The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

Duogu hurriedly arrived. As soon as he entered the tent, he began to grumble with a bitter face, “Ah! My King! You again…”

His voice trailed off halfway.

Deep in the tent, on the bed, a silver-haired human was holding the Demon King in his arms.

Langmuir’s physique was much slenderer than Hun Yao’s. His fair fingers stroked the black scales, and he gently touched Hun Yao’s face, whispering softly, comforting something in a delicate manner.

This scene was so shocking. Duogu’s jaw almost dropped, and he dared not step forward!

The old demon’s heart was crying: Oh god, their King would actually allow himself to be held in such a submissive posture, and he even saw it clearly!

When the King wakes up, he won’t kill the witness, will he…

Inside the tent, Langmuir looked up and glanced at Duogu from afar.

He patted Hun Yao’s cheek and leaned over to his ear, “My King, wake up, Lord Duogu is here.”

“Hmm.” The Demon King closed his eyes, his sweaty forehead resting on Langmuir’s shoulder.

He hoarsely said, “I know, you go out.”

Duogu was even more distraught. Well, he thought the King was delirious and that’s why he allowed himself to be held, but it turned out to be intentional indulgence!

Langmuir nodded, he helped Hun Yao up, made the Demon King lean on the cushion, and then obediently got up and left. He even remembered to bow politely as he passed by the witch doctor.

Duogu stared at the human leaving with a ghostly look. It was only when the tent door was completely lowered that he turned sharply towards Hun Yao, “My King!”

He wailed, raising both hands, “You… why… how could you let the human Holy Monarch approach you when your old injury flares up!”

Hun Yao didn’t speak, he opened his eyes, also looking in the direction Langmuir had left, and there was a faint different color flashing in his red pupils.

After an unknown amount of time, he perfunctorily responded to the old witch doctor.

“What do you know, I’m testing him.”

As he spoke, the Demon King actually started to laugh darkly, speaking slowly and softly, “Once there’s any movement, I’ll kill him immediately…”

The old witch doctor: “…”

Nonsense! I see you clearly enjoying being held by the human!

…..

Duogu left an hour later. Langmuir was standing in the cold wind at the entrance of the big tent. As soon as he saw Duogu come out, he immediately asked about the Demon King’s condition.

Unexpectedly, the old witch doctor just looked him up and down with a strange look, shook his head without saying a word, and just left.

Langmuir had no choice but to go into the tent to see Hun Yao.

The Demon King’s condition was obviously more stable. He was sitting under the lamp, holding a sheepskin wine pouch in his hand, drinking slowly.

He saw Langmuir come in, and without lifting his head, he pointed to the outer tent, “You sleep there tonight.”

“No matter what noise you hear at night, it has nothing to do with you. You can go out, but you are not allowed to come in. If you dare to come in, I will treat it as an assassination attempt on me.”

…That night, Langmuir couldn’t sleep at all.

Hun Yao’s condition was much worse than he had imagined. The Demon King, who was like a killing god, seemed to have turned into a fragile chick, waking up in shock time and time again, covering his face in pain and gasping for breath, his arched figure twisted and reflected on the white curtain.

In the middle of the night, he started to neurotically throw things around – not the kind of smashing in anger or impulse, but rather like a beast with manic disorder, pathologically repeating certain actions, as if only in this way could he distract some of the pain.

Langmuir was terrified and shouted from outside the curtain, “My King…”

Clang! The bronze curved scimitar was thrown out from inside, landing in front of his feet.

Accompanied by the low growl of the Demon King. “…Shut up!”

Langmuir picked up the heavy curved knife and placed it on the weapon rack next to him, then asked, “Do you need to call the witch doctor?”

“Get out!”

It seemed that communication was impossible, Langmuir could only anxiously guard outside.

He had known for a long time that Hun Yao occasionally had problems with night terrors, and had even asked worriedly, but each time he was either lightly brushed off or scolded for meddling.

Thinking about the harsh environment of the abyss, and the Demon King’s days and nights of dealing with assassinations every now and then, it seemed not strange to have a sleep disorder.

But now it seemed that this was definitely not a problem that could be explained by unstable sleep.

Hun Yao’s symptoms didn’t subside until the early morning of the next day, and Langmuir also stayed up with him all night outside.

When the first round of gong sounds echoed in the camp, the white curtain was lifted, and a tall figure slowly walked out.

The Demon King’s face was still as hard as iron. Except for a somewhat pale complexion, everything seemed normal.

“What’s going on?” Langmuir asked in a low voice.

“Old injury.” Hun Yao moved his wrist unhurriedly, picking up the scimitar he had thrown out last night from the wooden rack.

“A problem from being burned by demonic breath when I was young, it will flare up if I overexert… It’s been many years, all the witch doctors in the royal court know.”

Langmuir’s eyebrows sank, “Many years? Can’t it be cured?”

“Heh,” Hun Yao chuckled, “Dragged on till now, it’s too late.”

The Demon King had long stopped reminiscing about his youth – those years when he had to fight desperately under the shadow of death.

He had been a gladiator for the amusement of adults, wearing iron chains and fighting with witchbone tigers; he had been a bodyguard for the leader, and had even knelt down and kissed the scales of other demons.

He had conquered the tribe he was born in for the leader, killed his parents and siblings who had wanted to kill him with his own hands, and smeared his merits with blood.

And in the next duel, he cut off the leader’s head and became the new master of that tribe.

Later… he killed more and more demons. More and more fell in front of him, and more and more followed behind him.

