The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

A moment later, the army following the Demon King arrived on the battlefield, and the ambushers who organized the ambush quickly became sitting ducks. This ambush was quickly quelled.

The tribesmen of the Watie tribe were all tearfully grateful, kneeling and thanking the soldiers of the Demon King. At that time, Langmuir had already fallen asleep in the carriage.

He was a human, a human who had been washed by the holy magic of the Temple of Light since childhood. The demonic breath in his body was forcibly infused by the Demon King to avenge an arrow, and forcibly urging this power would suffer a great backlash.

After nightfall, Hun Yao no longer rode a horse.

The Demon King threw the dozen living captives Mo Duo for interrogation, and ordered Asayin to command the front line on his behalf, and he got on the carriage and guarded the weak human slave.

The carriage creaked and shook, and the small copper lamp hanging on the wall squeaked with it. Langmuir curled up in the stacked quilts, frowning uncomfortably.

Hun Yao’s face was gloomy as if he was going to kill, but his actions were very careful – he was afraid that Langmuir would be uncomfortable being shaken by the carriage, so he hugged him in his arms.

Langmuir was awakened by this action, and opened his eyes in a daze.

“…King…”

His voice was a bit hoarse, so weak that he could hardly hear it.

Hun Yao was expressionless. He raised his hand, hovered for a moment on the purple scale under the human’s eye, and gently rubbed it with the pad of his thumb.

“Langmuir,” he said in a low voice, “you crossed the line today. I don’t believe you didn’t hear that stop.”

“Have you forgotten the rules of being a slave because you haven’t been punished for a long time, hm?”

Langmuir drooped his eyelids and leaned weakly on Hun Yao’s chest, “…This slave knows he has made a mistake, please grant punishment, my King.”

Hun Yao: “Don’t use this trick. You are not afraid of punishment, there are others who will be punished for you.”

Langmuir really frowned slightly, shook his head and said, “Don’t blame your warriors. My king should know my temper…It’s me who is stubborn, they can’t stop me.”

Hun Yao pulled his thin lips apart and gritted his teeth, “It’s too late, thanks to you, those few guards are now all missing an arm and a horn.”

Langmuir suddenly straightened up, “What…!?”

Hun Yao: “The last time you used your demonic breath, I said it is not to be repeated. This is the price of impulsiveness.”

The already small carriage fell silent. Langmuir’s face was pale, staring straight at Hun Yao, his fingers moved slightly.

Hun Yao knew what he wanted to do. If it were another occasion, Langmuir would surely lower his face and approach him, using his soft hands to hold his half-broken horn, forcing him to lower his head – then lean in and sniff gently.

The horns of the demons were the easiest part to smell, especially the broken surface. The slave often used this to distinguish whether he really had blood on him. But not today. He just killed a battle during the day and slaughtered hundreds of demons, how could he distinguish?

Langmuir was stunned for a while, and his breathing became rapid. He suddenly let out a soft groan, forcefully pinched his chest and lowered his head.

Drip, drip, drip. A few drops of crimson fell on the bamboo mat in the carriage.

“Langmuir!?”

Hun Yao’s expression changed drastically. He quickly kneeled half a step, held up the human’s face, and indeed saw the eye-catching blood dripping from Langmuir’s lips.

——Vomiting blood again!?

Hun Yao’s face turned pale instantly, he just wanted to scare him, to let him know how powerful he was. How…

“I lied to you.”

Hun Yao regretted that his heart was twisted with pain, and hurriedly hugged the person into his arms, coaxing him over and over again. “Really lied to you. Be good, I will call those guys to see you, you see for yourself.”

Langmuir looked at his blood-stained fingertips in a daze for a long time, shook his head and sighed lightly. “No need. Since my King says there is none, then there is none.”

His Demon King had always been a bit bad-tempered, and Langmuir had been scared more than once or twice over the years, he himself was not easily convinced either. It’s just that he didn’t expect this body to weaken unknowingly, and a moment of anxiety could cause blood to surge.

Only three months left to live, it seems that I can’t run away… 

Langmuir thought to himself in trouble, when should he find an opportunity to speak to Hun Yao about his impending death?

Of course Hun Yao noticed Langmuirl’s distraction, his heart sank, and before he had time to continue coaxing, there was a neighing and hoof sound of a wildebeest outside the carriage.

A deliberately lowered female voice said, “Asking to see my King.”

It was Mo Duo. Langmuir looked up at Hun Yao, and naturally lifted the curtain of the carriage for the Demon King who was holding him in both hands.

