Misjudged Lord C3 Reality

A wave of fear and admiration washed over Eryndra as she gazed at Kael.

The words he had just spoken… they were not as simple as they sounded.

To her ears, they bordered on absurdity—so much so that she found herself astonished.

Yet, there was no mistaking the weight behind them.

The way he had laughed coldly. The way he had spoken with detached indifference. And the way his golden eyes, brimming with quiet fury, had swept across the kneeling subjects—revealed a rage far deeper than what was seen on the surface.

A silent, controlled rage.

It was terrifying.

But what was even more terrifying—was his restraint.

Kael had not released even an ounce of his magic. Not a single tremor of power slipped through his control.

That, more than anything, revealed just how great his mastery over his own strength was.

Because Eryndra knew.

She knew that even the slightest release of his magic, just the faintest wisp of his power, would have suffocated everyone present. Including her.

And yet, here he stood—calm, composed, untouched by emotion, and in absolute control.

Then, Kael spoke again.

“Everyone,” his voice rang through the streets, still indifferent, yet cutting through the air like a blade.

“Stop acting like fools and lift your heads. Nothing will change if you keep bowing to nobles or to someone royal like me.”

For the first time, true silence fell over the crowd.

Everyone—everyone—froze in place.

Even Eryndra.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Your Majesty—”

Kael raised a single hand, silencing her instantly.

“I am not a king yet.” His voice was cold, final. “Stop calling me ‘Your Majesty.’”

His sharp gaze flickered toward her. “After the coronation, you may address me as ‘Your Majesty’ all you want. But not before then.”

Eryndra clamped her mouth shut, swallowing hard.

She wasn’t the only one shaken.

The kneeling demons, still pressed against the muddy streets, looked up at him with wide, suspicious eyes.

Their minds raced, thoughts spiraling into paranoia.

What does he mean?

Is he testing our loyalty?

If we stop kneeling… will he take it as an insult and kill us?

Or… does he truly despise us for revering him?

Does he see it as something fake?

The weight of the moment bore down on them.

And Kael simply waited.

Many hesitated, their bodies rigid with fear. But a few—just a few—found the courage to rise.

They pushed themselves off the muddy ground, standing shakily, their heads held high. Some even dared to meet Kael’s gaze directly, though their bodies trembled, bracing for whatever punishment would follow.

Yet… nothing happened.

Kael only watched them, his expression unreadable. And then, to their utter disbelief, he smiled. Faintly at first, then wider.

The others, seeing this, began to rise as well. Slowly, cautiously. Some still remained kneeling, unwilling to risk their fate, their eyes locked onto the standing demons, waiting to see what would become of them.

But Kael simply grinned. Without another word, he tugged at the reins and galloped forward, his subordinates closely following.

The crowd remained frozen, their breath collectively held.

Only when Kael’s figure and his entourage had faded into the distance did those still kneeling finally exhale, pushing themselves to their feet.

“That was horrifying!” one demon blurted out, his voice shaky.

“Indeed,” an older demon muttered, clearly relieved. “Not even King Malakar—mighty as he was—ever made me feel such pressure.”

“But…” a tall young demon spoke, his voice hoarse yet firm. “Did you hear what our new king said? He hates subjects who do not question their rulers… who do not complain…”

A heavy silence followed.

That very question lingered in everyone’s minds—what is our king trying to say?

Then, an elderly demoness, her frail frame hunched with age, let out a raspy chuckle.

Her wrinkled face held an expression that was… happy.

“You fools,” she said, her voice tired but knowing. “His Majesty hates it because we are not true demons like him.”

Heads turned toward her, eyes filled with confusion.

“What do you mean?” someone asked.

The old demoness smiled, her gaze deep with understanding.

“Our king wants subjects who challenge their leaders. Who speak their minds and question authority. Who refuse to kneel blindly before the powerful.”

She looked at the gathered demons, her voice filled with something akin to pride.

“He wants us to act like true demons.”

A ripple of realization spread through the crowd.

“True demons do not cower. They do not kneel out of habit. They do not follow weak, false rulers simply because they are told to.” Her smile widened. “He wants us to be like him—fearless, bold, unafraid to speak our truth.”

A deep silence settled over the crowd.

And for the first time in their lives, they began to wonder—had they truly been demons at all?

***

Kael and his entourage left the lower slums behind, galloping through the commoner district. The roads were still filthy and uneven, but the houses were larger, and wooden planks covered the open sewage canals, making the air slightly more bearable.

The people here looked healthier compared to those in the slums, but the moment they saw Kael, they still knelt—heads bowed as he passed.

Then, they entered the bustling market district. Though the roads were still dirty, they were better maintained. The air was thick with the scent of fresh produce, roasted meats, and blacksmith forges working tirelessly in the distance.

