The Demon King’s Precious Little Angel - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Celoa Eats a Mushroom He took a big Awoo bite out of Dro

Celine covered her mouth and shook her head, her eyes sparkling with playful mischief. Watching Celoa’s little face turn rosy in sleep, she carefully reached out and caught the tumbling boy with the gentlest touch.

The soft flesh of his chin pressed into her palm, sending a strange, warm sensation through her heart. Celine affectionately rubbed his chin before moving the slumbering, swaying little fellow onto a nearby blanket.

“Vier, don’t always be so cold. He’s just a child.”

Droville raised an eyebrow noncommittally. Only after confirming that Celoa was truly asleep did his tensed shoulders finally relax.

“We aren’t certain of his identity. It’s better to be cautious.” His brow furrowed slightly as he added ambiguously, “On the contrary, Celine, you’ve been through something similar once before. How are you still so easily softened by a child?”

Celine’s eyelashes fluttered as if she were recalling a memory. Her gaze grew even softer, and she sighed lightly. “You always think it was a bad thing, but I am truly grateful that I made that choice back then.”

The two shared a silent look, but neither continued the conversation.

Celoa was startled awake by a burst of sword qi.

The sharp energy, laced with killing intent, brushed past him. He scrambled up instantly, breaking out in a cold sweat.

Droville swept a lazy glance over him, the arc of his lips twitching upward. “I thought you were going to sleep until we left the forest.”

Celoa rubbed his head awkwardly, feeling a sudden chill at the back of his skull. When he brought his hand down, several golden strands of hair lay in his palm, swaying gently in the wind caused by the sword energy. He didn’t dare look at what his hair had become, but the sudden lightness of his head gave him the answer.

His somewhat long, messy hair was likely gone.

A faint, fishy stench filled the air. He looked around dazed, his pupils dilating as his body gave a series of uncontrollable shivers.

The area was a mess, littered with the corpses of Carrion Beasts.

Celine was moving between them, occasionally bending over to pick something up. Her trouser legs were stained with filth, making one want to wipe them clean for her.

Celoa stared at the stains for a long time, his heart aching. Those clothes looked very expensive; it was such a pity to waste them like that. Besides, how could they let a girl do such work?

He stole a few glances at Droville, his eyes full of silent condemnation. Not daring to speak his mind, he whispered a request: “Dro, can I go over and help?”

Droville raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Celine’s pant legs; the stains were squirming like living things, but whenever they tried to touch her, they sensed danger and recoiled.

The demonic energy in the area was growing heavier, all of it eyeing Celoa—a delicious little foreign snack—greedily. Yet, the little fool knew nothing.

Droville subtly released a pulse of power to push the encroaching energy away. When he spoke to Celoa, his tone was exceptionally blunt: “Celoa, go wash.”

Celoa stared with wide eyes, letting out a small “Ah.” His thin fingers tangled together nervously, clutching his tattered clothes.

Droville easily saw his hesitation, but he had no intention or mood to coax the boy. Seeing Celoa stay rooted to the spot, he simply reached out, grabbed Celoa by the collar, and easily dropped him into a nearby small stream.

The cool water soaked Celoa’s clothes. He struggled uncomfortably, wanting to strip the wet garments off, but Droville was staring straight at him from the bank. This made the etiquette-trained Celoa extremely bashful.

He hugged his arms and asked Droville pleadingly, “Dro, could you please turn around and not look at me?”

Droville refused: “No.”

Celoa was stifled. He unconsciously began tugging at his hem again, biting his lip in a one-minute standoff with Droville. Seeing that the man truly had no intention of turning, he simply turned his own back to the man.

If my eyes can’t see it, I can pretend it isn’t happening.

He rubbed his face and cupped his hands to scoop up some water. He buried his face in it and began to scrub. His face-washing was very ritualistic: three scrubs on the left, three on the right, a separate rub for the chin, and finally, using his hands to pinch the little bit of flesh on his cheeks to rub in circles.

Droville was already growing impatient by the time Celoa finished his grand “face-washing project.” The boy began slowly peeling off his clothes, revealing a fair back. Droville raised his eyes, his sharp gaze falling on the boy’s spine.

It was very clean. A thin layer of flesh, so thin the bones were visible.

But what was most pleasing was that there were no traces of wings ever existing on his back.

Celine stepped up and gave Droville a light nudge, whispering, “See? Just an ordinary human child.”

Droville was finally less cold than at the beginning, but his tone remained chilly. “His parents must have been believers of those hypocritical Angels. The name ‘Celoa’ doesn’t carry a good omen for us.”

Celine looked pityingly at Celoa, who was still meticulously cleaning himself. She suggested, “Perhaps we can ask him later if he wants to change his name.”

Droville frowned immediately. “Celine, I didn’t agree to bring him with us. We only need to get him out of here.”

Celine shrugged helplessly. “Then please look after him for the next few days. There are things to clean up here, but something has come up over there; I must head back.”

Droville let out a reluctant “Hmph.” It was clear that if he had the choice, he would rather be the one going back. Celine patted his shoulder and left without hesitation.

