He's My Kid

"He is the posthumous child of His Highness, the First Prince Arkel."

Only after hearing the old man's words did the tension leave my body.

At the very least, it meant this body hadn't unlocked some hidden achievement in a corner of the world without my knowledge.

Lucion Vergrad. Four ex-girlfriends. One hidden child.

I had narrowly avoided the catastrophe of having my official profile in the Demon Realm updated with such a bizarre description.

I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Truly.

For about three seconds.

And then, three seconds later, the realization hit me.

Wait, isn't it still a massive problem even if he isn't my kid?

If he were my child, the problem would actually be simpler. I would just have to take responsibility. Or, at worst, I'd have to clean up a mess left behind by the original Lucion. I would get cursed out, sure, but the center of the storm would still be me.

But the posthumous child of Arkel?

That was a completely different story.

The blood of the legitimate heir. The child of the deceased First Prince.

This meant the primary legitimacy of the surviving royal bloodline would shift from me to that baby.

In other words, this child was a bomb sitting right next to the throne. It just happened to be wrapped in a cute swaddling blanket.

Damn it.

Even political bombs were coming in baby sizes now.

The meeting room fell dead silent.

The maid holding the baby was still trembling, and the old man in the worn formal attire remained pressed flat against the floor, not moving an inch.

"Close the door."

The moment the words left my mouth, Seradin moved.

The heavy doors of the meeting room shut, cutting off the footsteps from the corridor outside. The air in the room grew a layer thicker.

"From this moment on, absolute secrecy is to be maintained regarding everything said in this room."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Seradin replied.

I looked down at the old man. "You had better be absolutely certain that this child belongs to my brother."

The old man's shoulders shook. "We have not yet performed the bloodline verification, but..."

"And yet you claim he carries the blood of the Vergrad royal family."

The old man swallowed hard. "Please examine the sealed document left by the First Prince, as well as the royal maternity records."

Sifting through my memories of Arkel, I slowly turned my gaze to Herman. "Did you know about this?"

Herman did not avert his eyes. "I was aware of the possibility."

"A possibility."

"Yes," he said in a low voice. "Before his passing, the First Prince left me a sealed request. He stated that a child of royal blood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠might be hidden somewhere, and warned me not to search for, summon, or kill them until the palace had stabilized."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Your Majesty's ascension was highly unstable." Herman's voice did not waver.

Prince Belion's rebellion, the lingering remnants of Kallen Drac, the sparks of Noxvel, and the potential defection of the Roadmia family—at the time, not a single thing in the palace was running smoothly.

"So you kept it from me?"

"It would have been impossible to find a child the late First Prince had resolved to hide. Furthermore, I knew that once the regime stabilized, they would naturally emerge on their own."

I felt a surge of irritation, but he wasn't wrong. Back then, no one truly knew whose side they had to take just to keep their heads attached to their shoulders.

In hindsight, it wasn't the safe bet of Arkel, nor the long shot of Belion, but a hidden card like me that ended up taking the throne. Every other option had essentially been a losing bet.

"And now you've found him?"

"They came forward of their own accord."

To put it simply, this was it: an event flag that had been lying dormant across the entire map had suddenly triggered.

Condition met: Throne stabilized.

Event triggered: Hidden Royal Bloodline.

Reward: None.

Penalty: Potential overthrow of the state.

Damn it. If this were a game, I would have demanded a refund immediately. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I looked back at the old man. "Who sent you?"

The old man couldn't answer immediately.

"Speak."

"The late Prince Arkel's former wet nurse... entrusted the child to us before she passed."

"And where is she now?"

"She is dead."

How did she die? No, who killed her, and why? Conveniently silencing the most crucial witness.

The baby slowly blinked his large eyes.

Suddenly, the sheer absurdity of it hit me. Did it make any sense that those tiny hands could shake the throne?

Yes. In politics, it made perfect sense. A person's hands might be small, but the moment a name was attached to them, their weight changed entirely.

The legitimate, posthumous son of Arkel Vergrad.

The moment those words were branded onto the child's back, he would cease to be just a baby. Whether he wanted it or not, the adults would sharpen their blades around this oblivious child.

The right of succession. Arkel's loyalists. The remaining fingers of Kallen Drac. The nobles dissatisfied with my ascension. Information brokers from the human realm. The Church. Even Elysia's kingdom might take an interest.

They would all look at the child and say their piece. That he was a pitiful child. That his blood must be protected. That he was the last ember of the royal family.

And in their hearts, they would calculate.

How much can we shake the realm if we hold this child?