The cold wind howled outside, Mo Duo just jumped off the wildebeest, and when she looked up and saw that it was Langmuir who lifted the curtain, and the intimate posture of being completely nestled in the arms of the Demon King, she was also stunned. “The lord is awake!”

Langmuir smiled at her, suddenly feeling that the quilt on his body was lifted up a bit, blocking the cold wind.

Hun Yao’s impatient voice came. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Mo Duo quickly straightened her expression, bowed and said, “Pardon the offense my King, those ten or so live captives, their mouths are very hard. I chopped off their ten fingers and burned their tails with flint, but the important ones still don’t say a word.”

Hun Yao didn’t lift his head, “What about the unimportant ones?”

Mo Duo hesitated for a moment, and said, “They are all foul language, nothing fresh.”

Speaking of this, she slapped her own horn on her head, “Oh, yes, there is a weird sentence.”

“Say.”

“One guy claims…the death of the Broken Horn Demon King is imminent, and the abyss is about to welcome the real king.”

Hun Yao sneered lightly, “The real king? The tone is not small. How, is there another little guy who wants to awaken the bloodline of the Demon King?”

As he said, he rubbed Langmuir’s arm hanging on one side with his scaly tail, confirmed that the other party did not resist, and then picked it up and stuffed it into the quilt.

“Daring to call oneself the King of the Abyss is indeed a bit arrogant.” Langmuir glanced at Hun Yao lightly, “But the bloodline of the Demon King is rare to see, it may not necessarily mean that.”

The title of Demon King was not the same as the common sense of “king”, it was not a position, but a bloodline.

The demons of the abyss were distinguished by bloodline. The lowest were the inferior demons, above them were the most numerous ordinary demons, further up were the rare great demons, only they could serve as the “general” or “leader” of the tribe, the only bloodline above the great demons was the Demon King, sometimes it took decades to give birth to one.

Since ancient times, every time a Demon King was born, it meant that the pattern of the abyss would be reshuffled, and a new era of chaos was about to come.

For example, Hun Yao, his father was an ordinary demon, and his mother was a great demon. He awakened his bloodline at the age of fifteen and was promoted from a great demon to the legendary Demon King.

It was said that on that day, the entire fire veins of the Gasuo Abyss boiled for him, and the dark flames turned into a meteor shower hanging upside down, rising from the earth to the sky. It was this spectacle and the shocking demonic breath that was observed by the elders of the Temple of Light far beyond the barrier, which led to the shocking arrow of the young son of god.

Hun Yao pondered for a moment, and waved his big hand. “Don’t worry, bring it back to the palace for a slow trial.”

Mo Duo then saluted and took the order and left. The curtain fell, and peace was restored in this space.

Hun Yao suddenly twitched the corner of his eye. “Tsk…you…”

Under that thick quilt, Langmuir’s hand was touching his tail. The human’s fingers were soft and cool, slowly stroking up from the tip of the tail, the tingling sensation spread all over the nerves, making those scales comfortably stand up.

If the force was a little heavier, this could even become their foreplay.

Hun Yao pressed the mischievous hand through the quilt and kissed the corner of Langmuir’s eye. “Hmm, not angry anymore?”

“This slave is not angry,” Langmuir said helplessly, “How about those Watie tribesmen later?”

“Not good, all dead.” The wicked Demon King took advantage of the situation and started to tease him, “Curious to death.”

“A human being possesses the demonic breath of the Demon King, and still sacrifices his life to protect a group of tribesmen belonging to the rebel tribe. Hmph, witnessing such a bizarre thing, all the guys tonight will die of thinking.”

“…”

Langmuir didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and rarely slapped that scale tail in a presumptuous manner.

Hun Yao was in a good mood, not only not annoyed, but also shook his tail. Langmuir couldn’t help but slap it again.

Hun Yao suddenly grabbed the human’s forearm, leaned over and kissed his lips again. Langmuir then propped up his body and pecked lightly on the broken horn of the Demon King.

After a while, Dugu came in to deliver medicine again. Langmuir drank the medicine, soon became dizzy, buried his face in the Demon King’s arms and closed his eyes.

“Sleep.” Hun Yao blew out the copper lamp hanging on the wall of the carriage, and slowly grabbed a handful of the human’s silver-gray hair.

…Since when did his Langmuir become as ethereal as snow?

His breathing was so light that it was almost silent when he fell asleep, so quiet that it was a bit scary.

The Demon King lowered his gaze.

The carriage was still creaking, and the small copper lamp was still squeaking.

The darkness stirred up memories, the Demon King closed his eyes, but he was slow to fall asleep. The image of Langmuir riding a horse and holding a bow during the day, and that arrow wrapped in raging flames in the valley, kept flashing in his mind.

