The Demon King Who Looks Like a Human
The lady of the Roadmia family froze, Seradin remained expressionless, and Barkan momentarily held his breath.
The maid holding the baby stood in a daze, her grip on the infant loosening.
And the baby laughed.
Giggle.
With a face that knew nothing of the world.
The child truly knew nothing.
To him, the throne was still further away than a wooden chair, and fainter than the scent of milk.
But Herman knew.
He knew that a kingdom was never brought down by a single method alone.
Sometimes, a single swaddling band could spill more blood than an entire army.
"He's my kid. That one."
His Majesty had lied.
That was Herman's assessment.
Yet in statecraft, certain lies took effect long before the truth could.
For those words were not a claim of paternity, but a declaration of ownership.
In other words, a preemptive strike on the right to name.
It was the crudest and fastest seal, preventing anyone else from claiming the child first.
The posthumous child of Prince Arkel, a pure bloodline of the royal family, a weakness of the usurper, and a justification for rebellion.
Before those titles could settle and solidify around the boy, the Demon King had slapped a shorter, cruder label over him.
My kid.
It was a flimsy claim that would be exposed the moment a bloodline resonance test was conducted. It required scrutiny, and from a protocol standpoint, it was a violent breach of etiquette that made Herman want to press his hand to his forehead.
But it was effective.
Lady Roadmia was shocked, the maid slowly breathed a sigh of relief, and even Herman himself realized the sheer convenience of the declaration.
In that regard...
It was a resolution truly characteristic of His Majesty.
Herman picked up his pen.
He did not write yet. He had to categorize it first.
Categorization was the beginning of all administrative work.
People often thought of politics as a matter of will and power.
While not entirely wrong, those who had managed state affairs for a long time knew better.
Politics was, first and foremost, a matter of terminology.
What do we call it?
Under whose name do we record it, and under which category do we group it?
The moment those were decided, the corresponding path would open.
Herman looked at the child.
The boy's facial structure was still soft and undefined.
Demon children often did not show clear bloodline traits in their early stages of growth.
This was especially true for ancient bloodlines.
Humans, when thinking of demons, would immediately picture horns, scales, claws, fangs, and tails.
But that was merely their ignorance.
A demon's appearance was not a mark of savagery, but a record of magic leakage.
Young bloodlines leaked magic outward.
Horned demons leaked it through their horns.
The black flame lineage leaked it through black heat lines beneath their skin.
The beast-claw clan leaked it through their joints and claws.
The dream lineage leaked it through their eyes, scent, and body temperature.
The shadow lineage leaked it through their shadows and the darkness around their veins.
Each lineage leaked its respective magic outward.
Foolish humans called these the proof of monsters—the marks of a demon—but it was different in the Demon Realm.
Here, it was considered a lack of control.
An Ancient Bloodline did not leak magic outward; they refined it inward.
By refining it within their bodies, their appearance changed to look more human.
Because they had been monsters for so long, they had learned to hide the marks of a monster deep inside.
The Roadmia family was exactly like that.
So was the Vergrad royal family.
And...
Lucion Vergrad was no exception.
Herman remembered the day he first saw the Third Prince.
The very young prince looked strangely human.
He had no horns. No magic lines flowed beneath his skin.
His fangs were short, and the double rings in his pupils were faint.
Since there was not even a trace of a tailbone,
the royal bloodline scholars had high hopes at first.
They believed the royal blood was exceptionally refined.
That the bloodline was so complete internally that not a single drop of magic leaked outward.
Herman had not dismissed the possibility either.
The Vergrad royal family possessed the blood capable of producing such an exception.
But the test results said otherwise.
It was not a perfect refinement.
Rather, it was closer to a complete deficiency.
His magic was weak. Far too weak.
In that instant, anticipation turned to mockery.
If a beastly, lower-class demon had low magic, it was simply considered low blood.
No one would be particularly disappointed.
But to possess the face of royalty, the appearance of an ancient bloodline, and yet have absolutely nothing inside...
That discrepancy was ultimately read as a deficiency and an insult.
That was why the Third Prince, Lucion, was looked down upon even more.
Because he was not an ugly weakling.
Because he was not a failure with a vulgar appearance.
Because he was an empty vessel that looked far too convincing.
The palace did not hate him.
They were disappointed.
And in aristocratic society, disappointment lasted much longer than hatred.
Herman, too, was not entirely free from that judgment.
