Misjudged Lord C2 Displeasure

The once-mighty King of Aredan had been reduced to nothing but ash, his funeral pyre witnessed by nobles and officials alike atop the desolate hill.

Kael turned without hesitation, his expression unreadable. Without sparing a final glance at the remains of his father, he strode to his waiting horse, mounted it with ease, and seized the reins. With a swift tug, he galloped away, the cold wind biting at his dark cloak.

Following closely behind him on horseback was his most trusted subordinate—the demoness Eryndra.

She was only slightly older than Kael, yet her intelligence and cunning made her invaluable.

Her sharp eyes and arched brows carried a piercing intensity, while her small nose and delicate double-lobed lips gave her an air of innocence—an illusion that fooled no one. As the right hand of the infamous cold prince, it was understood that she was just as ruthless as he was.

Behind them, an escort of five soldiers followed in formation, their armor clanking against the rhythm of the galloping hooves.

Duke Thalric Velmoran and his daughter, Thea, remained behind, watching the figures of the prince and his retinue vanish into the distance.

“He is exactly as cold as the rumors say,” Thea finally spoke, her tone laced with intrigue.

Thalric exhaled deeply. “Cold, yet decisive. He didn’t even shed a tear for his father… just as he didn’t for his mother.”

Thea’s expression wavered. She had always considered herself pragmatic, even ruthless when necessary. But after witnessing Kael’s complete indifference, she found herself questioning whether she could ever match such sheer detachment.

And then there was his conduct toward the nobles—he hadn’t even acknowledged them. Not a single greeting, not a single nod. Many took it as a sign of confidence, a declaration of dominance from the new king.

Not everyone viewed it favorably.

Among those present were two other high-ranking nobles—the West Duke, Xelthar Mordain, and the South Duke, Veyrin Duskbane. Both had observed Kael from afar, and neither could ignore the growing unease in their chests.

Xelthar, a burly demon with a stocky build, sharp hawk-like nose, and round lips, wore a dark expression. His thick tail snapped against the ground in irritation, kicking up dirt.

“Even King Malakar would greet us upon sight,” he grumbled. “But that boy didn’t even glance in our direction!”

Beside him, Duke Veyrin—leaner in build, with a button nose and downturned lips—remained composed, though his eyes darkened with contemplation.

“Mind your tone, old friend,” he said coolly. “That boy is now our king.”

Xelthar scowled, but Veyrin continued.

“And not just any king. He is rumored to be even more powerful than his father. A demon with immense magical talent—and control over it.” Veyrin’s gaze lingered in the direction Kael had left. “His age means nothing. If the rumors are true, underestimating him would be unwise.”

Xelthar clicked his tongue in irritation, but he understood the truth behind Veyrin’s words. He had lived long enough to know how terrifying a demon could be when gifted with power and the ability to wield it flawlessly.

Kael Darion was young. But he was no ordinary king.

“He may be talented,” Xelthar admitted, “but whether he is as good as Malakar remains to be seen.”

“That,” Veyrin mused, a small smirk forming, “is something the East Duke, Salveric Zephiron, is curious to find out as well.”

Xelthar’s brows furrowed. “Speaking of him… I don’t see Zephiron anywhere.”

Veyrin nodded. “From what I’ve heard, he excused himself from attending. Apparently, he’s occupied with pirate activity along the coast. He just captured a few of them.”

Xelthar hummed in thought, stroking his chin.

---

Dareth City – Capital of Aredan

The rhythmic pounding of hooves filled the air as Kael and his entourage approached the capital.

Dareth City.

Kael’s golden eyes remained fixed on it, his expression betraying nothing—but the longer he gazed upon its deteriorating walls, the more his disgust deepened.

The city was in shambles.

The walls, once mighty, were old and crumbling in several places. The massive wooden gates, meant to be a symbol of security, were visibly rotting, their rusted iron reinforcements offering little strength.

And the watchtowers—meant to be the city’s first line of defense—were in a sorry state, barely standing.

The southern gate creaked open upon his arrival, and his party rode through without delay. The moment they entered, Kael was greeted by the true face of the city.

