Became Pregnant With the Demon King’s Child

Even after that, Lowell continued urging the knights to surrender—but not a single one obeyed. Regardless of their refusal to give up, however, the situation did not improve, and no sudden reinforcements appeared out of nowhere. Watching their desperate struggle, Lowell found himself questioning his resolve dozens of times—should he try to contact Felix after all?
By the time Felix hears and gets here, it’ll all be over. And in the confusion, he might ruin what he’s trying to accomplish. Besides, there’s no way the enemies in front of me would let me reach out in the first place.
He knew it was the rational choice. And yet, every time he looked at the knights covered in blood, the impulse surged up again. But in the end, what Lowell chose was the mission’s success—and Felix’s safety. The drawn-out battle ended only after Tia, who had stood like an unshakable fortress despite her injuries, finally collapsed, and Tony, who had clung to Lowell’s side to the bitter end, fell as well.

“There’s nowhere left to lean on. If you weren’t so utterly useless, you might’ve had a shot at retreating. What a shame.”
Count Clarke, who had been rattled by the fierceness of the resistance, now strolled up to Lowell as if none of it had ever happened, sneering.
“S-Stay back…”

Count Clarke kicked Tony away as he dragged himself along the ground, desperately trying to reach Lowell even while soaked in blood. The blow struck hard—perhaps too hard for someone already gravely wounded—and Tony coughed up a mouthful of blood. Blood from the fallen knights stained the ground beneath Lowell’s feet.
Lowell clenched his jaw, trying ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) not to cry as he looked at their fallen forms. Cold sweat drenched his body, and he trembled. He didn’t know if it was guilt from being the only one left standing or if his fever had returned—but he couldn’t stop shaking.
“This’ll be the last time things go your way.”

Even so, Lowell warned him in a steady voice. It was a warning to Count Clarke—and a vow to himself.
“So your mouth still works. Restrain him.”
Rough hands dragged Lowell’s body to the ground. His body might’ve sunk, but his spirit did not waver.

If I can just endure this moment, I’ll be able to return to my life.
That belief helped Lowell stay centered.
***

The underground prison, unlit, cold, and damp, reeked the moment Lowell stepped in. The stench of death accumulated here over time was enough to drown out the blood still clinging to him. It was as if one more death added to the pile wouldn’t even matter. Lowell was thrown into the final cell, deep within the prison. The dull sound of flesh hitting stone echoed down the corridor.
“Urgh…”
He didn’t have the strength to cry out—just a faint groan. With his fever rising again and his whole body aching, the impact didn’t register as strongly. A small mercy, perhaps.

Or maybe just another layer of misery.
He clung to even that self-mockery to avoid losing consciousness. At the very least, he had to remain coherent until they left.
“Lived here long enough, but first time in the dungeon, I’d guess? Time to really feel just how much you’ve been living above your station.”
Seeing Lowell stir and slowly sit up, Count Clarke’s face twisted with a hatred hard to understand. He clearly blamed the failure of his plans on Lowell.

Your plan failed because it was bound to fail, you bastard.
Lowell wanted to retort, but even moving his lips took too much effort. His sickly appearance was undeniable; Count Clarke clicked his tongue.
“No need to heal him fully, but keep him alive. As for the knights—torture them until they spill everything they know about Felix.”

“Yes, sir!”
The priest who had rushed down the stairs, gasping for breath, answered with sharp deference alongside the soldiers. It was the same priest who had once healed Lowell’s wrist and confirmed his pregnancy. Now, with Lowell’s belly clearly rounded, visible even at a glance, the priest eyed it cautiously. He licked his lips, hesitated, and then opened his mouth with resolve.
“What shall we do about the child? The mother’s condition is poor—it could be dangerous.”

