Royal Bastard’s Bloodstained Regression
Chapter 121: Nightfall and Truths

Daemon's eyes narrowed, voice low. "You want me to kill Father..."

Bianca nodded without hesitation. "Yes. Think about it, my son. All the pain he caused you—why do you think you were cursed to be the reincarnation of the Demon King? It was his mistake. His sin."

Daemon went silent, staring at her.

"No one will question it," she continued. "He's already sick, already weak. Even a low-ranked soldier could finish the job."

He frowned slightly. "How did he even become like that?"

"I've been poisoning him for months," Bianca admitted, her voice chillingly calm. "But the bastard refuses to die. His body clings to life like a roach."

"I see..." Daemon replied flatly.

He looked at her for a long moment. She was staring at him with desperate hope, her eyes searching his face for a reaction.

Finally, he smiled.

"You're right, Mother. I'll do it."

Bianca's face lit up. "Thank you, my son." She stood and embraced him tightly. "Thank you..."

Crack.

A soft sound. Something creaked near the doorway.

They both turned toward it.

"What was that?" she asked, eyes darting to the door.

Daemon listened for a second, then waved it off. "Maybe a rat. I don't sense any aura nearby."

She exhaled. "Good. You can go now. But remember—we must act before Gabriel's coronation."

Daemon stood, nodded, and bowed politely. "Of course. Rest well, Mother."

"You too, darling."

He walked out of her chambers, closing the door gently behind him. As he made his way down the corridor, his smile vanished. The warmth in his expression drained, replaced by cold disdain.

"Tch... that dramatic bitch," he muttered under his breath. "She really loves playing victim."

His pace quickened as he processed what he'd just confirmed.

So this was it. Coming back to Varyndor was the right move after all. It all made sense now.

In his past life, Gabriel didn't act alone—Bianca had convinced him. She planted the seeds that led to their father's death... and to Daemon's eventual execution. All of it. His very existence had been treated like a stain. A mistake. And now the woman who helped bury him once... had the nerve to ask him for help.

A figure stepped from the shadows, face obscured in the dim corridor.

Daemon smirked. "Ah, so you heard everything. That makes things easier. I suppose now you know where you stand—and what to believe."

The figure clicked their tongue. "It's not easy to take in... but I guess we'll come up with something."

Daemon chuckled softly. "Sure. Why not?"

Without another word, the figure turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Daemon stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable.

So it's settled. Tomorrow at the theater... the plan can't fail.

He walked toward his chambers. The corridor was quiet, the air still. When he opened the door, he saw Nyxtriel sitting by the window, bathed in moonlight. Her long white hair flowed over her shoulders, her pale skin glowing faintly beneath the stars. Those crimson eyes met his, calm and sharp all at once.

She stood and approached him.

"My lord."

Without hesitation, Daemon stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. "I missed you."

She blinked, surprised by the sudden gesture. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he murmured, his voice softer now. "Just... I'm glad you're here. Today was a mess."

Nyxtriel didn't speak immediately. Instead, she returned the hug—gently but firmly. Her voice, when it came, was quiet.

"It's okay, my lord. You can tell me everything... when you're ready."

And in that moment, wrapped in silence and moonlight, he almost forgot the blood-soaked revenge that still lingered at the edge of his thoughts. Almost.

Daemon slowly pulled away from the embrace, letting the quiet settle before he spoke. He began recounting everything—his meeting with Zaria, the clash with the Saintess, and his layered, hidden plans. Nyxtriel listened closely, her expression shifting between awe, concern, and silent pride.

But when he spoke about Bianca—his so-called mother—her expression darkened. Anger flickered in her eyes.

"Today was... a real roller coaster," she said after a pause. "If I'd been by your side, I could've at least helped you stay grounded."

That was exactly what Daemon feared most—dependence. And yet, the idea of her support was something he was starting to accept, even crave.

He cleared his throat, brushing it off. "Ahem... no need. What matters now is tomorrow. I need you to kidnap the Saintess and bring her straight to my chambers."

Nyxtriel nodded without hesitation. "Understood. But my lord... are you sure you need her? What if she tries to purify your demonic Astra core? Couldn't she—change it?"

Daemon let out a soft laugh, amused by the thought. "Change it? That's impossible, Nyxtriel."

He reached out and touched her forehead, guiding her consciousness into the core of his spiritual domain.

There, she saw it.

