Became Pregnant With the Demon King’s Child

“I’ll break through the front.”
Judging that escaping the encirclement would be too difficult, Tia raised her twin rapiers. The other knights responded in kind, drawing their swords.
“Charge!”

At Tia’s command, the knights swung their blades. The blue arcs of sword energy they released interwove like an unbroken net, slicing through the ranks of enemies. Trees cleaved by the force crashed to the forest floor with a booming rumble. Hidden among them were enemies now wounded and revealed, some too injured to move again—but most, bleeding or not, rushed straight at Lowell.
They’re trained knights.
They were nothing like bandits or petty thugs. Their swordsmanship was one thing, but more terrifying was their mindset—they showed no hesitation in killing or being killed.

“Don’t bother engaging one-on-one! Push forward!”
Tia’s rapiers gleamed with Aura as she aimed directly for the vital points of the charging foes. Her resolve to not let even a fingertip reach Lowell radiated from her like heat, and that determination spread through the ranks.
Though the enemy had overwhelming numbers, the disparity in skill gradually tore open gaps in the encirclement. The pursuers did all they could to close the distance, but it was impossible to keep pace with the elite guard handpicked by Felix. The gap between the two forces only widened.

“We should be able to shake them within fifteen minutes.”
In fact, they lost the enemy faster than predicted. But just because they had shaken them once didn’t mean they were safe. Somehow, the enemy always seemed to know which direction Lowell was moving. By the second time their trail was discovered, a shadow of suspicion began forming in the knights’ minds—Could there be a traitor among us?
And then—when they were discovered a third time, with nothing behind them but a sheer cliff—they had no room left to retreat.

“Lowell Clarke. Why not give up this pointless resistance?”
A voice echoed through the forest—a voice Lowell had heard before. It didn’t take long to remember its owner.
“Count Clarke…”

Lowell let out a bitter breath. He’d only met the man a few times, yet he had left the worst possible impression.
“Forgot your manners, I see.”
“How did you track my location?”

Lowell, still carried on Tony’s back, forced out a strong voice from what little strength he had left.
“Ha. Never thought a halfwit like you would ever prove useful.”
“We burned everything from the Clarke estate.”
“Hah. You didn’t really think such a shallow trick would be enough, did you?”

Count Clarke let out a loud laugh, as if he’d just heard the most entertaining thing in the world.
“Ever wonder why you have absolutely no magic in your body? Then again, someone as dim as you wouldn’t.”
Lowell’s head spun. Come to think of it, most humans had at least a trace amount of magic. But he had none. When he first met Felix, he’d taken the medicine without worry because of that very fact—he couldn’t be affected by magic.

I thought I was just born weak. But it wasn’t that?
Lowell pressed his lips together and waited for the Count to continue.
“In the history of the Clarke family, no more than three siblings usually survive. Do you know how all seven of your generation made it through?”

“I wouldn’t know.”
Lowell didn’t look away, his eyes still full of fight.
“Instead of killing off heirs with no potential, I set up a few safeguards. It seemed wasteful to get rid of pawns that might still prove useful.”

Count Clarke didn’t hide his contempt as he went on.
“I had them brainwashed to suppress their own magic. Then I used their empty bodies as vessels to implant tracking spells—your entire physical form became a magical tracking device. I nearly killed you off since you didn’t seem worth the effort, but seeing you be this useful now… I guess my judgment was right.”
There was no doubt—it was black magic.

“When did you fall so far?”
“Maybe you should thank that corrupted power for keeping you alive. Sure, it weakened your body, but at least you lived.”
Lowell shut his eyes tight. It was revolting to realize his fragile health wasn’t something he’d been born with—but something inflicted on him, by people who called themselves his parents.

“That demon of a Grand Duke always covered you in defensive spells, which blocked any trace of magic. But it seems even that’s worn off now. There’s nowhere left for you to run. His Majesty told me to bring you in alive… but honestly, I’m starting to think just your head would be enough.”
Count Clarke smiled, then gestured his men forward to attack. The knights stepped in front of Tony and Lowell, but there were too many of them to fend off now. It was truly a dead end.
Is he really trying to kill me here?

Lowell tried to judge whether the Count’s threat was a bluff or a genuine intent to kill. But before he could reach a conclusion, someone broke from the crowd.
“Do you intend to defy His Majesty’s orders?”
The voice was familiar. But never—never in his life—did Lowell imagine he’d hear it here.

“…Why are you here?”
Standing beside Count Clarke was Zephyros. He should have returned to his homeland long ago. The sight was so absurd, it felt unreal.
“Yes, we’ve met before. Did you grow fond of him in that short time?”

“Of course not. I’m simply reminding you of His Majesty’s command.”
Zephyros, his face expressionless and his tone mechanical, spoke with a conviction that didn’t seem like the man Lowell had once known. Two familiar-looking guards stood behind him.
Did he side with the Emperor? I knew he was a bit slow, but I didn’t think he was stupid enough to end up somewhere like this.

Lowell was stunned by the gap between the Zephyros he remembered and the one before him now.
“Besides, isn’t Grand Duke Felix someone unused to warfare? He may remain cold toward the dead, but a living hostage will bind his hands.”
Even as he spoke, Zephyros’s tone remained perfectly flat, his logic disturbingly sound.

“What could you possibly gain from betting on a dying power? When the noble faction is purged, your kingdom will be next.”
“You talk too much. To gain something high, you must always risk something.”
Count Clarke said so, but even he knew that bringing Zephyros in now, after the plan had already started falling apart, wasn’t ideal. Lowell formed two hypotheses—either Zephyros had fallen so deep he couldn’t escape, or he’d been brainwashed through black magic.

“Are you aiming for the throne yourself?”
His head throbbed and the pain in his belly surged again, but Lowell pressed on. When their eyes met, Zephyros’s cheeks flushed faintly.
It’s definitely the same guy I met back then, but I can’t be sure of anything anymore.

But with so much urgency around him, Lowell couldn’t follow that line of thought any further.
“Sir Tony! Fall back!”
As their defensive line was pushed back by sheer numbers, Tia unleashed a surge of sword energy. With a vibrating hum, the aura swelled to massive size—her plan was to cut down as many enemies as possible with a single strike and carve an escape route. But when cornered, such plans were easy to read.

“Raise the wall.”
The black mages in the rear erected a magical barrier. Individually, they were too weak to stop Tia’s attack—but gathered in a group of over twenty, they could at least blunt its force.
If it weren’t for me, the others could probably escape.

Lowell looked at the cliff behind them. The drop was sheer, impossibly deep. He couldn’t bring himself to say, “Maybe we should jump.”
Tia or Tony might survive a fall like that. They’d find some way.
He realized now—if they stayed, it would only become a war of attrition.

“My life is out of immediate danger, so leave me and run. As soon as the situation in the capital is under control, rescue me. Or regroup with whatever forces are left—”
“I’d sooner die.”
Lowell ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) whispered what he believed was the most rational option—but for a knight sworn to loyalty, it was unthinkable.

“Tony!”
“No one here will leave your side, Lowell-nim. Even if it means our corpses remain behind, we’ll stay to protect you.”
And so it was. The knights gritted their teeth and fought on. They dealt tremendous damage to the enemy, resisting fiercely—but one by one, they fell.

“Keep the knights alive. We’ll interrogate them later. Leave the ones who can still talk.”
As the fight dragged on longer than expected, even Count Clarke showed a flicker of impatience—before regaining his calm. The threat was now right at Lowell’s throat.