My Dad, the Demon King, Is a Big Problem

Chapter 3

Cyrillote.

He was a boy who had arrived at the orphanage just one day after me. His messy, sky-blue hair was always unkempt, and his jet-black eyes sparkled as he approached.

“You’re just as much of a coward as the rest of us. Heard there was demonic energy around here earlier, so you’ve been hiding, haven’t you?”

“No, I haven’t. Besides, the holy knights are taking care of it, aren’t they?”

As far as I was concerned, as long as the knights were dealing with the demonic energy without harming anything else, I was grateful.

Demonic energy, or Magi, manifested as drifting black smoke. Anything it touched—humans, animals, or plants—would be tainted and perish.

If it appeared in smoke form alone, that was fortunate, because it meant it was low-tier Magi.

But high-tier Magi was different. It would pull people into dungeons, where wicked demons awaited to strip them of their lives in the most horrific ways, all for their own amusement.

Before Baal reappeared, low-tier Magi had occasionally surfaced in the northern regions. It was rare and manageable.

Now, however, even high-tier Magi appeared all over the empire. The Church of the Holy Palace was stretched thin, dispatching holy knights everywhere.

It was, quite literally, Hellgate.

The tragedy of the Sientri Empire, dormant for 500 years, was repeating itself.

Cyrill flopped down beside me and stretched out his legs.

“In the end, we’re all just going to be swallowed up by the Magi. We’re all going to die.”

“Do you want to die for real?” I shot back.

“Come on. The Great Demon King Baal exists, doesn’t he? I overheard the holy knights talking earlier. There’s no one stronger than Baal.”

“Hmph.”

So, my dad was the most powerful being in both the human and demonic realms. Great. Just great.

Whether that was true or not, I didn’t care. I just wanted to find my dad again.

Maybe his body had been taken over by the Demon King against his will. Maybe he wasn’t in control of his actions.

How could I bring him back? Was it even possible to meet him again?

“Even the Pluto family, who killed Baal 500 years ago, wouldn’t dream of defeating him now. They’re just patching things up, fighting a losing battle, only for everything to fall apart eventually,” Cyrill said, staring blankly at the sky.

“If that’s what you think, why don’t you just go live in the Demon Realm already?” I retorted.

Cyrill smirked at my sarcasm, but I didn’t share his fatalism.

Even if the holy knights were struggling now, one day, they could grow stronger and kill Baal again—just as they did centuries ago.

But there was one glaring problem.

‘That won’t work. If they kill Baal... my dad will die too, won’t he?’

I wasn’t ready to let that happen.

Sure, my dad had abandoned me, and he deserved to be scolded. I could stay mad at him for weeks—no, even months—and he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.

But for him to die branded as the Demon King? That was unacceptable.

If he died, I’d lose him forever.

I had to find a way to turn him back to the way he was.

“I’m going to bed,” I announced abruptly.

There was still a way to meet my dad. The connection between the human world and the Demon Realm hadn’t been completely severed.

“Suit yourself,” Cyrill replied lazily.

He made himself comfortable, resting his arm under his head as he lay back in the grass. Was he planning to stargaze or something?

I glanced at his face—easily the most tolerable one among the boys at the orphanage—before turning away.

***

Once Crescent had disappeared from the yard, Cyrillote slowly got up.@@@@

He slipped into the depths of the forest, his small boyish form blending seamlessly into the shadows.

A sudden wave of tension and chills swept over me.

What was that?

Slowly, I forced my eyes to move, scanning my surroundings.

There it was—something darker than darkness itself, like a wound torn into the air.

At the center of that wound, a small vortex began to swirl.

“A high-tier Magi!”

It was common knowledge: if there was a vortex within the Magi, it meant high-tier Magi. Without one, it was low-tier.

The vortex grew larger.

I couldn’t move.

My body started to drift forward, pulled in against my will.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

And yet, unease began to creep into my mind.

What if the demons didn’t take me to my dad? What if Dad refused to acknowledge me?

“I’m not a human’s father.”

The words my dad—or rather, the Demon King wearing his face—had spoken were still seared into my heart.

But this was all I could do. This was my only chance to see him again.

With that thought, I closed my eyes.

Hiiiing!

The sudden neigh of a horse broke through the air.

A bright flash of light burned through my closed eyelids.

Startled, I opened my eyes.

The vortex that had filled my entire vision was gone.

Instead, someone was holding out their hand toward me.

“Are you all right?”

“...?”

I looked up in a daze.

In place of the vortex, a boy with silvery-white hair and gemlike blue eyes stood before me.

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

His face was so stunning, so otherworldly, that I couldn’t help but stare in awe.

His clear, radiant eyes gleamed with an almost transparent brilliance.

His elegant gaze was framed by lashes as soft and silken as spiderwebs.

The boy’s entire being exuded an overwhelming divine power, as though his very presence could purify my soul.

Before I could process what was happening, the boy grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.

“Good. I managed to stop it before the Magi expanded.”

“W-Who are you?”

“I am Meteor Pluto. Be careful—Magi are more likely to appear at night.”

“......”

Pluto?

Could it be?

The Pluto family—the same family that destroyed Baal 500 years ago?