The Demon King’s Precious Little Angel - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Celoia Has a Home The Demon King sneered and pinched him

Deroville had noticed something was off with the young magical beast long before Celoia even picked up the stones.

It was just that Celoia was even more unguarded than he had imagined; with only a slight bit of probing, the boy had easily believed in the creature’s harmlessness and reached out to embrace that insidious thing.

Deroville had glanced at it indifferently. His initial instinct was to kill the beast immediately, but then a thought occurred to him. He paused his spell-casting hand, deliberately waiting a moment to give the beast a chance to reveal its true face. Then, just as Celoia was recoiling in terror, Deroville pulled him into his arms.

A flash of sword-light lunged from his side—silent and lethal. One strike, one kill.

He raised his hand to cover Celoia’s eyes, shielding him from the bloody scene.

Celoia’s breath was hitching, his heart hammering against his ribs in panic and his lips trembling. However, the heartbeat of the person holding him was incredibly steady, providing a profound sense of security. He gradually calmed down, eventually finding the courage to peek at the beast’s carcass through the gaps in Deroville’s fingers.

Deroville gave a soft tsk and lowered his hand. “I thought you’d be more afraid of this.”

Celoia shifted his hand, resting it on Deroville’s shoulder. He felt a bit embarrassed; he didn’t look up as he spoke, his voice low and airy as it drifted into Deroville’s ear.

“Because you’re here. I know no one can hurt me.”

Deroville froze for a second. He turned his head away awkwardly, answering coldly, “Don’t pin your life on someone else. Once they stop protecting you, you die. You can never be certain of another’s attitude, so your life could vanish at any moment. You should learn to be uneasy.”

He lowered his gaze, his deep purple eyes appearing exceptionally detached. “Only unease keeps you from becoming complacent.”

Celine cut in just in time to interrupt him. She looked at him helplessly for a moment, clearly dissatisfied with his “parenting” style. She leaned down to ruffle Celoia’s hair and said gently, “It’s not actually that absolute, little Celoia. You must always keep a heart that believes there is beauty in the world. That way, no matter what situation you’re in, you’ll never fall into despair.”

Celoia nodded thoughtfully. His gaze drifted toward the blood-stained ground, and he asked in confusion, “Why did that little beast suddenly attack? If it was infected, it should have lost its mind. It shouldn’t have been able to hold back and not resist when I was throwing stones earlier.”

Deroville was half-crouched, inspecting the remains. He casually flipped through the pieces of the carcass, letting the dark, murky blood flow between his fingers. His expression was calm, as if this scene wasn’t revolting at all. Hearing Celoia’s naive remark, he couldn’t help but frown. He tilted his head to stare at Celoia for a moment, then suddenly placed a finger near the boy’s nose.

“Smell it,” he said.

Celoia obediently took a sniff. He inhaled deeply, his nose nearly touching Deroville’s finger, only to recoil and wrinkle his nose at the sudden stench of rot and iron.

Deroville expressionlessly reached out his other hand, pressing a finger against Celoia’s forehead to stop him from getting closer, ensuring no filth got on the boy’s nose.

“Stupid.” He sighed soundlessly and stood up. With a flick of his fingers, the foul blood on his hand vanished. He reminded Celoia: “The chaotic energy of the Abyss is extremely contagious. Once you’ve made contact, it’s hard not to be tainted. Don’t just look at the surface. Be more careful next time.”

Celoia dithered. He looked down at his own hands with a conflicted expression. After a long pause, he looked up and asked timidly, “Then, Dero… is there chaotic energy inside me too? After all, I’ve touched several infected beasts.”

His eyes held the pure emotions unique to a child—tension, fear, and bewilderment all swirled together into a complex feeling, yet there wasn’t a trace of malice in them.

Deroville’s heart flickered slightly. He reached out and grasped the boy’s wrist, leading him slowly outward. “Don’t overthink it,” he replied calmly. “Everyone’s constitution is different. Magical beasts belong to the Demon Realm by nature and lack high intelligence, so they are easily corrupted. You’ve only had a few brief contacts. You won’t have that problem.”

Celine stood a short distance away, watching them with a heavy, worried expression. She seemed to want to say something, but Deroville stopped her with a look.

She suddenly realized what was happening.

Deroville’s mana had been released silently, flowing gently into the oblivious Celoia. He discovered a massive amount of demonic energy piled up within Celoia’s meridians, showing no sign of circulating or flowing. He frowned. His mana surged, attempting to draw the demonic energy out, but it was useless; the energy clung tightly to the meridians, continuing to accumulate.

How can this be? Deroville looked at Celoia thoughtfully. The boy’s meridians were far too pure—even the angels of the Heavenly Realm would feel ashamed in comparison. For a moment, he questioned Celoia’s true identity, but the memory of that smooth, wingless back dispelled his doubts.

He added slowly, “Don’t be so nervous. Even if you were truly tainted, there are other ways to solve it.”

Celine also approached and lightly touched Celoia’s forehead, brushing away a faint smudge of dirt. “Leave everything to us,” she comforted him warmly.

