The Demon King’s Precious Little Angel - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Droville’s First Grilling Experience Limited Edition Grilled Fish the Demon King has come out

Under the great tree, Droville held Celoa in his arms, staring at the figure in the water mirror with a dark, heavy expression.

“Celine, he fainted. What’s going on?”

Thousands of miles away, Celine rested her chin on her hand, her expression quite subtle. She had originally intended to complain to Droville—after all, he had taken a perfectly well-behaved, sensible child and turned him into this state in just a few days.

However, her gaze drifted uncontrollably toward Droville’s cheek, where a small, complete set of teeth marks was exceptionally prominent.

She couldn’t help but find it amusing. “Those white mushrooms contain a mild hallucinogenic toxin. Children have weak constitutions, so it’s normal for him to succumb to it. Didn’t you check them? You just let him eat them.”

Droville pursed his lips. He truly hadn’t known. The child in his arms was still moving restlessly, pushing and kicking as if he were seeing things in a dream. Droville adjusted his posture, pinning the boy’s hands and feet to finally make him settle down.

“I ate those back in the day and nothing happened,” he explained curtly, then paused before asking, “How do I make him better?”

Celine waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The toxicity of that mushroom is very weak and not life-threatening. It usually just causes hallucinations. He’ll be fine once the toxins clear out naturally.”

Droville looked as if he wanted to say more. Staring at the little fellow in his arms who was twisting around, his clothes bunched up in a mess, looking like he wanted to do a handstand just to catch people, Droville felt a sudden urge to flee for the first time. Ultimately, he remained cold-faced, sitting there with his eyes closed, quietly waiting for the boy to wake up.

“Don’t bite.”

“Why isn’t he awake yet?”

“I really will hit you.”

When Celoa finally regained consciousness, he was completely dazed. He was covered in sweat and his head was dizzy, but he didn’t feel cold; instead, he felt very warm. Several long strands of hair hung before him, swaying back and forth. It looked so tempting that he wanted to reach out and grab them.

Since Celoa thought it, he did it. He caught the lock of hair drifting over him and gave it a gentle tug. It was only after he finished pulling that he remembered to look up.

Droville was staring at him with unreadable eyes. His loosely draped hair looked a bit messy, and one of the stray locks was currently clutched in Celoa’s hand.

Celoa’s body stiffened. He blinked rapidly and helplessly, then carefully released the hair and looked up innocently.

“It crawled into my palm by itself.”

“I was just petting it.”

Droville gave Celoa a long look but said nothing. He simply nudged his legs, signaling Celoa to get out of his lap.

Celoa rubbed his nose, placed his hands carefully on Droville’s chest, and used him as leverage to scramble down.

His clothes were soaked with sweat, which felt uncomfortably damp, and his stomach was growling. Celoa looked around, his gaze landing on the nearby stream. He asked cautiously, “Dro, do you think I can go down to bathe and catch a fish while I’m at it?”

Droville’s hand paused in the middle of tidying his hair. He glanced at the stream and flicked his wrist. His demonic energy quickly created a barrier, moving all dangerous creatures out and leaving only ordinary fish. Then, he tilted his chin and said:

“Go on. Bring the fish back to grill.”

Celoa lifted his hem and hopped into the stream. He rarely had the chance to touch natural water. The flowing current against his skin brought a faint itch. His soft golden hair fell into the water, becoming soaked and clinging to his skin in wet strands.

He obediently scrubbed his face again, but his toes suddenly felt an itch. Startled, his leg jerked instinctively, and he hurried to pull his feet back.

Celoa looked down and saw a fat, large fish swimming past his legs. Its tail swept in wide arcs, and its mouth opened and closed as if it were enjoying a leisurely stroll.

It didn’t seem afraid of being caught at all.

Celoa thought for a moment, his eyes following the big fish as it circled. Just as Droville thought the boy was going to lunge for it, Celoa suddenly spun around and thrust his small hands out, accurately grabbing a large fish that had been wandering behind him.

“Splash—!” The sound of water was clear.

A smile blossomed on Celoa’s face, his eyes sparkling with joy. He was so excited that he forgot his fear of Droville and shouted toward him: “Dro! I caught—”

Before he could finish the sentence, the fish began to struggle violently, thrashing its body. Between the slippery scales and the water, Celoa simply couldn’t hold on. Thus, barely ten seconds after catching it, Celoa felt his grip slip.

The big fish flew out of his palms, its tail thrashing in the air. With a force that was by no means light, it smacked Celoa’s chubby little cheek with a loud thwack.

The fish landed in the water and successfully escaped.

Celoa stood frozen in place. Belatedly, he raised a hand to cup his cheek. A red mark was now visible on his face, exceptionally striking.

Droville stood up, his expression solemn.

