Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World-Chapter 502: The Child That Released The Light

Each name drew forth a point of light, no brighter than a candle flame, drifting upward, slow, reverent, as if afraid to leave.

"Sorrel…"

"Thiven…"

"Orli…"

The names began to overlap.

A chorus without music, a river without banks.

They rose, and with them, the air grew lighter, warmer and drifted into the sky like snowflakes.

The snow didn't melt, but it loosened.

As if exhaling.

The child's arms dropped to her sides, her fingers splayed in the frost as light after light emerged from her small frame — not ripped, not expelled, but released. Offered.

"I didn't remember them all," she whispered. "But they… remembered themselves."

Riel didn't answer. She couldn't. Her throat had closed, her eyes narrowed not in judgment anymore, but in awe.

The girl's skin glowed faintly with every soul that passed.

Some cried as they left — not in pain, but joy. Some smiled. A few even laughed.

The air began to hum.

Not music.

Something deeper.

Like all the threads of their stolen lives were being stitched back into the fabric of the world.

Each soul became a seed of something unseen.

And in the distant lands, those seeds would bloom.

Riel watched as the girl in the snow became pale... her figure fading and growing weaker each time a soul left her body.

It was clear what might happen... and she watched silently.

—

Meanwhile, in the southern parts of the demon empire.

The battlefield was still.

Around Alan, the demon lands lay coated in the pale afterbirth of war — not blood, but snow, falling now with a strange calm. The twisted monsters had stopped moving. Some shrank, curled up, and whimpered like dogs waking from a nightmare.

Alan stood still amid the wreckage, sword lowered, eyes drawn upward.

There was no reason to look up. But something in his chest told him he had to.

And then he saw her.

A silhouette in the drifting white. Slender. Upright. Cloaked in shadow that shimmered faintly like silk soaked in moonlight. She didn't glow like a goddess or descend like a spirit.

She simply was.

Standing across from him in the field like she'd never left.

His heart didn't jump.

It sank.

"…Mireille," he whispered.

Her name tasted like old paper. The letters he had folded too many times, regretting the words he left unspoken.

She smiled.

Gods, it was the same smile.

Not full of forgiveness. Not full of judgment. Just… familiar. Worn at the edges. Like she'd been waiting through lifetimes just to give it once more.

Alan stepped forward instinctively. His boots broke ice. Shattered flowers curled underfoot.

"I couldn't save you," he said. "I didn't even bury you."

She didn't speak.

Her eyes lowered gently, as if telling him: You did enough.

Alan's jaw clenched. His hand tightened around the sword he didn't remember raising.

"But I hated myself," he said.

She touched his chest.

Not with warmth. But with weight. Like a hand that had been there once before, in another life, before pain ever got between them.

"You've grown cruel," she said softly. "But kind."

The wind stirred. Something loosened in his throat. He didn't speak.

Because if he did—

He might ask her to stay.

Mireille's form was already dissolving at the edges, her hair unravelling like ink in water. The breeze pulled at her robe, lifting it like smoke from a candle's wick.

She took one step back.

"I wanted to hate you," Alan muttered. "I told myself I did."

She looked at him with soft amusement.

"Well, I loved you... I do, even now. So be happy... that girl has my approval."

And then she was gone.

"W-Wait!"

No light, no big scene or sound.

Just a small burst of silver petals that scattered at his feet.

Alan stood in silence.

Around him, flowers began to bloom — violet, soft, unfamiliar to this land.They curled through the snow. Poked from stone. Grew even from the corpses of demons.

And Alan, proud knight of the north, hero of Grigor... and loving husband.

Fell to one knee.

And let the rain fall unseen.

——

The throne room of Grigor's citadel had never been so quiet.

The torchlight didn't flicker. The banners didn't sway.

Only the sound of Avandar's breath filled the air — shallow, measured, caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief.

The silver light pooled in through the broken stained glass windows. It didn't come from the moon. It didn't come from magic.

