Misjudged Lord C1 Kael

The news of King Malakar Darion’s passing spread swiftly across Aredan.

His death sent ripples of unrest throughout the kingdom. The mighty ruler—the one they had placed their hopes in, the one they believed would claim the True Throne of the Demon Realm—was gone, just like that.

"King Malakar… perishing because he could not control his immense magical power…"

That was the official statement issued by the royal family. A ruler as powerful as Malakar Darion had supposedly succumbed to the overwhelming force of his own magic.

Many pitied him, but few were truly surprised.

For demons, great power was a double-edged sword. The stronger the magic, the harder it was to control. Many prodigies had fallen to their own strength before reaching their prime, their talent consuming them from within. No matter how skilled, no matter how disciplined—if they failed to master their own magic, they were doomed.

And now, even the mighty Malakar Darion, the demon king who had instilled fear in rival monarchs, had met the same fate.

Yet, not all hope was lost.

His only son and heir, Kael Darion, still lived.

Rumors swirled about the young prince. At only eighteen, many believed he possessed a talent that surpassed even his father’s—but with one crucial difference. Unlike Malakar, Kael had great control over his magic.

In the northern region of Aredan, where ancient war fortresses stood tall among the Velmoran Highlands, the elite legions of the kingdom trained. Here, among the rugged mountains, soldiers mourned the loss of their king—while preparing to serve the new one.

Overseeing their training stood North Duke Thalric Velmoran, his mind deep in thought.

The wind howled through the highlands, whipping through his thick beard and long cloak.

His dark eyes, sharp and calculating, remained fixed on the soldiers below. His imposing form was further marked by his distinctive, goat-like horns—symbols of his noble bloodline.

Beside him stood his daughter. Though lacking in magical talent, she had honed her skills in combat, earning respect through sheer ability.

Her ginger hair danced in the wind, her orange eyes sharp yet thoughtful. A straight nose, thin rosy lips—features that exuded a quiet confidence. The robes she wore, though dignified, could not entirely mask the shape of her well-trained body, nor the subtle movement of her tail.

“My daughter,” Thalric spoke, his voice deep and steady. “The king is dead. A new one will soon take his place.”

Thea’s gaze remained on the soldiers, but she already knew where this conversation was headed.

“The new king will need a companion,” Thalric continued, stroking his beard. “And I think—”

“You want me to marry him?” Thea interjected. Her voice was soft, yet it carried an edge of strength, reflecting her nature as a capable warrior.

Thalric chuckled. “Why not? The upcoming king, Kael Darion, is said to be talented beyond his years—wise, even.”

Thea nodded. “I’ve heard the rumors,” she admitted. “They say that when he was born, he did not cry. As a baby, he rarely laughed and never threw tantrums. Instead, he watched—observing people carefully.”

She glanced at her father. “They said he was too calm for a child.”

“He spoke at the age of one. By the time he was two, he didn’t play like other children—he read books. Memorized patterns and words. Corrected his tutors before they even finished speaking.”

She hesitated before adding, “And at that same age, he awakened his magic.”

Thalric’s smile deepened. “It is no mere rumor. I was skeptical too, but I witnessed it myself when I visited the palace years ago.”

Thea remained silent, her thoughts swirling.

Kael Darion—the prince who never cried. The prodigy who mastered magic at an age where others barely understood the world.

“Is he really as the rumors say?” Thea wondered.

She knew her father wouldn’t lie to her just to convince her into a strategic marriage. And yet, the idea of marrying a man she had never met—one whose legend seemed larger than life—left her uncertain.

Beyond the North Duke, the other dukes and nobles were already making their own preparations, strategizing how best to approach the new king.

Kael Darion was young, barely eighteen. Yet none dared to underestimate him.

A ruler blessed with immense talent, a prodigy who had already mastered his magic—Kael had the potential to rise above all. If he could truly walk the path his father failed to complete, if he could claim the legendary True Throne, then they were willing to follow him.

Even the common folk anticipated his coronation.

They watched in silence, waiting, hoping—wishing that Kael Darion would take up his father’s will. That he would unite the demon realm and become the True King they had long yearned for.