It’s so embarrassing, the kid will probably cry, he thought with a bit of a headache. He didn’t know how to coax children.

However, Celoa did not cry as expected. He dully rubbed his cheek, his mouth pouted for a second before flattening out again. Then he crouched back down, eyes fixed on the water, clearly preparing to catch the next fish. Droville raised an eyebrow in surprise; he hadn’t expected the little guy to be so emotionally stable.

Celoa stayed in the stream for another fifteen minutes. He had learned his lesson; he didn’t pick the big fish, but caught only medium-sized ones, tossing them toward the bank as soon as he grabbed them. With such clumsy fishing methods, he actually managed to catch three or four.

Droville figured it was about time. Given Celoa’s constitution, he’d likely get sick if he stayed in any longer. He walked to the bank and, mimicking the way Celoa caught fish, reached out with both hands and scooped Celoa out of the water.

Celoa shook his head like a puppy. Since he’d been hauled up, he didn’t go back in. He squatted obediently on the ground, using a cloth to dry himself.

With a flick of Droville’s finger, a standard grilling fire rose up. Celoa sat to the side to warm himself, the crimson flames casting a red glow on his face.

Droville had helped Celine process materials before, so the prep work for the grilling went smoothly. But when it came to actually doing it, he realized that grilling a skewer of meat was no easy task—at least for a novice like him, it was difficult to master the heat.

Hearing the meat sizzle in his hands, Droville felt his scalp tingle, unsure of when to flip it. But Celoa’s expectant gaze made it impossible for him to quit. He could only harden his heart and follow his memory of Celine’s methods, flipping the fish over and over.

When he smelled a distinct burnt odor, his hand paused. He brought the poor, over-flipped fish to his nose and sniffed. He hadn’t been mistaken; he had wasted a fish.

Celoa was still looking up at him with wide, waiting eyes. Droville hesitated and tried to pull his hand back, but his hand was carefully caught.

“Dro, is the fish ready to eat?”

Droville looked down at the charred, black fish in his hand and quickly tossed it aside. He coughed. “Wait, let me grill another one.”

Celoa didn’t throw a tantrum. He rested his hands on his knees and his chin on his hands, his eyes following the fish in Droville’s hand. Seeing Droville about to repeat the same steps as before, he finally couldn’t help but speak up, offering a tactful reminder: “Dro, I only caught three fish in total.”

Droville’s hand froze. He stared at the dead fish as if he wanted to flog its corpse several more times.

This time he had gained some experience. He stopped flipping it incessantly. Once he smelled the mouth-watering aroma of grilled fish, he took it off the fire. The golden-brown crust looked delicious. He observed it and felt it was a success, so he placed the grilled fish in Celoa’s palms.

Celoa happily kicked his feet. Holding the fish with both hands, he began to take small nibbles at the edges. Upon entry, the fish was tender and moist. He chewed blankly, feeling that the meat was perhaps a bit too tender, but with the next bite, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

He didn’t want to waste it. With the thought that a fish must be finished, despite the slightly odd texture, Celoa gnawed the fish until not a scrap of meat remained. When he was done, he even sniffed his fingers longingly.

“Dro, it was delicious. The fish was super tender,” he offered the Demon King warm praise.

Droville hesitated for a moment, then placed the last skewer of fish in Celoa’s hand. “Eat up. Eat your fill. I have to go deal with some Carrion Beasts later; you’ll follow me.”

Celoa had intended to refuse, but his eyes lit up at the words. He took the fish and began gnawing again. In a short while, the fish was picked clean. Droville glanced over and thought that even a cat might not be able to outdo him.

After finishing, Celoa didn’t just throw the remains away. He squatted on the ground, huffing as he dug a very deep hole. Then he placed the two fish skeletons inside. Perhaps fearing they would be lonely, he specifically arranged them head-to-head and tail-to-tail, the two skeletons huddled close together. Droville had to turn his face away to suppress a smile.

Celoa buried the remains with dirt and then pressed his palms together to give a small bow. Only then did he brush off his clothes and stand up. He looked very happy—so happy that he forgot his usual sense of distance. He walked forward two steps, hugged Droville’s leg, and asked:

“Dro, where are we going now?”

Droville moved uncomfortably, feeling as though a warm, soft lump had glued itself to him, making his leg significantly heavier. He looked around and casually pointed toward the exit of the forest.

The two were ready to set off. But at that moment, Celoa suddenly let out a soft cry, clutched his stomach, and squatted down.

Droville instinctively scooped him into his arms. Looking down, he saw that the boy’s previously rosy cheeks had turned pale, and beads of sweat were rolling down his face.

Celoa let out a belated “Ah.” His hand rested on Droville’s shoulder as he curled up in his arms, his voice weak but filled with a hint of surprise and realization.

“Dro… the fish you grilled really wasn’t cooked.”