Who can we blackmail if we hide him?

Whom can we frame if we kill him?

Madmen, the lot of them.

Yet, I had to join in on those calculations as well. After all, I was the one who had to deal with these madmen.

"What about the maternity records and the sealed document?"

"They were found incomplete and somewhat damaged, Your Majesty."

"And the bloodline verification?"

"If placed before the Demon Throne, it will react. However, the child is too young; it could be dangerous for him."

The situation was simple.

If I acknowledged the child as real, he became a political bomb.

If I dismissed him as a fake, someone else would raise a banner outside using that very "fake."

Killing him would be the cleanest solution, yet the most foolish. A dead child would become a martyr, his name haunting me like a shadow for the rest of my days.

I tapped the armrest of my chair. "Our options?"

Herman held up three wrinkled fingers. "First, we deny him."

"The outcome?"

"Prince Arkel's loyalists may rally around the child outside. In that case, they will brand Your Majesty a usurper."

"Second."

"We hide him."

"The outcome?"

"The very act of hiding him becomes a weakness. Since they have already entered the Black King Castle, we must assume the information has already leaked."

"Third."

Herman paused. He closed and opened his eyes a couple of times with a heavy expression before offering a suggestion.

"What if we protect him?"

Every eye in the meeting room turned toward the child.

He was clutching the maid's collar, his tiny lips smacking softly.

He was truly small.

To think that something so tiny could shake a throne... Politics really was detrimental to one's mental health. No matter how many times I thought about it.

"Killing him would be the cleanest way."

The meeting room froze at my words.

The old man, still pressed against the floor, shuddered visibly.

I looked down at the child clutched tightly in the maid's arms. "And that is exactly why we must not kill him."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. The baby let out a soft coo.

"Clean solutions are usually traps laid out by someone else in advance."

I turned to Seradin. "Gather anything that could serve as a clue. Separate and interrogate everyone involved."

"Understood, Your Majesty."

"Barkan."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Lock down all access to the inner palace. Draw up a list of everyone who has seen the child from this moment on."

"Yes, sire."

"Herman."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Divide the records into three categories."

Herman picked up his pen once more. With a soft click, the nib touched the paper, and black ink began to bleed into the page.

"First, if the child is real. Second, if he is a fake. And third, regardless of whether he is real or fake, if someone is trying to use him."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"His name?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The old man spoke up hesitantly. "He does not have an official name yet. The wet nurse... called him Eren."

Eren. Arkel's son, Eren.

Meanwhile, the baby was rubbing his face, looking drowsy.

I rubbed my forehead in turn.

"Put him on the protection list."

It was time to pull out the protection list again.

Herman asked, "Under what classification shall I register him?"

"Suspected royal bloodline of Vergrad."

I paused for a moment to organize my thoughts, then spoke again.

"And under direct protection of the Demon King."

Herman's pen halted. "Direct protection, sire?"

"Yes." I looked at the child. "If he is real, then I cannot allow him to be killed."

My lips curled into a wry smirk. "And if he is a fake, then we must keep him alive at all costs."

"May I ask why?"

"Because someone went through the trouble of fabricating him," I said quietly. "And I intend to catch that bastard first."

Just then, light footsteps echoed from outside the door.

Seradin glanced toward the entrance. "Your Majesty. The lady of the Roadmia family requests an audience."

Talk about impeccable timing.

"Let her in."

The doors parted, and Evelyn Roadmia stepped inside.

Her black hair was neatly arranged like silk, contrasting with her pale complexion. In her hands, she held the ledger of her family.

She froze the moment she crossed the threshold. Her eyes had locked onto the baby cradled in the maid's arms.

Slowly, she turned her gaze to me, then back to the child.

"Your Majesty," she began, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "Who... is that child?"

The atmosphere in the meeting room grew slightly awkward.

I looked at the child, following the subtle gazes of Herman and Seradin. Then, I looked back at Evelyn.

There was a lot to explain.

The suspicion of him being the late First Prince's posthumous child. The presumed royal bloodline of Vergrad. Arkel's sealed request. The unverified lineage. The direct protection status. The political bomb. The landmine beneath the throne.

However, I was simply too exhausted to go through all of that.

So, I just said the first thing that came to mind.

"He's my kid."

All color drained from Evelyn's face. "Excuse me?"

Herman's eyes crinkled in amusement.

Leaning back in my chair, I repeated, "I said, he's my kid."

The baby, who had been fussing in the maid's arms, suddenly let out a bright, bubbly giggle.

Watching him, a weary laugh escaped my lips.