The Demon King’s Precious Little Angel - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Celoa Gets to Eat Meat Do I look like I’m going to exploit child labor

Celoa was awakened by a sweet, fragrant aroma.

He opened his eyes with some difficulty. The pain throughout his body had not yet faded; every movement made him wince. It took him quite a bit of effort to finally sit up by leaning against the cave wall.

He carefully observed his surroundings: dry stone walls, a salty-fishy scent in the air, and that familiar yet undeniable aura of danger. He quickly determined he was still in the forest. Not far from him, a fire roared, and two people were sitting near it, seemingly in conversation.

The one on the left had vibrant red hair and a baby face. She was smiling as she spoke, looking like a very easy person to get along with. As she talked, her hands never stopped turning a bamboo skewer. Unknown slices of meat were gradually cooking over the flames, making a sizzling sound and releasing an enticing fragrance that wafted directly into his nose.

Celoa hadn’t eaten much for days. His stomach ached from hunger. Tempted by the aroma, he unconsciously licked his lips. Saliva secreted rapidly in his mouth, and he could even hear the loud growling of his own stomach.

The person on the right seemed to hear something and turned his head slightly. A pitch-black mask covered the lower half of his face, making it impossible to tell what he looked like, but his gaze was incredibly cold. When he looked over, his eyes were as sharp as knives, sending a chill through Celoa’s entire body.

Celoa instinctively clenched his fists and looked toward the person on the left with a sense of avoidance. His lips were pressed tight, and his fingers twitched with nervousness.

The person on the left was extremely considerate. Looking at Celoa, she spoke with a soothing tone: “Um, little one, don’t be afraid. We are… well, good people. You won’t be in any danger while you’re with us.”

“At least in this forest, we will guarantee your safety.”

“Now, let us officially introduce ourselves. I am Celine, and he is Dro.”

Celoa looked at Droville (Dro) in bewilderment. The man seemed to have no interest in him; he was spinning a dagger in his hand and coldly spat out two words.

“Name.”

Celoa immediately became as obedient as a kitten caught by the scruff of its neck. He answered quickly: “Celoa.” Then, he added timidly, “You can call me that.”

Droville frowned imperceptibly, and the knife in his hand spun even faster, becoming almost a blur.

Celoa shrunk back, his gaze unconsciously drifting aside. He bit down on his lip, using all his strength to keep from crying out in fear. However, he was a very polite child. Even though he was terrified, he remembered that Droville had saved him. His eyes flickered, but he spoke quickly.

“Celine, Dro, I—I am very grateful to you for saving me.” He felt he was being somewhat overambitious, as he had nothing to offer in return, but he raised his head, gathered his courage to look at them, and said very seriously: “If there is anything I can do to help later, I will act without hesitation.”

His eyes were too clean—crystal clear and filled with such sincerity that no one could doubt his heart.

Droville’s eyelashes flickered, and a dark glint flashed quickly through his eyes. Seeing that familiar gaze made his mood turn sour for a moment, but he couldn’t say it directly. He simply turned his head and closed his eyes, refusing to look or respond.

Celine, on the other hand, immediately smiled until her eyes crinkled. She looked especially gentle and seemed to really like Celoa. She reached out a fair hand and rubbed Celoa’s head. The touch was light and carried a very warm feeling.

Celoa couldn’t help but nuzzle his head into Celine’s palm.

But this heartwarming scene didn’t last long. Within minutes, Celoa’s stomach growled again. Because he was so ravenously hungry, the sound was incredibly loud—the kind you could hear even if you covered your ears.

Celoa froze. He had never been so embarrassed in his life. A red flush spread from his neck upward, staining every inch of visible skin. He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain something, but he was too ashamed to speak.

Celine truly couldn’t hold back her laughter. She shook the skewer in her other hand. The meat was already done. Perhaps because the prey had been plump, the slices didn’t look dry; they had an oily, moist luster and smelled mouth-watering.

Celoa stared blankly, swallowing his saliva several times. His very soul seemed hooked by the food.

Celine didn’t tease him. She smilingly pressed the skewer into Celoa’s hand and instructed softly: “It’s freshly grilled and very hot. Eat carefully.”

Celoa’s eyes widened. He instinctively gripped the bamboo skewer so hard that his fingernails dug into his palm. He nodded foolishly, mumbled a shy “thank you,” and then buried his head, impatiently taking a bite.

The scorching meat entered his mouth, and Celoa was caught off guard by the heat. His mouth popped open as he let out several puffs of air. Tears welled in his eyes, but he couldn’t bear to spit the meat out. He could only chew while huffing air—pitiful and cute at the same time.

He thought to himself: How can this meat be so hot? Didn’t I wait for quite a while?

Celine took a few more skewers to grill. Seeing Celoa’s teary-eyed state from the heat, she was both frustrated and amused. She shook her head helplessly: “Sweetie, why did you eat it like that? Didn’t I tell you to be careful? If you burn your mouth, everything you eat later will hurt.”