Celoia tilted his head and rubbed against Celine’s palm, his eyes shining like stars in the night.

Deroville led the two of them toward the exit. He seemed to be looking for something specific, occasionally leaving the group for a short while and leaving the other two to wait for him. During these breaks, Celoia would be “fed” by Celine—sometimes sweet snacks, but more often some unknown dried herbs.

When Celoia got bored, he would pull one out to chew. They were extremely tough and hard to bite through, making them perfect for “teething.” It took an hour or two to finish a single stalk. After Celoia insisted on finishing one, his jaws felt sore and achy.

However, whether it was psychological or not, Celoia felt his body become much lighter after eating them. He rested his chin on his hands, thinking for a while, then scrambled up and ran over to Celine. He didn’t ask questions, just looked up and asked:

“Celine, is there anything I can help you with?”

Celine smiled and gave him some small, scattered items to help her organize.

When Deroville returned, Celoia found even more to do. Deroville would always bring back dirty mana crystals or herbs with the roots still attached, tossing them aside and ignoring them.

Celoia would secretly take them to the stream to wash them clean. Deroville didn’t seem to care; he never looked for the items once they were gone. Since Celoia couldn’t find where they were keeping their luggage, he found a cloth bag to store them himself.

In just a couple of days, he had collected a whole bag of crystals and herbs. He silently organized them several times a day, until a realization finally dawned on him.

Deroville and Celine were probably going to leave him behind.

After all, the forest exit was right in front of them.

For some reason, his heart felt heavy and sour, but he had no reason to ask them to stay. He was just a weak, fragile, and unloved “misfit.”

Celoia observed them quietly, accepting the outcome of being abandoned. He became even more proactive in helping Celine with whatever he could. Seeing Celine’s bright smile, he would lean into her arms and gently touch the corner of her lips.

Celine would tilt her head to press against his cheek, giving him a big, generous kiss on his soft, pink cheek.

Celoia loved it.

The signs of reaching the edge of the forest were unmistakable: hunters appeared now and then, the number of magical beasts decreased, and the red light became more piercing. That was the light emitted by the Demon Realm’s sun—the Blood Shadow.

Celoia’s mood grew heavier and heavier.

He began to cling to Celine and Deroville even more, often staying by their side all day, even if just to sit quietly.

Celine sensed his subtle mood shifts and often comforted him with soft words and warmth. Deroville didn’t say much, but he deliberately spent more time accompanying Celoia.

Watching them, certain emotions swelled in Celoia’s heart.

He chose a very early morning, when the town across the forest was just barely visible. He slipped away from their sight and checked the roots of countless large trees. Among clusters of similar but distinct flowers, he picked the two prettiest little blossoms he could find and tucked them into his shirt.

Celine stood with her hands on her hips, gazing into the distance. She took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a town. Seeing it now, I feel a strange sense of ‘familiar strangeness’.”

Deroville’s features relaxed, but he let out a cold sneer. “Once we’re back, you’ll probably start missing this life again. Weren’t you the one who wailed and insisted on coming out with me?”

Celine waved him off and huffed. “That was then. The current me has evolved. It’ll take at least two days before I start wailing again.”

“Let’s just head back,” Deroville said, glancing casually at the distant town. “There’s nothing to see. If we don’t move, someone is going to get anxious.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a small, warm bundle throw itself against his leg. He looked down.

A pair of misty, tearful eyes met his gaze. So beautiful, he thought, dazing for a split second.

A small, light-purple flower was held up to him. The flower looked delicate, its petals curving shyly, half-covering the stamens in the center—it bore a striking resemblance to Celoia.

Deroville leaned down and took the flower. He hesitated, then brought it to his nose to sniff. A very faint fragrance drifted up. He watched as Celoia gave the other flower to Celine, his expression unusually confused. “Why the flowers?”

Celoia’s eyelashes fluttered as he sniffled. The first time he opened his mouth, no sound came out. He coughed a few times before answering haltingly, “This is… a gift to thank you for taking care of me for so many days.”

Deroville hummed, his eyes scanning Celoia, not understanding why the boy was saying this. He tilted his chin, signaling him to continue.

Celoia choked up, blinking blankly. His thoughts were a mess as he babbled, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything valuable to give you. In the future… if we have a chance to meet again, I’ll prepare something else…”

Deroville raised an eyebrow and cut him off sharply. “You’re not coming back with us?”

Caught off guard, Celoia’s eyes lit up for a second before dimming again. He asked timidly, “Are you… willing to take me with you?”

Deroville paused. He thought to himself that Celoia definitely didn’t know how pitiful his eyes looked right now—like a newborn lamb whimpering for a warm embrace.

“Of course,” he said. “You’re very cute.”

Celoia was dazed by this sudden surprise. He was so excited that his body couldn’t stop trembling. Tears began to pour out like a broken dam.

Deroville’s face remained cold, but his eyes were stained with other emotions. He approached Celoia, pinched the boy’s cheek, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Looking at the person who was trembling so hard they couldn’t speak, he let out a soft sneer, though his voice carried an unmistakable trace of helplessness and tenderness.

“Crybaby.”