Celoa never imagined that after finally scrubbing himself clean and climbing onto the bank, he would be met with such terrible news.

He was going to be alone with Droville for several days.

He looked up at Droville. The man was so tall that up close, Celoa couldn’t even see his expression clearly. But one thing was certain: Droville didn’t like him very much.

Therefore, for the rest of the journey, Celoa behaved perfectly. He dressed himself, washed himself, and while Droville dealt with the Carrion Beasts, he found his own food to fill his stomach.

He was so obedient and low-maintenance that Droville occasionally forgot he was even traveling with a child. After accidentally losing him a few times, Droville hauled Celoa in front of him.

“You are too weak. Tell me, what can you do?”

Droville assumed Celoa would know some basic spells, maybe even something advanced. Celoa seemed well-bred, likely from a Great House—and those houses loved “force-feeding” their children with early training.

But Celoa became fidgety and remained silent for a long time.

Droville, not understanding his hesitation, spoke sternly: “Speak.”

Celoa squeezed his eyes shut and answered in a burst of self-abandonment: “I don’t know anything. No one ever taught me. And… and I can’t seem to use magic here.”

Droville went silent. He found it hard to fathom. Humans were the most adaptable race; they could usually adjust to any environment. To be unable to use magic in the Demon Realm was rare.

He leaned down, grabbed Celoa’s wrist, and injected a bit of demonic energy to investigate.

The talent was excellent, but as the faint demonic energy wandered through Celoa’s body, it found his meridians blocked. He seemed to lean heavily toward the Light attribute.

Droville withdrew his hand and looked at the surrounding demonic mist. He sighed. “This place isn’t suitable for you to practice spells. I’ll teach you swordsmanship instead. If you want to learn magic later, I suggest you leave the Demon Realm.”

Celoa nodded blankly, feeling even more lost. He had been discarded by the Heavenly Realm. Aside from the Demon Realm, he had nowhere else to go.

After that, Droville’s work for the day was finished. He sat down against a tree, his eyes reflecting a rare trace of fatigue. Seeing this unusual expression, Celoa stole a few extra glances and decided to bring back an extra portion of food for Droville when he went foraging.

Droville didn’t care that Celoa had wandered off. As long as the boy was in this forest, he could sense his every movement.

Celoa slowly circled the trees looking for food. He was short and had no combat power, so he stuck to vegetarian options. Whenever he saw a living creature—even just a squirrel—he would bolt like a rabbit. After all, he couldn’t handle a squirrel with steel-like teeth.

His target today was mushrooms. Big, white, non-colorful ones that looked delicious.

Celoa squatted at the base of a tree, sticking his bottom out, his hem dragging in the dirt. He gently pulled back some leaves but only saw a bunch of piercingly red mushrooms. A tiny ant was lying motionless on top of one, a crumb still in its mouth—stone dead.

Celoa retracted his hand immediately. Super poisonous mushrooms. No thanks.

He moved to another spot, diligently continuing his grand mushroom hunt.

His luck was terrible today. After searching for over half an hour, he only found one large white mushroom. He stared at it, swallowing his saliva, but thinking of the waiting Droville, he stood up and trotted back.

When Droville looked up, he saw Celoa running back excitedly. His face was smudged with white and black dirt like a calico cat, but he was clutching a large white mushroom tightly.

Before the man could speak, Celoa dashed in front of him and shoved the massive mushroom toward him, nearly hitting his nose.

Droville uncomfortably tilted his head back. “What are you doing?”

Celoa’s eyes were sparkling. “I looked for so long to find this big white mushroom! It’s for you to eat.”

Droville’s heart twitched. He couldn’t describe the feeling. He stared into Celoa’s clear eyes and said, “I…” He couldn’t bring himself to say he didn’t need food. He didn’t want to be the one to trample on someone’s sincere kindness.

He reached out, tore a small piece of the cap off, and put it in his mouth. Then he pushed the rest back to Celoa’s lips. “I’ve already eaten. You eat the rest.”

Celoa watched Droville’s Adam’s apple to make sure he actually swallowed it. Only then did a bright smile break out on his face. Holding the mushroom in his hands, he began to take small, careful bites.

Such a sweet mushroom. It even smells fragrant.

Celoa couldn’t help himself—he took a massive “awoo” bite. His eyes unconsciously drifted back to the forest he had just left. Before he’d even finished this one, he was thinking about finding the next one.

Suddenly, the world before his eyes turned into a kaleidoscope of colors. A swarm of white mushrooms emerged from all corners of the forest. They were hopping and jumping, carrying a thick aroma. Their stalks were white, fleshy, and bouncy.

Celoa instinctively turned his head, wanting to point out these beautiful jumping mushrooms to Droville. But he suddenly gasped in surprise.

Droville was gone.

In front of him was a mushroom whiter and larger than any other mushroom in existence. Celoa couldn’t help himself—he leaned in and took several deep sniffs.

Then, with all his might, he took a giant bite.