The Crown Prince In Hiding

Sunday.

Nora sat reading a textbook by the campfire.

Not far ahead, two Diablo demons—a dragon and a jellyfish—were diligently working on the cabin’s framework, their second day of labor.

Nora’s eyes flicked toward them from behind… Hidden within her textbook was her small notebook, where she sketched Fury and Freya from this angle. She noted the sheer strength of the Diablo people. Even an ordinary Diablo like Freya could effortlessly lift logs onto the roof with a single tentacle.

This meant their tissue structure must contain incredibly dense muscle fibers, far surpassing those of humans like her. One of Freya’s tentacles likely matched the strength of an elephant’s trunk.

“Wow, I didn’t know calculus required drawing too, Princess.”

Nora’s head whipped around, snapping the book shut.

“…Casca.”

“I graduated ages ago, but I hear Professor McClaff’s still a tough one.”

“That’s… true.”

“Fury says you’re his buddy. How’s that going?”

“Mr.Fury’s been very cooperative.”

“You’re saying that because I’m standing here, right?”

“uh, yeah, but it’s true though.”

Nora scooted over. Casca kicked a pile of firewood aside, then poured steaming tea from a kettle.

“Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

Slurp.

“Ahh ? Refreshing.”

Nora: “…”

“Can I see your textbook? Seeing you takes me back to my youth.”

“Just use my name, no titles.” Hands it over.

“Then I’ll take the liberty, Nora.”

Sound of flipping pages.

Nora watched the living legend, still breathing, reading calculus as if she hadn’t long since returned it to her teachers, muttering things like, “Huh? Did we learn this?”

“You probably haven’t used it since graduating…”

“About 95% of what I studied, yeah, useless.”

The hero’s own words felt like a spear to the chest. Was 95% of what they learned at the academy pointless?

Yes.

“Don’t get me wrong, I only really learned magic when I joined the army.”

And after over twenty years of service…

“My battalion kids? I didn’t care if they could cast flashy spells. If you pull off something grand but fail the mission, what’s the point?”

“True…”

“Look at those guys. Think their homeland has an academy like ours?”

Fury, Freya, and other Diablo folks never went through any institutional system, yet they survived.

“I believe what Fury said now… Getting honors means nothing. Out in the real world, everyone starts from zero.”

“He exaggerates. What you learn in class isn’t totally useless.”

Casca handed the book back.

“It’s just a small step for lessons the academy can’t teach you.”

“Sounds like something Mr.Fury would say.”

“When he teaches you, use your own judgment.”

“He’s already taught me a few things.”

“You need to know one thing about his nature.”

“What’s that, Ms.Casca?”

“Fury was designed to be Diablo’s weapon. So he thinks like one.”

“Designed?”

“By the Queen.”

“His mother?”

“Yes.”

Casca nodded gently.

“She’s quiet, doesn’t say much, but carries the weight of Diablo’s future. Her sole duty… was to give birth to Fury and his siblings.”

To give birth, the Queen had to “lay eggs” to hatch each of them. During this process, only she could design the “purpose” of each egg, requiring immense nutrients and energy. The stronger the child, the more energy it demanded.

“They poured nearly everything into Fury’s egg, everything they had, to create the strongest soldier.”

Princess, if you look closely, this was all engineered by the Demon King from the start.

A nation’s top priority is self-defense, so Fury, the eldest, was born to embody military might.

Once that was secure, the next goal was wealth—cleverly amassing benefits for the nation. Thus, Everton was born as the second sibling.

With both brawn and brains in place, the final piece was balance—someone to wield both forces effectively.

Fiorentina, the youngest, was born to make decisions that maximized her brothers’ potential.

“Becoming emperor is just sitting in a labeled chair. The greater the power, the better it hides. Fury might take the throne, but the real decision-making brain is already set—Fiorentina.”

“Really, Ms.Casca? Then what’s the point of the one on the throne?”

“A symbol, Princess.”

Think about it.

When you sit on the throne, do you devise economic plans yourself? Draft battle strategies? Do everything single-handedly?

No.

Someone plan it for you. You just need to decide.

If the decision fails, you are alone to bear the blame.

That’s the emperor’s job description.

“True power never sits on the throne for all to see. True power is those unassuming advisors beside you.”

The smartest wielders of power stay in the shadows, and keeping the true leader hidden gives a massive advantage. Even if Fury vanished, the real power would remain—just swap the CEO.

The Queen’s investment in those three eggs will soon bear fruit.