Merchants called out their wares, bartering loudly with customers, their voices blending into the constant murmur of the crowd. It was lively—far more developed than the lower districts.

Beyond the market, a stone bridge stretched over the river, leading west toward the blacksmith district, where the forges burned day and night.

But Kael and his group continued north, ascending toward the royal district.

Here, the roads, though not spotless, were at least paved with uneven cobblestone. Noble estates lined the streets—grand structures of stone, though many bore signs of neglect. Crumbling facades. Overgrown gardens. Fountains filled with murky water, long forgotten.

The nobles walking the streets greeted him with elegant bows, their faces composed and measured, while the guards stationed along the roads bent to one knee as he passed.

Higher still, looming over the entire city, stood the Royal Castle.

The highest point in Aredan. The seat of power.

A gothic fortress of dark stone, its towering spires and massive walls cast long shadows over the kingdom. Banners lined its outer walls, their once-proud sigils now faded and torn by time.

Kael and his retinue crossed the wide stone bridge leading to the castle’s entrance, passing over the shallow moat below.

As they approached the gate, the stationed guards bowed deeply.

“Welcome back, Your Highness,” one greeted instinctively.

Then, realizing his mistake, the same guard stiffened. “I—I mean, Your Majesty.”

Kael barely reacted. “It’s fine,” he said simply as he rode past. “I am not yet king, so I do not mind.”

The guard exhaled in relief, though he dared not meet Eryndra’s gaze.

Kael’s trusted right hand, riding just behind him, had narrowed her eyes coldly. A mere glance from her was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He quickly lowered his head in submission.

Eryndra snorted in mild annoyance before following Kael into the castle.

---

The Throne Room

Eryndra trailed behind Kael as he entered the grand chamber, expecting him to do what any rightful heir would—ascend the throne, take his seat as king.

Yet, instead of claiming his place, Kael merely stood before it.

His fingers brushed over the armrest, tracing the aged carvings in the dark stone.

Then, he turned to her and asked an unexpected question.

“Eryn,” his voice was calm, steady. “Do you think I can be a king?”

Eryndra blinked, briefly caught off guard. But her answer was immediate.

“Of course, Your Highness!” she declared, her voice filled with certainty. “You can be a tyrant—a true king—one who will unite the demon realm under your rule!”

Kael exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

Where does this blind confidence come from?

His father had believed the same. The nobles, too, seemed utterly convinced that the king of Aredan—whether Malakar or now him—was destined to rule all demonkind.

But why?

Aredan was the weakest of all demon kingdoms. A kingdom barely holding itself together. A kingdom that no other rulers even considered a threat.

They must be delusional.

But he did not say it aloud.

Whether or not they believed in the fantasy of a True Demon King was irrelevant to him.

Kael had no interest in playing the tyrant. No desire to wage war for the sake of power.

He simply wanted to be a king who could give his people a better life.

A comfortable life.

The titles, the prophecies, the idea of uniting the demon realm—all of it was nonsense.

Ridiculous and unrealistic.

Especially when he couldn’t even fully control his own magic.

His Shadow Magic—a rare and powerful ability—was completely useless to him. At its best, he could use it to briefly fade into shadows, concealing himself for a short time. At its full power, he could blend into and travel through shadows.

A powerful ability in theory.

But in reality?

If he ever used its full potential, he risked losing himself entirely—ceasing to exist.

A lethal flaw in an otherwise powerful ability.

Then there was his Fire Magic.

A common, unimpressive talent.

A skilled fire mage could melt metal at full power—but it required great control. Fire was dangerous not because it was rare, but because it could consume its wielder just as easily as it could destroy their enemies.

Since it was a common talent, Kael had been able to train his control over it. But even now, his mastery remained lacking.

At best, he could conjure weak embers. Basic spells. Novice-level magic that was barely useful in battle. It was progress for his age, but still amounted to nothing more than a glorified lighter or a weak fireball.

And even if he someday achieved perfect control over fire and unlocked its true power, the risk would never disappear.

No matter how skilled a fire mage became, there was always a chance they would be consumed by their own flames—reduced to nothing but ash.

That was why even the most accomplished fire mages never unleashed their full power. Instead, they restrained themselves, using only 70 to 80 percent of their strength to ensure their magic never spiraled out of control.

For Kael, however, that was a distant concern. He wasn’t even at that level yet.

A rare magic he couldn’t use.
A common magic that was mediocre at best.

That was the reality of his so-called great potential.

And yet, the nobles truly believed he could rule the entire demon realm?

Eryndra continued watching him expectantly, waiting for him to take his rightful seat upon the throne.

But Kael only shook his head slightly.

Without another word, he turned away from the grand seat of power, his mind already elsewhere.