---

A Few Days Later

On a cold afternoon in mid-March of the year 540, the funeral of King Malakar Darion took place atop the highest hill of Aredan.

Nobles from across the kingdom gathered, their expressions solemn as they bore witness to the final rites.

The fallen king’s body was surrounded by thorny, poisonous flowers, his bier constructed from dark wood. Then, in unison, the fire mages raised their hands, and flames roared to life. The blaze engulfed the body, consuming flesh and bone, until only ash remained.

Kael Darion stood at the forefront, watching the fire with unreadable golden eyes. The flickering flames reflected in his gaze, casting eerie glows over his sharp features—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, full lips.

His dark hair billowed in the wind, but what stood out most were the elegant horns curving back from his temples, a mark of his royal lineage.

As he stared at the burning remains of his father, his expression remained cold, indifferent.

Whispers spread among the gathered nobles.

“To think the prince could be this indifferent… he truly is his father’s son!”

“He doesn’t care at all that King Malakar is dead!”

“A ruler without hesitation, without sentiment—he is truly worthy of becoming the next Demon King!”

The fire crackled, embers rising into the darkening sky.

And Kael Darion remained silent.

Many among the gathered nobles were excited, whispering in anticipation of what was to come. Yet, among them, there were a few who genuinely mourned the passing of the old king.

One, in particular, was his youngest daughter.

The spoiled yet beloved child of Malakar, she knelt in the dirt, her scarlet eyes swollen and tired from endless crying. Dried tear tracks stained her delicate cheeks, and her once-elegant hair was now an unkempt mess. Though beautiful as expected of royal blood, her disheveled state painted a stark contrast to the composed nobility surrounding her. Her claws dug deep into the earth, dirt staining her fine dress, but she did not seem to care.

The younger noblewomen nearby exchanged hushed whispers, casting sideways glances at the grieving girl.

“Hmph. What a disgraceful sight. To show such weakness so openly… Is she really the daughter of Malakar?”

“She is nothing like the crown prince, her brother.”

Their eyes drifted toward Kael Darion, who stood nearby, his expression unreadable.

Throughout the entire ritual, he had not shown the slightest change in emotion. Cold, detached, unwavering—the very image of a true demon king.

Yet, what none of them realized was that Kael did feel something.

Pity.

Not for his father.

But for his sister.

'I may not have cared for the old man… but seeing my younger sister like this…' he thought, a rare flicker of sentiment crossing his mind.

She had never been the type to cry easily. The last time he remembered her breaking down like this was when their mother—the Queen—had perished. Another victim of uncontrollable magic.

"Magic..."

Kael muttered the word under his breath, his thoughts drifting.

At first, when he had reincarnated into this world, magic had excited him.

The prospect of becoming a great demon mage had filled him with ambition. But over time, he realized something crucial—magic was a double-edged sword.

Especially for those like him.

He had awakened not one, but two magical elements—Shadow and Fire.

Shadow magic alone was already dangerously unstable. But adding Fire magic into the mix? It was a curse disguised as a blessing.

By the age of nine, he had learned to use magic sparingly. Not because he lacked talent—quite the opposite. His abilities were overwhelming.

He had spent years trying to master them, studying every book he could find, training endlessly at the magic academy. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, true control remained just out of reach.

And the more he used magic, especially Shadow magic, the more he felt its terrifying nature.

Perhaps it would have been better to be born with weaker magic, something ordinary and manageable. At least then, he could wield it freely without fear of it consuming him.

Over time, Kael came to another realization—magic was overrated.

Compared to his previous life, where comfort was a given—where one could sit back, watch Netflix, or scroll through a phone—this world was harsh. Brutal. Primitive.

But as a king, he had the power to change that.

Kael might never become a legendary mage, but that no longer mattered.

Instead, he had found a new purpose.

To be a king who would reshape his kingdom. A ruler who would bring progress, not just power.

He would make Aredan a place where demons did not have to fear the weight of their own strength. A place where comfort was not a luxury but a reality.

Kael Darion did not care for the title of True Demon King.

But if he could make his kingdom stronger, more stable—if he could bring the comfort he once knew in his past life to this world—then perhaps, just perhaps, ruling wasn’t such a bad fate after all.