“But humans can’t do that… We can’t design our children like Fury’s mother did.”

“Exactly. We can’t. But we have our own way… We call it ‘passing down.’”

Humans have the rarest ability in the animal kingdom, one even Diablo lacks.

The ability to “pass knowledge to the next generation.”

The more humans know, the stronger they become. This is where Diablo falls short.

“Diablo doesn’t even have a written alphabet. Not because they can’t, but because they never thought to.”

An environment without struggle is a black hole of history. They don’t even stockpile food—how it was a million years ago is how it remains. The fact that Diablo evolved such immense strength means they never imagined agriculture. They’re hunters, not gatherers.

“Talking about this feels hopeless… How do we compete with them?”

Luminus might resist thanks to Casca, but what about places like Snowhaven? How do they defend themselves?

“The best way is to avoid trouble in the first place.”

Casca said.

“But I get it—peace comes from mutual suspicion.”

Casca covered her mouth, winking once.

“Let me tell you a secret, Nora… Diablo fears my sword.”

Diablo dreads Casca’s blade.

Especially when it’s coated in golden aura.

“Not bragging, are we?”

“I’ve got a portfolio. But over time, I’m bound to get challenged by some crazy Diablo.”

And what Casca delivered to those challengers was a sacred ritual called an ass-whooping extravaganza.

Over ten years, Casca dished out unique ass-whoopings to Diablo challengers until she earned their respect.

Every step she took on their island, no one dared meet her eyes or provoke her.

She built trust with the royal family, moving freely.

Over time, they stopped seeing her as human—she was practically Diablo.

Except for one.

“Hey UNC. Move, you’re in the way.”

An inky tentacle floated past Casca, grabbing a log behind her, hoisting it over her head with blatant disrespect. Sawdust sprinkled onto Casca’s hair, right in front of the princess, who was barely spared.

Crack!

Nora saw veins bulge on Casca’s neck, golden light seeping from her pores.

A red lightning flash—the massive demon transformed back into a small, ordinary-looking boy, leaping down from the freshly built roof.

“Your Majesty~ That’s the last one~”

“We’ll do the waterproofing later. That’s enough for today. Time to get back to homework.”

But then Fury’s foot slipped on slime.

“Whoa?!”

The boy’s body fell, only to be caught by Freya’s tentacle mat just before his backside hit the ground.

“Phew, close call, huh, Your Majesty?”

“…Thanks, Freya.”

“If not for me, you’d have cracked your skull and died! No way I’d let your fat ass fall while I just watch!”

Casca: “!”

“Falling means cracking your skull and dying? Overkill, but I’m fine now. You can let go, right?”

“Oh, Your Majesty… Your frail human body makes me so nervous… Poor thing…”

Pinches his butt.

“I suggest you let go.”

“Why~?”

Slash.

The tentacle creeping to pinch Fury’s butt was severed before the demon girl’s eyes. White slime and green blood splattered like paint across the wall, followed by her blood-curdling scream.

“AAAAHHHH!!!!”

Dan: “That’s why.”

“My tentacle?!?! AAAAHHHH?!?!?!”

The tentacle hit the ground. On the newly built wall, a glowing golden hatchet—infused with holy magic—was embedded with pinpoint accuracy, thrown from the campfire.

“Keep your filthy tentacles off my husband’s ass, or the next one goes through your skull.”

“AAAAHHHH!!!!”

Freya writhed in agony.

Fury turned to his fiancée, his eyes full of exasperation.

Casca sat back down, utterly unfazed.

(Freya’s screams, cursing, and wailing)

>

“Uhm… music to my ears.”

“Casca, what did you do?!”

“It’ll grow back.”

Casca sipped tea from the kettle, her demeanor unchanged.

“Diablo regrow limbs, Princess. I’ve chopped off that skank’s tentacles so many times I’ve lost count… Oops, sorry for the language.”

Nora’s jaw dropped.

“Tell you what, that hag’s tentacles taste worse than diarrheic dog shit.”

Nora’s jaw dropped further.

“You… ate Freya’s tentacles?”

“What choice did I have?”

Casca peeled a potato, munching.

“Can’t kill her. Chop her down to just a body and lock her in a chest, she still regrows. You see how vicious that wench is.”

“But to resort to violence like that…”

“As long as I’m alive, no person, woman, man, camera, anything—will touch my husband. Never.”

Nora swallowed hard.

And she concluded that, among these three, Fury was the most normal.