It came from the air itself.

And in that light, they arrived.

Velvet gasped first.

Alice dropped to one knee without thinking.

But Avandar didn't move.

He stood at the bottom of the throne steps, mouth parted, as the ghostly figure stepped forward from the light.

She was dressed in soft robes of white, not royal, not priestly. Plain. The way she used to dress when she walked the market streets with him. Her hair was tied in the ribbon he'd given her the night before their wedding.

And in her eyes, there was no accusation.

Only love.

"Arin…" he whispered.

She smiled. That same shy smile, crooked on the left, the way only he knew how to read.

Then another figure emerged beside her.

Taller. Broad-shouldered. Steel-grey hair tucked behind one ear.

His mother.

She wore the uniform of Grigor's old knight-commanders, hand resting gently on Arin's back.

The ghost stepped towards Velvet and showed an amused smirk.

The pair awkwardly looked at each other, and beside them, Alice froze, her shoulders trembled lightly as the older woman's eyes became softer as she gazed back at her.

"You've done well, my little songbird."

She tried to brush her hand through Alice's hair, looking at Velvet. "Take care of her, my dear cousin. This girl always tries to act stronger than she is."

"A...ah.... of course...." Velvet's voice sounded softer than usual, broken and quivering. An old friend, a dear comrade and family member.

The woman's face became stern as her image flickered. "Tsk... seems my time is too short."

She smiled bitterly and returned to Arin.

Behind them, they came one by one.

Knights. Guards. Maids. Servants.

People he had forgotten.

People who had given everything, so he could still be standing.

They didn't bow.

They didn't speak.

They just looked at him.

With pride.

Avandar's legs almost gave. His hands trembled at his sides.

"I didn't protect you," he whispered. "I lived while you…"

Arin stepped closer.

She didn't touch him, but the wind behind her carried the warmth of her skin, the scent of her breath, the sound of her voice long faded.

"You protected the future," she said, lips barely moving. "That's more than most kings ever do, you old fool... but our daughters really take after me, haha."

His eyes twitched, seeing her smile so brightly like the sun. "How?"

"Haha, well, they clearly choose a man for his looks. Right?" Arin's cheeky attitude caused him to laugh. But he froze because her figure became thinner with each moment.

Tears fell silently down Avandar's cheeks.

'That damn playboy bastard... even ruining my reunion with Arin...'

He didn't move to stop them.

Then the light began to lift.

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Arin stepped back.

His mother nodded once — the same nod she gave before every war council.

The others followed.

And within moments, they were gone.

Only the throne remained.

And the man who stood before it, not as a prince, not as a ruler.

Just a husband.

Just a Father

Just a son.

Just a man.

———

The moonlight waned in the dream-like world as Riel watched the girl's figure becoming more transparent and weak.

"Will you disappear like this?"

"Mm..." The demon empress nodded. "Isn't it better for something like me to vanish?"

Upon releasing each soul trapped and devoured, she remembered a battle, a life, their history and memories all filling her mind and soul. A reminder of her sins, the things she did in her desire to be "Something" or "Someone"

"I cannot condone what you have done, nor forgive you." Riel's answer was cold and bitter, but despite her words, she still knelt beside the childish figure.

"Mm."

"But I will wait here, beside you until the end."

The pale demon child gazed up, and her frozen lips curled into a faint smile. "I see, thank you. Riel."

The moonlight dimmed, but never vanished.

Its pale glow stretched across the empty white as the child's form slowly lost substance — her body becoming outline, then breath, then light.

No dramatic parting. No sudden collapse.

She simply… faded.

Like a name no longer spoken.

Riel didn't move.

She remained seated beside the place where the girl had been, her hand still resting in the snow, untouched.

She hadn't forgiven her and probably never would.

But she had waited.

And that, for now, was enough.

The wind curled around her shoulders like a shawl, and above her, the sky remained blank — no stars, no gods, no promises.

Just silence.

And the soft, distant sound of snow beginning to melt.