Chapter 15…
The Birth of the Demon King – (Side: Yoann)
King Philip had a son two years younger than Yoann named Alexis. Among the king’s vassals, however, there were quite a few who supported Yoann, whose magical power and talent far exceeded the prince’s, as the rightful heir to the throne.
It was obvious to anyone that Cecile’s death had been the result of the struggle between the factions supporting Alexis as crown prince and those backing Yoann. Yet because powerful nobles were involved, it was impossible to quickly identify who had actually poisoned her.
A few days after his mother’s funeral—
As Yoann wandered the garden filled with memories of his mother, still crushed by grief, a shocking conversation reached his ears.
“Who would’ve thought Lady Cecile would drink that soup?”
“A miscalculation indeed. Still, as long as Lord Yoann remains alive, we’ll have to take further action.”
They were voices belonging to those who supported Alexis as crown prince.
(These men… they killed Mother. She died in my place…)
Fury surged violently in Yoann’s chest. Neither he nor his mother had ever desired the throne.
—They only wanted to live quietly together!
Darkness consumed Yoann’s heart in an instant. His overflowing rage made it impossible to control his magic. The power, coiled inside him like a poisonous serpent, shot straight toward the source of his anger.
“Guh—! Wh–who’s there—”
“He–help… me!”
His magic constricted the throats of the two men who had been speaking.
(I’ll never forgive you.)
Yoann’s red eyes gleamed with a feral light as his magic swelled and the sound of bones creaking echoed eerily through the air.
“Lord Yoann, stop this at once!”
Sensing the abnormality, his attendants rushed in to restrain him, but the storm of magic swirling around Yoann’s body kept them at bay.
Nearby knights who had been training heard the commotion and came running; it took several of them to finally subdue him.
“Lord Yoann! They’ll die if you don’t stop!”
At those desperate cries, Yoann suddenly snapped back to himself.
The two men, lifted into the air by his magic, dropped heavily to the ground.
He stared in disbelief at their near-lifeless bodies. One foamed at the mouth, convulsing. A knight immediately began chest compressions. The other’s face had turned ashen, wheezing faintly as if barely clinging to life.
“What have I done…?”
Realizing the horror of his own actions, Yoann’s body trembled.
(I almost killed them… I nearly became the same as those who murdered Mother!)
The words “demon’s child”—the insult he’d once been called—echoed in his mind. His stomach churned; he felt sick.
“He’s breathing again! Quickly, get them inside the castle!”
As Yoann blankly watched one man revived by resuscitation, he turned his back on the bustling group carrying the injured away and stumbled out of the castle.
Everything felt like a dream—unreal, distant. Yet he could feel the pitch-black emotions gnawing at his heart and body.
Fear—of his own emotions and his power. What should he do? What could he do? His mind refused to think; his vision warped; strength left his limbs.
The uncontrolled magic drained the life out of him. Without knowing where his feet carried him, Yoann collapsed beneath a tree’s shadow—and lost consciousness.
