Misjudged Lord C4 All Hail The King!

Eryndra’s sharp eyes flickered with surprise as she watched her lord, Kael, turn his back on the throne and walk away, shaking his head.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

He turned his back on the throne that rightfully belongs to him… and he seemed disappointed?

She stared at his retreating figure, her mind deep in thought.

Why?

It was logical to assume that Kael simply wanted to wait for the coronation before taking his seat. That would make sense—he was not officially king yet.

But something about it felt… off.

Eryndra had known Kael since he was only eight years old.

She had been fourteen when she was brought to the castle as an apprentice strategic advisor under her father, the military advisor. That was the first time she saw him.

She still remembered it clearly.

He had been standing at the far end of the training courtyard, his presence subtle, almost unnoticeable among the group of noble children.

Unlike the others—who boasted, flaunted their abilities, or overexerted themselves in an attempt to impress their instructors—Kael simply stood still.

Feet planted in the dirt. Silent. Unmoving.

At the time, she had thought, He’s either bored… or analyzing everything.

Then, something even stranger had happened.

A noble boy, around Kael’s age, had invited him to a sparring match. Kael had reluctantly accepted.

When the match began, Kael confused everyone.

He did nothing.

He just stood there, motionless.

But Eryndra noticed something the others did not.

His stance.

His feet were shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly forward, both planted firmly into the ground. His toes pointed outward, his knees slightly bent, his torso upright yet relaxed.

It looked wrong—unnatural, even. His opponent thought the same and rushed forward, attempting to shove Kael’s shoulders to throw him off balance.

Everyone expected Kael to stumble.

Instead, the opponent was the one who fell—collapsing onto his backside in the dirt.

Eryndra had been stunned.

"How did he do that?" she had muttered at the time, her eyes narrowing in interest.

From that day forward, she had decided to follow him.

And Kael had never ceased to surprise her since.

Cold. Intelligent beyond his years.

Many noble children had tried to challenge him, some even daring to insult him. But most of them had quickly learned their mistake—many met with accidents that, while never directly traced back to Kael, were certainly linked to him.

At nine years old, she had personally witnessed him using magic effortlessly—his control over fire already more refined than boys twice his age.

By the time he entered the Royal Magic Academy, he had already reached the level of an Adept Mage—a status that most students struggled years to achieve. At that level, he could control and ignite fire at will, though he still lacked the ability to cast fireballs.

By sixteen, Kael had graduated.

Though he never openly revealed his full capabilities, Eryndra—and many others—believed that he had already reached the level of a High Mage. At that level, he could conjure fireballs a few times a day and, with his Shadow Magic, manipulate illusions and control shadows within his range.

With such terrifying progress, many believed that by eighteen, Kael was approaching the level of a Grand Mage—a rank reserved for those who could manipulate magic effortlessly.

Eryndra sighed deeply, lost in thought.

She was lucky—immensely lucky—to serve such a prodigy.

Her gaze drifted back to the throne.

She stopped trying to decipher why Kael had refused to sit upon it.

Perhaps there was a deeper reason—one she had yet to comprehend.

But whatever it was, she would understand in time.

For now, she would focus on tomorrow.

The coronation of the crown prince.

Kael Darion would become King of Aredan.

***

The next day, the City of Dareth—though poor and outdated compared to the grand capitals of other demon kingdoms—was alive with festive energy.

Excitement buzzed through the streets as demons gathered, occasionally glancing toward the Royal Castle nestled atop the hill in the distance.

The long-awaited moment had finally arrived.

Kael Darion was about to be crowned King.

In the commoner district, a demon exclaimed with barely contained excitement, “Crown Prince Kael is about to become our king! I cannot wait for the day our kingdom stands tall—proud and mighty—among the other demon kingdoms!”

Beside him, his wife nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Indeed. I only hope I live to see the day when our kingdom becomes the most powerful in all of the Demon Realm.”

Nearby, another voice joined the conversation.

