Royal Bastard's Bloodstained Regression-Chapter 111: The Name of a Forgotten Bloodline

King Aleric’s gaze drifted toward the window, as if searching for something in the clouds.

"I still can’t believe..." he murmured, "you knew who your real mother was... and never once asked me what really happened."

Daemon’s jaw tightened. He had questions. More than he could count. But none of them had ever seemed worth asking—until now.

"If you knew Rose was pregnant with me and Gabriel... why did you let her disappear? Why did you let her escape the palace?"

The king closed his eyes for a long moment.

Then he exhaled. Slow. Heavy.

"The truth is... it wasn’t my choice."

He opened his eyes again, dull but flickering.

"Bianca drove her out."

Daemon’s fingers twitched slightly.

"I loved Rose," Aleric continued, voice cracking. "But I was young. Weak. I made mistakes—mistakes that cost her everything. Mistakes that... shaped your life and your brother’s."

He laughed suddenly—low, hoarse, and broken.

"Maybe the gods are punishing me, Daemon."

Daemon’s brows drew together. Something about the way his father spoke—he wasn’t making sense. Was it guilt talking? Madness?

"Father," he said carefully, "what do you mean by mistakes? Talk to me."

Aleric turned to him again, slower this time. His eyes locked with Daemon’s—sharp, but tired.

"Your name," he whispered, "Daemon... It’s not what you think."

Daemon’s breath caught.

"You believe it means ’demon’—but it doesn’t. It means protector. A divine spirit. I named you after your mother’s father."

"...My grandfather?"

Aleric nodded.

"He came from a small, forgotten town. Far from here. A community of witches and warlocks... They weren’t feared—they were respected. They served the Demon King—Seraphiel—not as worshippers, but as guardians."

Daemon’s chest tightened at the name.

"I saw your mother, Rose, and I took her in as a maid. That was my mistake. I should have left her in peace. If I hadn’t brought her here... maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe you wouldn’t be living through this pain."

Daemon sat in silence, the king’s revelation echoing in his mind.

So that’s why he spared me...

Not out of love.

Not out of guilt. freewebnøvel.com

But because he saw her—Rose—in him.

Because of a mistake.

And now, he carried the name of a man from a forgotten bloodline, tied to witches and warlocks who once served the Demon King.

Was that all I ever was to you? A reminder of your sins?

But that wasn’t the answer Daemon had come for. It wasn’t what was truly gnawing at him.

"Father," he said, voice calm but sharp. "What did you say to Gabriel?"

Aleric looked at him, a strange glint in his weary eyes.

Then he chuckled.

"It’s a secret."

Daemon’s jaw clenched.

Is this man playing games? Or is he just too far gone to think straight?

He was about to press further, but the king began to cough. Hard.

The sound shook his frail body. He gripped the sheets, breath ragged, chest rising in painful bursts.

"Father—are you alright?" Daemon moved to help.

Not out of compassion.

He didn’t want him to die.

Not yet.

Not before he suffered more.

But the coughing didn’t stop.

Daemon stepped closer. "Do you need something? Water? I can call—"

"You look..." Daemon hesitated, then said it.

"...Weak."

The king froze.

And then—

BOOM.

A blast of aura erupted from the bed like a shockwave.

Daemon was flung backward, crashing into the far wall. Dust and fabric fluttered from the ceiling.

He gritted his teeth, slowly standing up.

The king’s voice thundered, raw and proud.

"Get out! I am not weak! Don’t you ever look down on me."

Daemon didn’t react. He dusted off his clothes, bowed stiffly.

"My apologies, Father. I hope you recover soon."

And without another word, he turned and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Outside, the guards rushed to him, faces tense.

"Your Highness—what was that noise?"

Daemon brushed past them, expression unreadable.

"Nothing. Just a little talk," he said. "The king got... excited to see me."

They glanced at each other. One looked down at the dust on Daemon’s robe.

They didn’t believe him.

They knew what had happened.

And now, they were looking at Daemon with something he didn’t need or want.

Pity.

He hated it.

"Where’s my brother?" Daemon asked sharply.

"Prince Gabriel left a few minutes ago," one replied. "Said he had matters to attend to."

"...I see."

Daemon stepped back into the corridor, his thoughts still circling like vultures.

That conversation had left a bitter taste in his mouth. But now wasn’t the time to let it show.

A familiar voice pulled him from his spiral.

"Your Highness."