He established his own royal court and reclaimed the title of king. But from then on, he could not get rid of the pain that clung to him like maggots on bones, which might be the fate of every warlike demon.

To this day, Hun Yao could no longer imagine what he would be like if it weren’t for that arrow, if he hadn’t lost his right horn.

He didn’t bother to think about it. It was extremely boring and meaningless for the upcoming war – the Demon King held his spear and hung the heavy weight on the saddle.

“My King!”

Langmuir chased out of the tent, the bone ornaments on his chest clashed crisply in the wind, making a sound all the way.

He caught the reins before the Demon King mounted his horse, his eyes filled with a rare anger, “You’re going to fight again today!?”

Hun Yao: “It’s none of your business. Go back to sleep, wait for me to come back.”

The Demon King’s careless attitude made people even more angry. Langmuir held the reins tightly and gritted his teeth, “Can your body really still fight? Even Lord Duogu and General Moduo are advising you, why is the King so stubborn…”

Hun Yao: “What do you know, don’t get in the way.”

Langmuir’s clenched fingers were eventually patiently pried open by Hun Yao.

The Demon King patted the human’s hair and repeated the command, “Go back to sleep, wait for me to come back.”

The wildebeest ran away with the Demon King, quickly turning into a small black dot that was hard to see, leaving the white-robed human standing silently in place.

Not long after, the sound of war drums and gongs rang out.

……

Hun Yao did it on purpose.

Langmuir realized this when the bad news from the front line came.

When the two demon tribes once again rushed up on the plain, Hun Yao personally led a small group of elites, circling around to the rear of the Heitor Alliance tribe like a slingshot. It seemed that he was trying to break the enemy in one fell swoop.

But by the afternoon, urgent news came from the front that the Demon King was surrounded by enemy troops.

The army of the Heitor Alliance tribe excitedly noticed the Demon King’s decline, and the army pressed up like a tide, layer upon layer.

Hun Yao was forced to retreat, but the galloping wildebeests turned into a hungry wolf chasing its prey, the battle line was stretched to the limit, and soon a fierce chase began.

The air was instantly frozen by the cold wind.

Langmuir rode his horse through the tents and came to the front line of the firefight. When he saw a large number of troops standing still on the side, he finally realized the strangeness.

He rode his horse to those demon generals, lowered his voice, “Have you ever thought that if something goes wrong with this risky method, your King…”

A demon general looked at him disdainfully and snorted, “Our King is far stronger than you think.”

Another one said, “Go away, a slave should stay behind. Do you think that with a little bit of the King’s favor, you can command us?”

–Langmuir, with a temper that was like a walking deity, was so angry with this group of demons that he wanted to swear, even though he hadn’t learned how to yet.

Hun Yao knew very well that his condition was not good, but he still went into battle under the premise of an old injury flare-up, intentionally.

Even possibly, the continuous eight days of fierce battles outside before, exhausting himself to the point of an old injury flare-up… was also intentional.

The royal court’s army had been in a stalemate outside for too long, which made the Demon King’s patience gradually run out, he longed for a quick victory.

A Demon King who was in a state of old injury flare-up, going deep into the enemy’s rear alone… where else in the entire abyss could you find a more tempting bait?

The tribal alliance army was a temporarily formed alliance, and the coordination was bound to be not very good. When all the tribes lost control under greed, when the enemy’s battle line was stretched and thinned in the chase, fatal flaws were bound to be exposed.

So, is it the Heitor’s army that will first trap Hun Yao to death, or is it the royal court’s army that will first find Heitor’s flaws, and then break the enemy in one blow…

The kings and their warriors, mutually entrusted all their lives and trust, to carry out a cruel gamble.

Lanmiel didn’t like gambling.

He said coldly, “Send troops to support.”

Moduo sneered, “I’m so sorry, Lord Langmuir, we only obey the King’s orders.”

Langmuir: “I don’t interfere with your wars, but the King’s condition was not good last night, and the current situation may have already exceeded his control, troops must be sent to support.”

Not a single demon paid attention to him.

Moduo deliberately yawned, lazily said, “Lord Langmuir, if you’re really that worried, why not go and rescue him yourself?”

As soon as these words came out, the demon generals around them started to snicker. They all knew that the King’s beloved slave was a weak mortal.

“The King we are loyal to is a king who never stops fighting; and dying in battle is the fate of a strong demon.”

Moduo’s words ended with a sneer, “Haven’t you adapted to the abyss yet, human?”

This sentence was like oil splashed on a spark.

Suddenly, Langmuir’s demeanor changed. His face tightened, his lips straightened, and a cold sharpness flashed in his eyes, which was somewhat close to the concept of fierceness.

“What fate.”

“All lies.”

The slave who had always been gentle and tolerant like a sheep suddenly sneered and raised his eyebrows.

Moduo’s back tingled for a moment. She swore she had never seen this human show such a terrifying expression.

“In the place where the sun shines, humans would say that it is the fate of the Demon King to die at the hands of the son of god.”

Langmuir’s eyes were cold, “If we were to talk about fate, he should die at my hands, not in such a place.”

With that, he yanked the reins sharply. The tall wildebeest neighed and galloped, taking the human towards the further battlefield without looking back, amidst the gasps of countless demons.

Just like a pure white snowflake, falling into the surging black storm.

The next moment, the snowflake turned into the storm itself.

The bloody wind swept across the dim plain, making the white robe and long hair flutter. Langmuir closed his eyes for a moment, he raised his empty, unarmed right hand.

The human’s fair fingertips ignited a black flame with a rolling deathly aura.