Demon King’s Law System

Chapter One: The Fool

In truth, when Duwei Roland was first born, no one dared to label him a fool. In fact, for a time, he was even considered a likely genius of the Roland family.

Three years ago, when Duwei emerged from the Countess’s womb into the world, the midwives who attended the birth were utterly astonished.

For he neither cried nor screamed, and never required coaxing from the adults around him. His routines were more punctual than those of a grown man—waking up at the proper hour, eating at the right time, and going to sleep without fail. Yet, aside from opening his mouth to eat, this child would hardly utter a sound. His sole activity was staring blankly, his eyes fixed in a perpetual state of vacancy.

He even rarely wet his bed, as he had learned to ring the bell beside his cradle with a gentle shake. Over time, whenever the bell rang, the maids would rush to fetch his chamber pot. Such behavior was lauded by the household, and everyone was certain that this young master was an extraordinary child, destined to be the genius of the Roland family.

Unfortunately, the brilliance of the term "genius" faded from his name in less than six months. The reason? He would not speak.

Children of his age had begun to babble, uttering simple words like "Mama," "Papa," or even the word "potty." But for Duwei, his mouth seemed bound by some invisible spell, as if a powerful sorcerer had cast a silencing curse upon him. Despite the Countess’s persistent attempts to teach him to speak—until her throat was sore—he could not manage even a single sound.

Not even a faint hum, as would be expected of a natural mute. Duwei remained as silent as a stone, regardless of whether he was cold, hot, hungry, or needed to relieve himself. His sole method of communication was the bell.

By the time he reached three years of age, his golden silence had yet to break. The Countess called upon numerous esteemed physicians and even summoned renowned magicians to investigate if some magical curse had befallen her son, but all efforts proved in vain. Even the most optimistic of mothers could not help but sigh in despair, for it seemed her son was, indeed, a fool.

At least, fortunately, young Duwei had learned to walk by the age of three. Though his gait was unsteady, it did not differ much from other children his age.

But here was a child who neither cried, nor laughed, nor spoke. He spent his days lost in vacant thought. Apart from the term "fool," there seemed to be no other plausible explanation.

Then, a month ago, an extraordinary event occurred amidst a storm—thunder roared and lightning cracked, as if the heavens themselves were in tumult. The great canal outside the Imperial City nearly overflowed, and yet within the Count’s estate, an even more shocking event took place.

The young master, unnoticed by the maidservants who cared for him, had somehow crawled out of his room and stood foolishly in the courtyard, staring up at the heavens. As lightning struck the sky, accompanied by the deafening thunder, the child seemed completely unperturbed—perhaps a fool simply does not understand fear.

In an unexpected outburst, Duwei clenched his tiny fists and began to scream at the storm above!

After three years of silence, the young master stood there, amidst the rain, shouting at the heavens as if he were a madman. The rain drenched his small body, and by the time the maids discovered him, he was shaking uncontrollably, his skin as cold as if he had just been pulled from the depths of a river, his face pale, and his lips tinged with purple.

The Countess, hearing of the incident, rushed to the scene and promptly fainted at the sight. The servants scrambled to carry both the Countess and her son back into the house. The Countess revived quickly and held her unconscious son close, crying bitterly. A physician was hastily summoned, and various potions were administered. Two magicians were called upon to cast light healing spells, standing vigil over the child for a long while.

Despite their efforts, the boy’s body continued to grow colder. Driven to despair, the Countess ran to the Temple of the Goddess of Light in the Imperial City, where she summoned a high priest to bestow the Goddess’s blessing upon her son. The Countess spent the entire night kneeling before the temple’s sacred idol, fervently praying for her son’s recovery.

By the next day, the boy’s body finally warmed, and his life was spared. However, he remained in a deep coma for another full day and night. During this time, the Countess, unable to eat or sleep, never left her son’s side. After two days, her once youthful complexion had begun to show signs of wear and tear. It was then, in the midst of her distress, that Duwei, in a dreamlike state, spoke for the first time.

His eyes were closed, and his words seemed to come from a state of delirium, a string of incomprehensible syllables. But to the Countess’s astonishment, as she listened closely, she recognized a pattern in his utterances.

Turning to the stunned servants who had gathered nearby, she whispered, “Is there anyone among you who goes by the name of Mard?”

The servants exchanged confused glances before one brave soul stepped forward and bowed, saying, “Madam, there is no one by that name among those who attend to the young master…”

A thorough search of the estate eventually led them to a stable hand named Mard. He was summoned before the Countess at once.

“My son has been calling your name in his sleep… Mard…” she said softly. “Though I do not understand why, I believe this is a sign from the Goddess. From today on, you will no longer tend the horses, but will be assigned to care for my son.”

Mard, suddenly elevated from the lowly position of stable hand to that of a personal servant to the young master, was overwhelmed with joy. He felt that a brilliant future was now within his grasp.

Little did Duwei know, his moment of childish rage, shouting at the sky, had nearly cost him his life. Nor could he have imagined that his delirious mumbling, which seemed to have no meaning, would result in such a fortunate turn of events for another.

Duwei’s illness lingered for an entire month. His once fragile form grew even weaker, and it was not until the end of that month that a faint color returned to his face.

Yet, as always, the young master remained silent. Since awakening, he had not uttered a single sound. Even Mard, the stable hand now entrusted with his care, received no change in his demeanor. Duwei simply stared vacantly, lost in his own world. The only difference now was that, when the maids occasionally spoke of his near-death experience, of how his mother had stayed awake for two days and nights, praying in front of the Goddess’s statue, Duwei’s eyes would occasionally shift towards her.

In those moments, there was a trace of warmth.