Standing ahead was Captain Vayne, commander of the imperial knights. Clad in his polished armor, every inch the loyal warhound of Varyndor. The same man who, in Daemon’s past life, had once sworn loyalty to him...

Then turned on him.

Daemon’s steps slowed as their eyes met.

"Captain Vayne," he greeted flatly.

The man bowed respectfully. "It’s good to see you back. I trust your visit with His Majesty went well?"

Daemon stared at him—at the man who would one day raise a sword against him.

His fists clenched without meaning to.

Vayne noticed. "Your Highness?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

Daemon quickly masked the anger with a sad smile, the one he’d perfected in his youth.

"No, nothing like that..." He looked down, voice softening. "Just seeing my father like that... weak, sick... it’s harder than I thought."

Vayne’s face softened. "Of course. That’s only natural. He’s still your father, no matter what."

Daemon gave a small nod. "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that."

Veyne studied Daemon’s face. The prince wore a sad expression, his gaze low, fists still tense at his sides.

To Veyne, it was understandable. A boy seeing his father wither in bed—a king reduced to breath and bones. He had watched both princes grow up, after all. He felt it was his duty, not just as a knight, but as someone who had once stood by them.

"It’s alright, Your Highness," Veyne said gently. "It’s natural to feel shaken at times like this. But maybe, with prayers... the gods might grant him strength to recover."

Daemon smiled faintly.

Still the same, he thought. Kind-hearted. Loyal. Naive.

"I appreciate that," Daemon said. "Thank you."

Veyne nodded. "Of course."

In truth, Daemon was already searching for an opening—a way to reconnect with his former commander. The knight who once knelt before him, before turning his blade when the tides changed.

He would rebuild the pieces. One by one.

Veyne cleared his throat. "Have you seen Prince Gabriel?"

"Not since earlier. Do you know where he went?"

"He was heading to the Queen’s chambers, last I saw."

Daemon gave a short nod. "I see... Well then, if you’ll excuse me."

He turned, planning to let the encounter end there. Not the right time, he thought. I’ll deal with him—and the others—later.

But then—

"Wait, Your Highness."

Daemon paused.

Veyne stepped forward. "Why don’t you stop by the barracks sometime? Train with us. It might help clear your mind. You used to enjoy it."

Daemon was caught off guard. The offer was unexpected.

"...What about the fact I’m the reincarnation of the Demon King?" His voice was quiet, low. "Won’t the knights avoid me because of it?"

Veyne blinked, then frowned—sincerely. He could hear the weight in Daemon’s voice.

"That doesn’t matter to me. And if it matters to any of them..." he narrowed his eyes slightly, "then they’re disrespecting a royal and undermining their captain. That won’t be tolerated."

Daemon studied him for a long second.

Still loyal to the bloodline... not the person.

"I understand," he said calmly. "Then I’ll gladly accept the invitation. I’d like that."

Veyne smiled and gave a respectful bow. "Glad to hear it. Until then, Your Highness."

As Veyne turned and walked down the corridor, Daemon watched him go.

First the commander, he thought.

Next, the rest of the traitors.

Meanwhile, inside the guest room...

Nyxtriel paced back and forth like a caged beast.

Varian sat on the bed with his arms crossed, watching her with mild amusement. "Miss Nyxtriel, you’re overreacting. He’s fine. We’re literally in his home."

"You don’t understand," she snapped. "That woman—she glared at me. As if I was nothing."

"Wait, what woman?" Varian glanced at William, who just shrugged, wide-eyed.

"That foolish maid," she growled. "The lady in waiting."

"Ohhh," Varian nodded. "So, what, she glared at you because she thinks you’re after Daemon’s inheritance or something?"

"She means the maid, I think," William said quietly, unsure.

"No. That foolish maid—the lady in waiting."

Varian leaned back. "Oh, maybe she thinks we’re after Daemon’s money."

"You idiot," Nyxtriel hissed. "It wasn’t suspicion. It was jealousy. The kind only a woman gives when she sees competition."

William blinked. "Wait, what?"

Varian smirked. "Ah, I get it. You think she likes Daemon. Wouldn’t be surprising. Nobles and their maids... it’s practically tradition."

William gave Varian a sharp look, silently begging him to stop.

Nyxtriel’s aura flared, faint but dangerous.

The tension was rising until—

Knock knock.

Nyxtriel marched to the door and flung it open.

Daemon stepped in, scanning the room. His eyes trailed over Varian’s cocky grin, William’s awkward posture, and Nyxtriel’s narrowed glare.

"...Did something happen in here?"