A monstrous, grotesque form—an abomination of flesh, eyes, and teeth, pulsating and breathing like something alive. It loomed in the dark like a godless beast, bound within. Larger than any demon she had encountered.

She returned to herself with a jolt, but her face remained composed. Now she understood why even the old healer Samuel had feared Daemon—he had grown even more demonic than they'd realized.

"I see," she said. "But what was that... thing?"

Daemon shrugged. "Could be the remnants of the people I've killed. Or something else. I'm not sure."

Nyxtriel hesitated. "And... you plan to force her into your spiritual core? That's where your Astra lives. What if she shatters it?"

"She's weak," Daemon said flatly. "I have two fragments inside already. I just need her to stabilize them. Once that's done, I'll figure out how to control the rest."

Nyxtriel nodded. "Understood."

Then he glanced at her. "By the way... did my mother do something to you? Vexen mentioned something."

Nyxtriel looked away. "She treated me differently. Cold. Especially after I spoke with Vivian. I guess... humans really do value titles more than anything else."

Daemon scoffed. "Forget her. She's not important."

Nyxtriel smiled faintly. "As you say, my lord."

The next morning, Daemon and Gabriel stood outside the palace, both dressed in sharp formal wear.

"You look good in that suit, brother," Daemon teased with a smirk.

Gabriel raised a brow. "You too, but... that's odd coming from you. Complimenting me all of a sudden?"

"Well, seeing you so mad yesterday made me feel kind of bad," Daemon replied with a shrug.

Gabriel went quiet for a moment. "Let's just forget about yesterday and focus on today. More importantly, where's your lady?"

"She said she's too shy to come," Daemon answered simply.

"Bah! Or maybe you didn't want her to come because of Zaria," Gabriel shot back with a grin.

"It's not like that," Daemon muttered.

Before Gabriel could press further, a voice called out—

"Sorry, your highness! Sorry for being late!" Vivian came running up, her dress flowing behind her.

Both brothers turned as she approached. Vivian looked stunning in a flowing gown, her silver hair pinned neatly with light makeup that brought out the icy blue in her eyes.

"You look amazing in that dress," Gabriel said, smiling and clearly flustered.

"Thank you, your highness," she replied softly.

Gabriel and Vivian were dressed in matching gold and yellow, the perfect noble couple. Daemon glanced away, wondering again if he should've brought Nyxtriel—but this wasn't the time for sentiment. This was day four in Varyndor. He needed to make progress. The Angel had to go.

Just then, Captain Veyne walked up to them.

"It seems you two are heading out, your highnesses," he said with a respectful nod.

"Oh, Sir Veyne," Daemon greeted. "Yes, just a little outing. Something casual."

"I see. And what about your companion?" Veyne asked.

"She didn't want to come," Daemon replied smoothly. "Said she's shy."

Gabriel scoffed. "Or maybe someone didn't want her around."

Daemon ignored him. No use starting another argument—especially not today.

Veyne chuckled. "Well, enjoy yourselves."

They all climbed into the carriage, and with a gentle jolt, the wheels began to roll.

Vivian opened the window and spotted the Queen watching them from one of the palace balconies.

"Goodbye, your highness!" she called out cheerfully, waving.

Daemon blinked and leaned slightly to look. "I didn't even know Mother was there," he muttered, glancing at Gabriel.

Gabriel's face was tight, his jaw clenched.

"You still haven't made peace with her?" Vivian asked, sensing the tension.

Gabriel didn't respond.

"At least say something," she pushed, raising her voice. "Ignoring her like that—it's wrong!"

But Gabriel remained silent, unwilling to speak.

Vivian turned to Daemon, frustrated. "Your highness, say something too!"

Daemon looked away from the window, disinterested. Talking about it now was pointless. In truth, he found it interesting that Vivian had never involved herself with him much at all. In his past life, even when Gabriel began to descend into madness, she hadn't interfered. He once wondered if she was mute.

Then something caught his eye.

A blur leapt across the rooftops outside the carriage window—white hair flashing in the morning sun.

Daemon's eyes widened slightly. Nyxtriel.

"What is it, brother?" Gabriel asked, noticing Daemon's sudden jolt.

"Nothing," Daemon said quickly, hiding his smile.

Through the window, he caught another glimpse of Nyxtriel moving swiftly across the rooftops. Even though she could've dissolved into shadow or smoke, she remained in human form—just so he'd see her.

A quiet message passed between them without a word: The plan is in motion.

The carriage rumbled along, heading down the cobbled roads of Varyndor.

Toward a day none of them would forget.