He had not pitied the Third Prince.
A royal who could not be used for state affairs.
Blood that could be used as a hostage, but could never ascend the throne.
That was how Herman had categorized him.
Prince Arkel had been different.
He was a man who had studied formal statecraft.
He knew how to choose his words, appease the noble families, and turn the royal name into political weight.
He was too upright, too orthodox, but that very orthodoxy was weighed down by the blood of the kingdom.
Prince Belion was different again.
He had entered the military at a very young age.
He understood supply lines and marches, losses and retreats, the hunger of soldiers, and the pride of generals.
Though he had to be kept at arm's length for rebelling to seize the throne, he was by no means incompetent.
And His Majesty Lucion, who had now ascended as the Demon King...
He looked like someone who had learned absolutely nothing.
That was Herman's initial conclusion.
He had not learned statecraft, military science, or even the application of magic.
Nor diplomacy, administration, or the ancient language of the noble families.
Yet strangely, after becoming king, he asked questions no one had ever taught him to ask.
"Have they been fed?"
"Are their names recorded?"
"Who benefits if we kill them?"
"Who gets rattled if we hide it?"
His words were rough, and his etiquette was frequently lacking.
His phrasing occasionally made Herman feel as though his beard were aging by the handful,
but the direction of his questions was never wrong.
They were not the questions of a king, but the questions of a survivor.
And right now, the Demon Realm needed a king who could ensure survival more than a king who merely acted like one.
The late king had died alongside the Hero.
Since that day, a long funeral had stretched across the Demon Realm.
Though the candles of Black King Castle never went out, the throne was already empty.
Prince Arkel had overreached and made missteps in his haste to fill that void,
and Belion, unable to endure it any longer, had ultimately risen up with a faction of the military.
The noble families had hidden their own hands beneath the shadows of those giants.
Herman had taken no sides.
He was neither an Arkel loyalist nor a Belion supporter.
He served only the continuity of the Demon King's throne, harboring no other desires.
While that sounded loyal, it was actually a much colder truth.
Princes could die, and noble families could betray.
The army could split as well.
But he believed the throne must never remain empty.
An empty throne, he believed, would burn the entire Demon Realm to ash.
Quite literally, everything.
Herman had witnessed that cycle play out too many times.
So when the Third Prince survived, Herman deliberately refrained from calculating.
It was not because the prince was strong, nor because he was fit to be king.
He was simply the most suitable royal blood left in the palace.
That was enough.
At first.
Yet after surviving, His Majesty moved in bizarre ways.
He took Kallen Drac's head.
But he did not slaughter everyone.
He fed the soldiers.
But he did not forgive them.
Instead of sending the noble families to the scaffold, he stood them before the ledgers.
Instead of killing the human princess, he turned her into a diplomatic channel.
Instead of slaying the Northern Grand Duke, he bound him with his own fear.
And now...
He did not kill, hide, or deny the child claimed to be Prince Arkel's posthumous son.
"My kid."
By insisting on that claim, he had brought the child under the shadow of the throne in the fastest way possible.
Herman turned his gaze toward the child.
Eren.
A name that was not yet official.
A casual name the wet nurse had used.
Behind that name lay suspicions of royal blood, birth records, sealed documents, and the death of Prince Arkel.
It was too early for bloodline verification.
There was a chance the throne would react if the child were placed before it.
But a chance was not a formal procedure.
It was also uncertain whether the child's body could even withstand the reaction.
To conduct a precise verification, they might have to open the royal blood chamber in the Abandoned Tower.
The moment that thought crossed Herman's mind, he drew a line in his heart.
Not yet.
The Abandoned Tower had been sealed after the late king's death.
It contained more than just records of royal blood verification.
Records of imprisoned rebel nobles.
Forbidden bloodline research data.
Names that the military and the ministers had refused to hand over to one another.
And the filthy secrets the Vergrad royal family had kept buried deep underground for ages.
Prince Arkel had intended to open the Abandoned Tower to solidify his legitimacy.
Belion would have broken it open if necessary.
But His Majesty Lucion had not even asked about the Abandoned Tower yet.
Herman liked that about him.
Not asking might stem from ignorance,
but it was far better than asking too early.
The most dangerous person in administration was not the ignorant one.
It was the one who knew a little, demanding the key right this instant.
"Your Majesty."
Evelyn Roadmia barely managed to speak.
Without even turning his head, Herman knew her fingertips were stiff.