A chubby demon, grinning ear to ear, raised his arms enthusiastically.

“Our new king will definitely become the True Demon King! Just as the ‘Prophecy of the True Demon King’ foretold two hundred years ago!”

His voice swelled with pride as he recited the prophecy word for word—etched into his memory since childhood.

"A young demon from the East of the Demon Realm shall take upon the role of a king, and with his wisdom and might, he shall unite all kingdoms and become the True Demon King, revered by all."

His words stirred the crowd.

Hope. Excitement. Fear.

Because while Aredan was indeed located in the East of the Demon Realm, so were many other kingdoms.

Kael Darion was not the only possible candidate.

An old demon, leaning on his cane, let out a weary sigh. “We have waited two centuries for such a king,” he murmured. “I only hope King Kael is the one we have long awaited…”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned toward the distant Royal Castle.

Inside, in the heart of the throne room, the coronation was about to begin.

The vast throne hall, normally an empty, solemn place, was now bustling with movement.

Nobles whispered among themselves, their voices a low hum as they awaited the ceremony to start.

In one corner, Princess Dianne Darion sat quietly, her scarlet eyes fixed on the book in her hand.

Unlike the night before—where she had been a disheveled, grieving mess—today, she was composed.

Elegant. Regal. A true princess.

The other nobles dared not disturb her.

And then—

A deep voice rang through the grand hall.

“The Crown Prince of Aredan, Kael Darion, has arrived!”

Silence fell.

All eyes turned toward the entrance.

The moment had finally come.

Even Dianne Darion, who had remained silent for most of the ceremony, found herself lifting her gaze from her book.

There, standing tall, was Kael Darion.

His expression remained cold, his golden eyes indifferent as they swept across the gathered nobles.

He wore a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with silver threads, its slightly raised collar adding to his regal presence. Beneath it, a dark silk undershirt contrasted against the crimson fabric.

A wide leather belt sat snug around his waist, securing a ceremonial dagger with an obsidian handle at his hip—its dark luster complementing his tailored black trousers and high leather boots, which echoed through the chamber with every step he took toward the throne.

The room remained silent, the air heavy with anticipation.

Kael approached the grand throne, where the Master of Ritual, Orenthis Zarnak, awaited.

Orenthis Zarnak, aged and hollow-eyed, stood draped in a crimson and black ceremonial robe, the fabric heavy with centuries of tradition.

Raising a gnarled hand, he began the ritual of kingship, his voice carrying the weight of history.

"In the name of the Demon Realm, we witness the ascension of Kael Darion, rightful heir of Aredan. By blood and will, he shall take his place upon the throne, to rule with wisdom, strength, and unyielding authority."

Kael remained still, listening.

Orenthis continued.

"To claim the throne, a king must acknowledge his past and forge his future. Blood seals the bond between ruler and kingdom."

A ceremonial sword, ancient and worn from time, was presented before Kael. Its blade, though dulled with age, still carried the remnants of past rulers' oaths.

Taking the obsidian-handled dagger from his belt, Kael drew the blade across his palm, allowing several drops of blood to fall onto the sword.

The room remained silent as the crimson droplets splattered against the steel.

Orenthis stepped forward, his hollow voice continuing the ceremony.

"With this offering, Kael Darion binds himself to the throne of Aredan. Blood for loyalty. Strength for duty. Wisdom for justice. Let the kingdom bear witness."

Kael wiped his palm against a cloth offered by an attendant, then gripped the hilt of the ceremonial sword, lifting it slightly before setting it back down—a symbolic act signifying his acceptance of the throne.

Orenthis' voice echoed through the hall.

"All hail Kael Darion, King of Aredan!"

A wave of applause erupted through the throne room as Kael finally took his seat upon the grand throne.

Dianne watched it all unfold, her emotions tangled in a web of uncertainty.

Kael was now king.

But despite everything, it was still difficult for her to accept that their father was truly gone.