Demon King

Rivit stood in a dark corner of Rondon harbor, his black cloak billowing in the salty sea breeze. His fiery red eyes scanned the crowd—human traders, seafaring elves, and dwarves carrying goods. All lowly creatures he would normally order killed without a second thought. But this time was different. This was a vacation. A damn vacation Alexander had forced upon him.

He growled softly, remembering how annoying the demon lords were who kept sending their daughters to the palace. Vampires with pale faces and fake smiles. Succubi who tried to seduce him with cheap magic. Everyone wanted to be the Demon Queen. Everyone wanted power.

"Alexander, are you sure this damn place is safe?" His voice was rough, but there was a hint of awkwardness that he was trying to hide.

The aide—a tall demon with curved horns and a perpetually tense expression—simply nodded stiffly. "Neutral, Your Majesty. No one will recognize us here."

Rivit snorted. He hated that title now. Here he just wanted to be... who? Himself? He wasn't even sure who he was without the sword and the throne.

His steps stopped. Among the crowd at the harbor, he saw someone. Not a demon. Not an ordinary human. The figure was... different. The hair, the way he moved, the calm look in his eyes—everything made Rivit feel something strange in his chest. His heart beat faster. What was this? An illness?