The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

When the rich demonic breath surged into Hun Yao’s body, Langmuir suddenly understood the Demon King’s previous insistence on moving forward.

Whether it was demonic breath or Mana, these energies naturally flowed in the blood. Although they could be made stronger through cultivation, they couldn’t be created out of nothing.

This was also why the elders of the temple had no choice but to entrust the task of killing the Demon King to a boy who was only fifteen years old.

Talent, if you can’t match it, you just can’t match it.

It’s annoying, but there’s no way around it.

And the arrow that Langmuir shot not only broke the Demon King’s horn but also plundered his demonic breath.

It could be said that Hun Yao was almost ruined. Even in such a situation, the Demon King chose to fight rather than admit defeat among the countless choices that followed, and every time he chose to fight.

He ventured alone into the territory of the great demon to retrieve the honey-golden feather arrow; he fled desperately under pursuit, preferring to die rather than turn back.

Everything was for this moment: to reach a relatively safe place and incorporate the demonic breath in the honey gold into his body. Only then did he regain the power to protect himself and the hope of rising again.

Langmuir quietly listened to the rain behind him.

Deep in the cave, Hun Yao looked somewhat pained. Losing his right horn had a significant impact on him, and it was not appropriate to incorporate the demonic breath in his weakened state.

But the heavy rain had delayed the speed of their escape, and after the rain stopped, the demon pursuers were likely to return.

He was already planning for the next fierce battle.

The Demon King has a soul that is proud to the point of arrogance, Langmuir thought.

If such a demon became an enemy of the kingdom, he did not doubt that the scene of corpses strewn across the field mentioned by the elders would appear.

It was already the sixth day.

The elders said that he must return to the human world within seven days.

Including the journey back to the boundary cliff, he had to make a decision today – what to do with the little Demon King in front of him.

“Demon King.”

Langmuir suddenly spoke.

He weighed his tone, tentatively asking, “Do you know ‘humans’?”

Hun Yao opened his eyes, “Humans? You don’t even know humans?”

Langmuir felt his heartbeat accelerating.

He was not good at lying, and his words stumbled, “I… have heard of, I…”

The demonic breath swirled around him, and the young Demon King laughed coldly with deep meaning.

“Humans…”

“They are the most damned things in this world.”

Langmuir’s voice choked.

A chill maliciously crawled up his back.

“You…”

“Do you think humans deserve to die?”

Don’t, the son of god silently prayed in his heart, don’t admit it.

Don’t become an evil demon, you clearly aren’t.

“Nonsense.” Hun Yao coughed hoarsely, his eyes looking at the blood-stained honey-golden feather arrow, “This arrow was shot by humans, aren’t you curious about my broken horn? My right horn was broken under a human’s arrow.”

“…”

Langmuir felt his blood turn cold.

He stared at the honey-golden feather arrow in Hun Yao’s hand, feeling some invisible parts of himself shattering piece by piece. After many attempts, he finally squeezed out a dry voice.

“You are…because…”

“Because humans hurt you, so you hate the human race?”

At this moment, Langmuir was undoubtedly on the verge of collapse. If Hun Yao said “yes”, he might directly kneel in front of the Demon King and confess everything.

He would say, I am the human who broke your horn, I’m sorry, kill me, or torture me as you wish.

Everything is due to my sins, don’t hate the human race, don’t harm innocent humans.

But Hun Yao said, “Of course not.”

He had already gathered his demonic breath, so he put away the honey-golden feather arrow and looked at the small inferior demon with a sidelong glance, “Not a single demon doesn’t think humans deserve to die, except for fools like you.”

“You call me Demon King, then do you know why demons revere the Demon King?”

Langmuir was dazed.

“…Because, the Demon King is very powerful…”

“Wrong, some Demon Kings are mediocre in strength, and can’t even beat a powerful great demon.”

“The reason why demons revere the Demon King’s bloodline is because…the Demon King’s demonic breath is the only power in the abyss that can shake the Gasuo barrier, it is the only hope for demons to go to the human world.”

Saying this, Hun Yao laughed coldly again. But there was no pleasure in his eyes, only suppressed hatred.

