Royal Bastard’s Bloodstained Regression Chapter 8 8: The Baptism of Light and Shadow

Seven years had passed.

Daemon was twelve now. In that ti, he had trained—quietly, relentlessly. Under Noah's guidance, alongside Gabriel, and always under watchful eyes. Lady Vexen still helped him behind the scenes, discreetly removing the occasional maid or guard who got too curious... or tried to poison him.

It was a strange kind of peace, but it worked.

He had broken into the Third Star.

His past self hadn't reached this level until late into his teenage years. Back then, it had taken him pain, failure, and war. Now, he was ahead. Not far enough—but ahead.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, calm and still, his aura core slowly settling from its latest expansion. Pain flared in his muscles, sharp and cold, but he didn't wince. His breath remained steady.

Until—

BANG.

The door slamd open.

"Brother," Gabriel's voice rang out, loud and proud. "Still wasting your ti ditating? While I've managed to reach Second Star?"

His relationship with Gabriel was the sa as he rembered but he was now clingy.

Daemon opened one crimson eye and gave a lazy smirk.

"Congrats, brother. That must've been... difficult for you."

Gabriel strutted in, trailed by his ever-present maid who pretended not to listen to the conversation while absorbing every word. He was dressed in fresh ceremonial robes, his golden hair glowing in the morning light like a halo. A sword hung at his hip—a gift from the church, already etched with runes.

"Difficult?" Gabriel scoffed. "Please. Father said I'm the youngest Second Star the kingdom has seen in fifty years. The priests are already whispering I might be the chosen one."

"Is that so?" Daemon said, standing slowly. His fra was taller than Gabriel's now, leaner, sharper. But he still hunched a bit—an old habit from pretending to be less than he was.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "You're not even at First Star, right? You never were good at this. Maybe the baptism will bless you with sothing...."

He grinned. Daemon just looked at him "quit joking what do you want ?"

"Father's calling us," Gabriel added, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "He wants to see us before the ceremony. Probably wants to see what kind of disappointnt you grew up to be."

Daemon tilted his head. "Eleven years without a single eting, and he finally rembers he has two sons."

"Only one that matters." Gabriel turned, waving lazily over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Demon. We don't want to keep the king waiting."

The maids moved efficiently, fastening the layers of Daemon's ceremonial attire. When they stepped back, they offered soft, practiced complints.

"It suits you perfectly, my prince."

Daemon didn't respond.

"It looks good on you, brother," Gabriel said, stepping forward with a bright grin. "Co on. Let's not keep them waiting."

Daemon gave a small nod.

As they walk deeper.

His mind was elsewhere. Baptism day. A day he despised—but couldn't avoid. He had tried to kill Gabriel before. Quietly, indirectly. Small attempts. Missteps. And still, Gabriel stood unhard, untouched by the weight Daemon carried.

The gods must've favored him.

BAM!

The throne room doors opened with a groan like ancient stone grinding against ti.

Daemon walked beside Gabriel down the black-carved hall. The guards straightened. The nobles lowered their voices. Whispers died as the two princes crossed the long chamber.

At the far end sat King Aleric Dominick III.

His silence filled the room more than any speech could. His presence, immovable. Cold.

He didn't glare. He didn't smile.

He simply existed—and that was enough.

The weight of his aura pressed on them all. It wasn't visible, but it was felt: like trying to breathe underwater. An 11-Star. Solar Core Realm. A man made myth through violence alone. His sword hadn't been drawn in a decade, and still the floor around his throne was cracked from the last ti it had.

Beside him sat Queen Bianca, smiling with perfect grace.

"My sweet sons," she said warmly, rising to greet them. She reached out and embraced them both, arms soft, voice light. "You're growing so fast. I could almost cry."

Gabriel leaned into her touch with a grin.

Daemon held still, letting the mont pass like wind over stone. He gave a polite smile—nothing more.

Then his gaze lifted—slowly, inevitably—to et his father's.

King Aleric didn't speak. But his stare, sharp and unreadable, narrowed just slightly.

Daemon didn't flinch.

No bow. No trembling. Just a calm stare, like he was studying an old sword, long rusted and kept for mory.

Aleric's voice rumbled like distant thunder.

"After today's baptism, should either of you awaken, you may request what you will—gold, knights, territory, tutelage. A rightful heir must be rewarded."

The nobles stirred.

"But only one will carry the crown," the king finished.

Gabriel's chest puffed up. He didn't even try to hide his glee.

Daemon's expression didn't shift.