The roads were unpaved, narrow, and thick with mud, mixed with filth and waste.

His horse’s hooves splashed through the sludge as they rode further into the capital, the scent of decay clinging to the air.

On either side, the citizens of Aredan lived in misery.

They walked in tattered clothes, their faces weary, their bodies thin. Their homes—if they could be called that— were little more than stacks of rotting wood thrown together haphazardly. Many leaned dangerously, their foundations unstable. Open sewage canals ran along the edges of the streets, releasing an unbearable stench.

Yet, despite the wretched conditions they lived in, the miserable demon subjects knelt before him—gazing at him with admiration in their eyes.

Kael couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger beneath the pity gnawing at him. His grip on the reins tightened. He despised this sight.

Every time he passed through these streets, he saw the same scene—citizens living in squalor, yet still bowing before the powerful with smiles plastered on their weak, malnourished faces.

It sickened him.

Slowing his horse, his trusted subordinate, Eryndra, matched his pace, turning her sharp gaze toward him.

She didn’t need words to understand Kael’s displeasure. It was written all over his face.

She wasn’t surprised—King Malakar had shown the same irritation when passing through these slums. But Kael’s expression… it was different. Deeper. Darker. His displeasure seemed to grow the longer they rode, and that alarmed her.

Carefully, she approached him, her voice measured and respectful. “Your Majesty, if the filth and stench of this place offend you—say the word, and we shall wipe it out entirely. Erase everything here and rebuild something worthy of your reign.”

Kael’s brows lifted slightly. His eyes widened.

Without warning, he pulled his horse to an abrupt stop. The reins tightened in his grip, causing the beast to halt sharply. Eryndra and the five soldiers behind them came to an immediate halt as well, their expressions flickering with confusion.

Eryndra turned to him, noticing his piercing gaze now locked onto her.

She bowed slightly, her tone unwavering. “I know how much this place disgusts you, Your Majesty. Even King Malakar loathed its filth. He would have burned it down had he the time. But now, you are king.”

Her voice rang loud enough for the kneeling citizens to hear.

“You can rid Aredan of this unsightly disgrace. Wipe out these filthy peasants and build something new in its place, as you see fit.”

A wave of tension spread through the gathered crowd. Parents clutched their children closer, sweat forming on their brows. Bodies trembled ever so slightly, yet none dared to lift their heads.

They awaited their new king’s response.

The response that would decide their fate.

Some had already resigned themselves to the worst. If erasing their existence would bring glory to the kingdom, then so be it. If it was their fate to be cast aside for a stronger Aredan, they would not resist.

They knelt deeper. They prepared themselves.

Then—Kael laughed.

It was not a warm laugh. Nor was it kind. It was cold. A sharp, chilling sound that echoed against the crumbling walls of the city.

“Stop joking around, Eryndra,” he said flatly, his golden eyes sweeping across the kneeling masses. “You’re scaring them.”

Eryndra blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been joking.

Neither had the five soldiers, whose eyes flickered with uncertainty.

And the citizens… their bodies stiffened in confusion.

Kael let out a slow breath, then spoke again.

“Yes, I am displeased by this place. And I am displeased by the people here.”

A shudder ran through the crowd. Their trembling worsened. Some pressed their foreheads even deeper into the muddy, uneven road, as if that alone could erase their presence from his sight.

“But…” Kael continued, his tone sharper now. “I am displeased because they kneel before me so reverently. So fearfully.”

The air stilled.

“I am displeased,” he said, his voice cold and clear, “because I have yet to prove myself as their king.”

A ripple of shock spread through the crowd.

Kael’s golden eyes gleamed as he scanned the demons kneeling before him.

“I despise rulers who do not answer for their failures. I despise subjects who do not question their rulers, who do not complain, who do nothing but smile through their suffering with those miserable, broken faces.”

His voice lowered, each word laced with an edge of disdain.

“I hate it.”

A chill crawled down Eryndra’s spine.

The five soldiers behind them stiffened, sensing the shift in the air.

And the citizens—who had once feared their king’s wrath—now felt something far more terrifying.