“If I can survive, sooner or later, I will open the Gasuo barrier, causing human blood to gather into rivers, and bodies to pile up like mountains.”

I made a mistake again, Langmuir thought.

Just because he saw the Demon King’s kind side towards his own people, he thought the Demon King would also be kind to humans.

The sky was dark, and the heavy rain curtain covered the outside of the cave.

But he was wrong, Langmuir thought, although the teachings of the temple might be somewhat one-sided, the conclusion was correct. For humans, the Demon King is indeed the incarnation of a demon.

And he even doubted the teachings, doubted the elders who had lived decades or even over a hundred years longer than him, and had been suspicious for several days. There wouldn’t be a more foolish son of god in the world.

The heavy rain brought a drop in temperature. The branches they had picked up before were burned out, and the small cave became damp and cold.

Perhaps it was the side effect of forcibly absorbing the demonic breath, Hun Yao started to have a fever again.

This time Langmuir didn’t move, he didn’t hold him tightly to warm him, nor did he use leaves to catch rainwater for him to drink.

Langmuir didn’t deny that he had some fondness for this tough young demon.

But that bit of personal emotion, compared to the future of the tens of millions of people in the kingdom, was like a drop of water in the ocean.

He thought: I want to kill the Demon King.

“You keep watch tonight, no sleeping.” Hun Yao said with his eyes closed, “If there is any unusual movement, you must wake me up.”

Langmuir perfunctorily hummed in agreement, hugging his knees and shrinking into a corner.

He thought again: Do I really have to kill him? The current Demon King hasn’t hurt even a single human.

…Why not just snatch back that honey-golden arrow, take away all of the Demon King’s demonic breath, break his hands and feet, and bring him back to the human world to raise?

This thought flashed in Langmuir’s mind for a second, then was cut off.

How could the Demon King possibly tolerate such humiliation? Being deceived by the enemy he hated the most, and then being taken to the human kingdom to be imprisoned?

Hun Yao would surely resist to the death.

If he succeeded in resisting, it would be his own soft-heartedness that led to the tiger returning to the mountain, and he would have failed his people;

If he failed to resist, and failed forever, it would be… too cruel and desperate for the Demon King.

Better to kill him.

Langmuir stood up and walked to the front of the Demon King in the sound of the rain.

Hun Yao leaned tiredly against the stone wall, his breathing heavy and hot, his hands and feet were cold, but his forehead was all covered in cold sweat, his defeated lips had cracked and bled.

This repeated illness seemed to be burning his life alive.

He didn’t know if it was the sound he heard, or some kind of animal-like instinct that made him aware of the anomaly. The Demon King barely opened his eyes a crack.

He looked at the silly little inferior demon standing in front of him for a long time with a scattered gaze, then relaxed a bit and said hoarsely, “Water.”

Langmuir’s heart suddenly ached with sadness.

He still went to get some rainwater, held Hun Yao on his lap, and slowly fed him to drink.

Hun Yao said something in a low voice, Langmuir leaned over and heard words like “tomorrow” and “rain stop”.

The Demon King was still thinking about continuing to move forward.

“Why.” Langmuir gently stroked his cheek and asked tremblingly, “Why do demons hate humans so much?”

The son of god waited quietly for a while, but did not wait for an answer.

Perhaps this was the answer, they were inherently irreconcilable enemies.

Langmuir put the Demon King back on the stone wall where he had just been, stood up, took two steps back, and made up his mind again.

He drew out that short sword.

“…A long time ago.” But the Demon King suddenly opened his eyes.

His gaze had no focus, his voice was light, “The oldest priest in the tribe… told me…”

“The place above our heads is where humans live.”

“There is fertile land there, no fire veins and no winter, food grows everywhere…”

Hun Yao could no longer see.

The shadow of death gradually enveloped the young man’s eyes, but another faint light rose from the bottom of his eyes, getting brighter and brighter.

As if to struggle with the grim reaper, he opened his eyes wide and kept talking.

“In that place, even someone like you… who is weak and stupid and can’t do anything… can fill your stomach and wear warm clothes.”

He didn’t know that at this moment, the young human son of god, the future Holy Monarch, was standing in front of him, swinging his blade with both hands.