Gradually, the color of that arrow changed, becoming brilliant, bright, and golden like the sun, carrying the torrent of fourteen years of time, shooting from between the clouds.

The golden-haired and snow-skinned son of god Langmuir held the divine bow, looking at him coldly from the depths of his memory. Looking at the whole continent, there would never be a second boy who was so holy and so beautiful.

Thump! 

It was the priest who was so frightened that he dropped the ceremonial drum and fell to the ground.

All the demons retreated in horror. Humans, they pointed to the sky and shouted, humans!

That day, a grand ceremony was originally being held to celebrate the birth of the Demon King. And at that time, the fifteen-year-old young Demon King, arrogant, fearless, and youthful, full of anger, picked up a bronze curved knife that his father had dropped from the ground.

At the critical moment, he roared in his mouth, stood in front of all the tribes, and pointed the tip of the knife at the golden sky.

But the power of that golden arrow was so terrifying that it first shattered the curved knife in his hand, and then shot off his horn. Hun Yao heard himself let out a harsh scream, and his whole body was pulled into the air by that huge force.

Severe pain filled the nerves, and in the spinning vision, that golden arrow was still unstoppable, illuminating the sky of the abyss, and then disappeared at the end of the distant mountains.

Bang!

The young Demon King fell to the ground, bounced up again, and rolled out a dozen feet away. Under the eyes of everyone, he dragged out a long, shocking bloodstain on the altar.

The golden light faded, and the clouds lost their color. The sky returned to darkness.

Hun Yao struggled to want to get up. He tried once, fell, tried again, still failed, the third time, he barely managed to support his body in embarrassment.

Suddenly, he found that all the demons were staring at him with horrified and strange eyes. Father, mother, priest, tribesmen…Not a single demon came forward to help him, not a single demon spoke.

Horn.

Finally, some demons began to whisper, his horn.

Horn, horn, his horn, human, human, look at his horn, human, horn, his right horn…

It was unknown which demon jumped out, pointing at him frantically, “The human shot off his horn!!”

“The Demon King’s right horn was shot off by a human!!!”

The black-haired and red-eyed young demon sat stunned on the altar, sitting in his own pool of blood. He became the first, shameful Broken Horn Demon King in the history of the abyss.

That day, Hun Yao almost didn’t make it down alive from the altar of his own tribe.

The Demon King was shot and got his horn broken by a human, it was a great disgrace, and on the spot, several crazy guys wanted to kill him.

On the next day, the priest who was babbling determined that the Broken Horn Demon King was ominous, and wanted to kill him.

On the third day, his brothers and sisters who had long been jealous of his awakening bloodline added insult to injury, and wanted to kill him.

On the fourth day, the leader felt that it was neither good nor bad to keep a young Demon King with a broken horn in the tribe, and it was embarrassing to be caught in the middle, so he wanted to kill him.

On the fifth day, his parents cried late at night, saying that this child was ruined anyway, it would be better to give him a quick death in his sleep, and offer his head to the leader, maybe he could exchange some rewards.

In the abyss, life was too cheap. Killing a demon was no different from breaking a wild grass.

Hun Yao lost his place in the tribe and could only drag his wounded body to wander alone. The only thing that kept him alive was hatred.

He thought of the blond boy outside the sky, hating him day and night, hating, hating. So he was swallowed up by the mire of despair and crawled out, and he was buried in the mountain of corpses and sea of blood and crawled out.

For seven full years, the Demon King was reborn in the dark fire and frost of the abyss.

But what about now?

The carriage creaked, and the copper lamp squeaked.

Now, the Broken Horn Demon King was sitting in the shaking carriage, holding his lifelong enemy, quietly recalling the past.

Langmuir back then, was so beautiful… so beautiful. Did he really lose it, and can never find it again?

He no longer seemed to hate anymore, he just wanted to see Langmuir’s bow-pulling look again, not wrapped in violent black flames, but turned into a fierce bright sun.

“Langmuir…”

In the darkness, the Demon King blurted out hoarsely, “Do you miss your own Mana?”

As soon as these words came out, Hun Yao woke up. He looked down and fortunately, Langmuir was sleeping deeply and didn’t hear it.

The Demon King didn’t know whether to be grateful or lost for a while, he closed his red eyes, leaned on the carriage and let out a sigh, shaking his head: it’s over, he’s really over.

That night, Hun Yao didn’t sleep.

At dawn, when the miasma surged in all directions, the Demon King’s army returned to the royal court.