Chapter 5: The Demon King Without His Magic
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: Karai
Clear water carried golden strands of hair drifting downstream, reflecting a bright patch of sunlight. After being knocked into the river and forcibly pressed underwater by the Hero, the Demon King floated along the current, his hair spreading out in the water as he drifted together with the Hero toward a distant village.
There, a fisherman was pulling in his catch when he suddenly spotted the two drifting figures. Shocked, the man hauled them ashore and took them to the village chief’s house.
The village chief quickly assessed the situation: two presumed survivors. Seeing the Demon King’s shimmering golden hair and pale skin, he labeled him a noble. The Hero’s travel-worn clothes and callused hands from swordsmanship made him fit the role of a knight.
“So, we’ve rescued a nobleman and his knight by the river,” the chief announced confidently after thinking it over. When no one objected, he nodded. “Well, then that will be the official story for now.”
Thus, the unconscious Hero became the Demon King’s loyal knight. Since the chief could only spare one bed, the so-called noble Demon King was given the bed, and the “knight” Hero was placed on the floor. After a moment of hesitation, the chief relented and allowed the Hero to sleep on the bed as well.
When the Demon King finally awoke, he found himself in a shabby, cramped room — quite a downgrade from his castle. He was lying on a hard, uncomfortable bed, and beside him was someone he despised deeply: the orange-haired Hero, who lay asleep, unaware and powerless.
The Demon King’s mind raced with the ancient hatred that had bound their fates for generations. His precious “little darlings” lay freshly dead, and his first instinct was to strike.
With the room silent and no one to stop him, he raised his hand for a devastating blow, imagining the Hero’s destruction as a fitting revenge.
But the moment his palm came down, pain shot through his hand and arm. He collapsed against the wall with a groan.
“Ah…”
Breathing through the pain, the Demon King looked incredulously at the wall, expecting some hidden flaw or obstacle, but it was just an ordinary wall.
Then he glanced at his hand and, for the first time, felt how sensitive he had become—just a small red mark and yet it felt like agony.
Then— “Ah!!”
Realization struck: the wall was fine, his hand wasn’t the problem. It was his body. His magic—his very power—was almost completely gone. A Demon King without magic was like a toothless tiger.
His face paled as he stared down at his trembling, reddened hand. At that moment, the village chief entered and asked, “You’re awake?”
The Demon King stared at him in shock. The chief, mistaking the shock for surprise at being there, explained how the fisherman had rescued them and why the villagers believed the two to be a noble and his knight. The Demon King mulled it all over, his thoughts spinning. He almost tried to correct their mistake.
As he was lost in these thoughts, he noticed the Hero beside him stirring, about to open his eyes and greet the world. The Demon King nodded, accepting the noble identity bestowed on him—and even added a twist for himself:
“So, I’m a noble? Then why don’t I remember any of this?”
He smiled quietly, claiming this human noble identity for himself before the Hero could even wake.
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