“The priest said, there is sunshine there, and flowers everywhere.”

“Sunlight, cough…is the light above our heads…”

“It’s actually very bright, brighter than a thousand bonfires. Every time dawn comes, it rises from the end of the earth and lights up the entire abyss sky to white…”

“Flower…flower is…”

A childlike confusion appeared in Hun Yao’s scattered eyes, he said dreamily, “What… what is it.”

“…”

Langmuir clenched his teeth.

Tears uncontrollably filled his eyes.

He suddenly felt a heart-wrenching pain, and for the first time, the son of god tasted what it was like to hate. He hated the young Demon King in front of him.

He thought desperately: Even if the demons’ situation is miserable, do they have to destroy the happiness of the human race? Do they want blood to gather into rivers and bodies to pile up like mountains?

Why say such words, if you don’t say, I can still…I can still…

But Hun Yao shook his head, the confusion in his eyes deepened.

“Cough, actually I don’t know…what a country without hunger and cold looks like… I’m just like you, I haven’t seen it since I was born…”

His Adam’s apple moved, his voice was low, “But, the priest said… we once belonged there.”

“When we were demons, but not yet demons.”

In the distance, there was lightning and thunder.

Langmuir’s face was illuminated brightly.

His trembling lips, his cheeks wet with tears, were even paler than the short sword he held high.

His beautiful eyes contracted in disbelief, reflecting the image of the Demon King.

Hun Yao was smiling weakly, his battered body hidden in the shadows.

“…The old man said it and then died. Before he took his last breath, he grabbed my hand and stared at me.”

“He said…”

“Future King…please take us home.”

The thunder receded, and the pitter-patter of rain filled the dark cave again.

Time seemed to stand still, there was no sound of speech, no one moved, only the heavy breathing of Hun Yao.

After a little while, the Demon King suddenly struggled to lift his face and said out of nowhere, “If I can survive…and you can survive…how about it?”

His voice gradually weakened, his eyelids closed, “Live until I conquer the abyss…open the barrier…bring all my brethren…to…the human world…”

“When we get to the place where there is sunlight…I will plant a flower for you to see.”

…….

Clang.

The short sword fell to the ground.

Langmuir’s legs buckled, and he sat down on the ground.

The sound of the rain gradually diminished, and at some point, it finally stopped. The faint light of the Cliff Moon shone into the cave from behind him, illuminating the blade.

Langmuir suddenly got up, picked up the short sword in a panic, but tears welled up again.

No, no, oh Goddess.

He was shaking all over like an animal about to freeze to death, crawling over with tears streaming down his face; he held the short sword in his right hand, his left hand holding his soft right hand, the tip of the sword hanging in front of Hun Yao’s neck.

No, oh God, oh Goddess, oh Goddess…

What should I do, what should I do…

The young demon was sleeping defenselessly, his eyelashes drooping.

With the faint light of the barrier array, Langmuir saw a trace of moisture at the corner of his eyes.

Whether it was when he was climbing on the cliff of despair, or when he was trekking through the endless forest dragging his sick body, Hun Yao never cried.

But now, the son of god saw the tear stains of the Demon King.

Clang!

The short sword fell to the ground again.

A distant song seemed to come from the depths of memory. From the tower, the chapel, the cathedral, the back garden…from every corner of his past fifteen years, it blew like a wild wind.

–Oh my all-knowing and omnipotent Goddess, my bright golden sun; whenever a soul wanders in sin, it will rise and shine.

In the far north of the snow mountain, below the dark abyss…there are ugly demons, and the most evil Demon King. –

[Future King, please take us home.]

[When we get to the place where there is sunlight, I will plant a flower for you to see.]

“Ah…”

Langmuir knelt on the ground, shaking his head in collapse, letting out a sob.

He bent his spine, tearing at his hair with his fingers, his eyes wide open, tears dropping to the ground one by one.

Oh Goddess, save me.

The teachings say that God will guide the lost wanderers onto the right path, and give redemption to the devout and good.

But there is no golden sun in the abyss, and the guidance of the Goddess has not come.

In front of where Langmuir knelt, there was only the cold cave wall, and the figure of the young Demon King who had fallen asleep in exhaustion.