressure of pure mana.

"A flick of the fingers," Mordred murmured, his voice trembling between terror and awe. "He shattered a Grade-A spell and blew back the Hestia heir using nothing but the air pressure from a flick."

The students in the stands finally snapped out of their trance. Whispers erupted like a dam bursting.

"Did you see that?"

"Vann just flicked his fingers, right?"

"That wasn't magic... that was pure physical strength that defies logic!"

"He’s a monster... he’s a monster in disguise!"

Vann tried to fix the situation. He jogged toward Kael with a panicked expression, looking like a civilian witnessing a horrific car crash. "Lord Kael! Lord Kael! Wake up! My god, this wall... why is it so hard that it made you bounce back so far?!"

He tried to pull Kael out of the wall, but every time he touched the armor, the sound of metal groaning and cracking echoed as the residual kinetic pressure from Vann’s hands lingered. Vann jerked his hands back, his face pale.

"Don't touch him, Vann."

The voice was cold and calm, possessing a sharpness that could cut through silk. Vann froze.

He did not need to turn around to know who was standing behind him. The scent of lavender and the familiar chill of holy energy began to wrap around his shoulders.

Vann turned slowly. Freya stood there, barely two meters away. She had descended from the stands without anyone noticing. She wasn't carrying a sword, but her fists were clenched tightly at her sides. Her blue eyes swept over the gouge in the arena floor before settling on Vann's hand, which he had hidden behind his back.

"L-Lady Freya," Vann forced a smile that looked more like a grimace from a toothache. "This... this is quite peculiar, isn't it? Kael seems to have gotten a bit too overzealous, and his magic backfired right in his face. I was just trying to shield my eyes from the dust, and then—"

"Stop lying," Freya interrupted. She took a step forward, forcing Vann to retreat. "Air does not spontaneously form kinetic discs by chance, Vann. And dust does not cause A-rank magic to be split into two perfect halves."

Freya stared deep into Vann's eyes. Within those blue pupils, Vann could see his own reflection—an ordinary-looking youth, yet one with a colossal shadow of darkness looming behind him.

"I have suspected you since the first day," Freya continued, her voice dropping to a low whisper meant only for their ears. "The aura in the corridor, the incident with the cat, and now this... You are no lucky failure, Vann. You are something far more dangerous. That power you just 'accidentally' unleashed... it is a destruction technique that belonged only to the demon generals of old."

Vann felt his throat go dry. "Lady Freya, you must be mistaken. I am merely a student from a common family. Perhaps this is just some dormant talent that—"

"Dormant talent does not tear apart the atomic structure of the air just to brush off some dust," Freya cut him off again. She drew closer until they were barely inches apart. Vann could feel the warmth of her body and the cold weight of her suspicion. "Tell me, who are you really? Were you sent by a dark cult to infiltrate Aethelgard? Or... are you something even worse than that?"

Vann fell silent. He desperately wanted to say, "I am the man who loved you in another life, and I have returned only to ensure you do not die by my hand again." But those words would only land him in the deepest solitary cell in the kingdom.

"I am just Vann, Lady Freya," he finally answered, his voice softening and losing its playful edge. "A young man who only wants to graduate from this academy and... perhaps, have the chance to stand by your side without a sword between us."

Freya flinched for a fleeting moment. A flicker of unreadable emotion crossed her eyes—perhaps shock, perhaps doubt, or perhaps a pang of pain she didn't quite understand. However, she quickly hardened her expression once more.

"If you truly are 'just Vann'," Freya said, gesturing toward the stands where the church inquisitors were descending to survey the damage, "then you have a great deal of explaining to do to the disciplinary committee. Your 'accidental' blow just leveled half the arena's facilities and put a Duke's son into a coma."

Vann glanced toward Kael, who was being carried away on a stretcher by the medical team. He let out a long sigh. His plan to be a humble student had crumbled to pieces, much like the arena walls.

"It seems my luck has truly run out today," Vann muttered.

"No," Freya countered as she began to walk away toward the line of professors. "You aren't unlucky. You're just starting to lose control of your lies. And I will be there when your mask finally shatters."

Vann stood alone amidst the crater and the rubble as the academy guards began to surround him, spears leveled. He looked up at the clear blue sky, feeling as though fate were laughing at him from above.

The Demon King trying to play the part of a kind-hearted student... Vann smiled bitterly to himself. As it turned out, a single flick of his fingers was all it took to destroy a peaceful future.

Yet, beneath his despair, a small spark began to flicker in his heart. Freya hadn't looked at him with the same disgust as the other students. She had looked at him with a challenge. And for Vann, that was far better than being forgotten.

"Well," Vann whispered, raising his hands in surrender as the inquisitors approached. "At least she hasn't taken her eyes off me."

The scene ended with Vann being escorted out of the arena under heavy guard, while in the distance, Professor Mordred scribbled frantically in his black journal, his hands trembling with excitement. On the other side, Freya paused at the arena gate, glancing back at Vann one last time as if memorizing every inch of his back.

Something within Aethelgard had awakened, and there was no turning back for the Demon King or the Holy Hero. That duel had been more than a student competition; it was the first tolling of the bells for a war of destiny that had only just begun.