Celoa nodded obediently, still holding that first piece of meat in his mouth, unwilling to swallow it.

It was truly delicious; he had never tasted anything so good in his life.

Droville looked up. He finally couldn’t take it anymore. His brow was furrowed with an expression of slight disdain. With a flick of his wrist, a small pitch-black bottle appeared in his hand. He tossed it lightly, and it landed accurately in Celoa’s lap.

“No one is rationing your food. There’s plenty of meat; eat as much as you want.” He tilted his chin, signaling Celoa to pick up the bottle. “There’s a drink inside.”

Celoa was overwhelmed by the unexpected favor. Before he could react, he followed the man’s command. He swallowed the meat in his mouth all at once and choked slightly. He hurriedly lowered his head, opened the cap, and took a few sips.

It was sweet—like the honey his previous companions had talked about.

Celoa couldn’t help but take a few more sips. His eyes brightened without him even noticing. But the bottle felt too small; after several sips, he became reluctant to drink more. After all, once it was gone, it was gone.

He carefully peeked at Droville. Sensing that the man wasn’t paying attention to him, he restrained himself and put the cap back on. He then hugged the bottle to his chest, guarding it earnestly. Having done this, he seemed much more at ease. He raised the grilled skewer he was still gripping tightly and began to gnaw on it meticulously.

Droville felt a strange surge of pity. He didn’t know why—perhaps it was the way Celoa treated that worthless sweet water like a treasure, or perhaps it was how Celoa picked every last scrap of meat off the cheap skewer until not a single fiber remained. Regardless, a spark of mercy was struck—the kind of condescending pity a hunter feels for a weak prey.

He glared at Celine, seemingly wanting her to say something.

But Celine kept her head down, refusing to say a word. Her eyes were glued to the skewers as if they were rare gems.

Droville let out an ambiguous snort. Then he noticed Celoa go still like a sensitive kitten, ears perked up, watching him with total alertness.

He suddenly spoke: “Water is cheap. Don’t act like you’re afraid to drink it. There’s as much as you want.”

“I’m not so poor that I can’t afford to raise even one of you.”

Celoa blinked and his body relaxed. The meat on his skewer was finished, but since he couldn’t find a place to throw it, he just gripped it obediently in his hand.

Droville watched for a moment, then without warning, tossed a cloth napkin in front of him. “Throw it there. Don’t hold onto it like a fool.”

Celoa hummed in agreement. He crawled up from the ground, pulled the corners of the napkin to flatten it out, and then properly placed the bamboo skewer on it. Just as he finished, another skewer was placed in front of him.

Celine, who had been playing dead for a long time, finally dared to look up. This time her instructions were even more detailed. Celoa could vaguely see a hint of maternal affection in her eyes, like an ordinary parent looking at their child. She said: “Blow on it a few more times before eating this time. Don’t get burned again.”

Celoa immediately nodded his head vigorously. This time he followed Celine’s requirements strictly. Before every bite, he took five serious puffs of air—not a single one less. For a while, the only sound in the cave was his huff-huff-huffing.

The corners of Droville’s mouth twitched slightly. He leaned over, casually swiped a skewer from Celine, and began to eat nonchalantly. However, his gaze lingered on Celoa, and he only snapped out of it once his skewer was finished.

He stared at Celoa, finding it somewhat preposterous. He couldn’t understand why he was eating a common meat skewer with such relish.

But, he watched silently for a while longer, and then couldn’t help but take another skewer, eating it bite by bite.

He had to admit, watching this little fellow eat really made the food taste better.

A dinner that was harmoniously eerie came to an end.

Celoa was so full. He rubbed his stomach, feeling his flat belly grow round. He blinked, feeling dizzy. His eyes began to fight against his will; he felt like he could fall asleep right on the ground in the next second.

But Celine and Droville seemed to be planning to leave. They were packing their belongings quickly. Celoa knew he had to keep up with them, otherwise, he wouldn’t survive a single day in this dangerous forest.

Even though they said they would guarantee his safety, if he couldn’t keep up, that promise would become void.

Thinking of this, Celoa shook his head forcefully and struggled to crawl up, trying to join the pair in packing.

Seeing him want to help, Celine gladly agreed. She picked out some small items and placed them in front of Celoa, coaxing: “Then I’ll leave Celoa in charge of organizing these things together, okay?”

Celoa nodded and forced himself to stay awake to start organizing the small objects. He tried his best to be serious, but sleepiness is not something you can resist just because you want to.

While in Celoa’s consciousness, he was meticulously completing the task Celine gave him, arranging everything neatly, the reality was different. Droville watched Celoa, whose head was nodding off, falling into a sweet sleep only to wake up with a start and fumble with the items again. A look of deep confusion welled up in Droville’s eyes.

He suddenly turned his head to look at Celine, who was staring at Celoa with a face full of smiles, and asked a stiff question:

“Do I look like the kind of person who would exploit child labor?”