The hands holding the ledger.
The lady of the Roadmia family did not cry.
Nor did she demand answers.
She was a noblewoman.
And she was someone who had to prove her utility.
"Does that mean..."
She glanced at the child, then back at Lucion.
"Does that mean Your Majesty will personally vouch for the child's identity?"
Herman nodded inwardly.
A good question.
She did not ask if the child was truly his.
Nor did she ask about their relationship.
She deserved credit for asking about the practical effect.
Truly worthy of the Roadmia family.
Even when her emotions were torn to shreds, she first sought the proper classification.
The Demon King looked at her with a weary face.
"It's less of a guarantee..."
He leaned back against the armrest of his chair.
"...and more of a preemptive claim."
"A preemptive claim...?"
"They said he was hidden. Ask no further."
Herman called out to Evelyn.
"Lady Roadmia."
Evelyn raised her head.
"Yes, Chancellor."
"Extract all distribution records for medicinal herbs, wet nurses, maids, laundry, baby clothes, carriages, and various daily necessities that entered the palace maternity chambers."
Evelyn blinked for a moment.
Then, very slowly, she bowed her head.
"Should I verify the official records?"
"The official records have likely already been compromised."
Herman said.
"Look at the back of the ledgers."
At those words, the light in Evelyn's eyes shifted.
The eyes that had been wavering between the child and Lucion just moments ago were now the eyes of someone searching for numbers.
"To hide a child, one must feed them," Evelyn murmured.
Her voice was low.
"They would have had to wash him, move him around, change his clothes, and silence the wet nurse."
The Demon King watched her.
Evelyn clutched the ledger to her chest.
"He might have been erased from the genealogy," she said.
"If so, as the Chancellor suggested, searching the unofficial records should yield several clues."
Herman was satisfied.
"Very well."
Herman spoke briefly.
"Send those records to my office. It would be best not to make copies. If a situation arises where copies must be made, ensure the name of the person who made them is explicitly stated."
"Understood."
The Demon King muttered wearily.
"I suppose I'm running an orphanage in my room now."
No one laughed.
It did not seem His Majesty had intended it as a joke, either.
The child, Eren, giggled again.
The Demon King's gaze drifted down at the sound.
In the maid's arms, the baby opened and closed his tiny hands.
His Majesty looked at the child with a face that screamed he wanted nothing to do with any of this.
It was less the face of a king, and more the face of a man who had suddenly been saddled with someone else's baggage.
Yet Herman knew.
Kings usually started out with exactly that kind of face.
Shouldering the burden.
Denying it.
Cursing it.
And then, at some point, they gave it their own name.
My kid.
Those imprecise words were perhaps the most precise command issued in the council chamber today.
Herman picked up his pen.
His workload had just increased. He had to track down the birth records.
He needed to re-verify the wet nurse's death and seal the palace visitor logs.
It would be best not to inform Belion about the child, Herman thought.
If any of Prince Arkel's loyalists remained, they had likely already made their move.
While the Roadmia family would manage the ledgers, he had to ensure those ledgers did not become a weapon in their hands.
The Noxvel family, to which Kardia belonged, remained quiet.
How much did the human kingdoms know?
That, too, was a matter that required vigilance.
A Demon Realm with a shaky succession was always prime prey for diplomatic maneuvering.
The Church would probably be ecstatic.
The phrase "Arkel's posthumous child" was the perfect sermon topic to preach about the instability of the Demon King's throne.
Herman quietly swallowed a sigh.
Another task had been piled onto his old bones.
Yet strangely, he found it just a little bit interesting.
A prince who looked human but possessed nothing.
A royal who had been the biggest laughingstock precisely because of that deficiency.
That very prince was now claiming a royal bloodline bomb as his own child.
It was truly a rare disaster.
Herman wrote down the final entry.
• Prioritize the application of His Majesty's verbal designation.
(Observation required)
He raised his head.
King Lucion was still examining the child with a look of utter annoyance.
Even though the baby had already fallen asleep.
The Demon King closed his eyes wearily.
Evelyn Roadmia merely stared at the two of them, clutching her ledger.
Herman watched the scene for a moment.
A child who could shake the throne.
A Demon King who claimed that child as his own.
And an ex-fiancée who had not broken down upon hearing those words.
The Demon Realm had not fallen yet. At least, not today.
That fact alone made it a sufficiently interesting day for the old Chancellor.