As if only now remembering, Count Clarke turned to look at Lowell again. His expression said everything—he had no real concern for Lowell as a person.
“No need to protect a hostage’s child. It’ll just grow up to be another demon like that Felix, or an idiot like that fool.”
He stroked his chin and smiled cruelly. Though he was the one summoning evil to the world through black magic, he spoke as if Felix were the true demon. It was a textbook case of projecting his own evil onto someone else—justifying his actions as righteous. That mindset made Lowell’s stomach turn with nausea.

“And that idiot’s going to die when he’s outlived his use anyway. So whether the thing in your belly dies now or later makes no difference. Don’t worry about it.”
A sharp ache stabbed through Lowell’s abdomen. The more intense the physical pain, the more his mind began to crack. Doubts that had been roiling beneath the surface now surged upward like crashing waves.
Will I really survive until this is all over? How long can they keep this from Felix? I need to escape before they use me as a bargaining chip…

He couldn’t tell where things had gone wrong, or what decision might’ve prevented this. His eyes drifted into empty space, and Count Clarke, sensing that Lowell was no longer in a state to talk, turned and left the dungeon with his men.
“Excuse me.”
Under the watchful eye of a guard, the priest entered the cell. Lowell curled in on himself, tense.

“Why…”
His voice was hoarse, hollow. Carried by hot breath, even those few words dissolved in the air—pitiful enough to stir compassion in anyone with a shred of sympathy.
“Your energy is depleted. Please stay still.”

The priest, noticing what Lowell wanted to ask, didn’t answer. With a heavy expression, he began the healing ritual. Contrary to Count Clarke’s orders to leave Lowell half-alive, the priest did his work surprisingly thoroughly.
Light filled Lowell’s hollow body like ripples in a shallow pool. It didn’t restore him to full strength like magic in a fairy tale, but the erratic, shallow breathing that seemed to brush against death began to stabilize.
“You’re a priest… so why side with those who would defile the earth with black magic?”

The moment strength returned to his tongue, Lowell’s words cut like a knife. They didn’t carry full force, but the condemnation was unmistakable.
“This has nothing to do with the temple.”
The priest lowered his gaze and whispered.

A personal reason, then. He’s either in debt—or being blackmailed.
Lowell instinctively analyzed, then closed his eyes. There was no point in guessing now. However unlikely, the only way out was to find a way to break the tracking spell and escape. The priest, tending to him with mechanical detachment, moved his hands to Lowell’s belly. In that instant, Lowell mustered every last scrap of strength to shove him away. His sharp glare clearly asked, What the hell are you trying to do?
“A priest may only heal and protect. Nothing else. Please rest assured.”

Glancing at the guard, he subtly conveyed that he had only meant to check on the child. That flicker of conscience seemed to be all that remained of the man’s divine calling. Realizing the priest meant no harm, Lowell allowed him to continue.
“There’s no major issue. It seems you and the child are supporting each other, giving each other strength.”
The priest murmured something strange. Lowell didn’t understand the full meaning, but it was clear that the child was safe—for now. It was the first hopeful thing he’d heard in this hell.

“If you’re finished, leave now.”
The guard, apparently displeased with how long the priest had stayed, gave a warning.
“Yes. I’m done.”

The priest rose without hesitation, as if his role had ended. Lowell, not expecting anything more, leaned against the wall. It was damp and cold—but for his fevered body, it was oddly welcome.
Despite his exhaustion, sleep would not come. The sounds of torture bled through the walls. Felix’s knights made no noise—not even groans—but the sound of whips and flesh being torn was impossible to ignore.
Only after night fully fell did those terrible sounds stop. There was no way to track the exact time in this sealed place, but that silence helped him gauge the flow of time.

As Lowell lay awake, listening to water drip from the ceiling, he suddenly noticed new footsteps mixed with the sound. Strangely, the guards—who should have been alert—were nodding off, heads drooping.
What the…?
Sensing something wrong, Lowell narrowed his eyes at the approaching steps.

“Hello.”
A soft, timid voice greeted him out of nowhere.