Three days, neither long nor short compared to seven years, was just a blink of an eye.
But it wasn’t short either. Whether for those who watched their faith crumble or for the Holy Monarch battling outside the city.
The second day was the most exhilarating and intense time of battle for the Demon King and the Holy Monarch.
Realizing that the civilians had evacuated from the city tower, Langmuir no longer restrained his Mana. One by one, huge golden magic arrays began to rotate in mid-air, and all kinds of spells were thrown at the other side like bombs.
Hun Yao had long realized that Langmuir was deliberately delaying time. After enduring for a day and already fuming, he didn’t care about his old injuries anymore and fought as fiercely as he could.
Gradually, both sides were fighting for their lives. The ground outside the city gate was overturned again and again, scorched earth crisscrossed, and thick smoke billowed.
At dusk, the Holy Monarch shot his last golden arrow and drained his last Mana.
Langmuir’s face had turned pale. But he didn’t admit defeat. Instead, he simply took off his divine bow and quiver, gripped his long sword, and once again engaged in close combat with the Demon King.
He knew his defeat was certain, but the longer he could delay, the closer the reinforcements rushing to the royal city would be, and the sooner this war would end.
This might be the only thing he, a sinner, could do for his former people…
Under such high-intensity consumption, time was terrifyingly long.
No one tried to call for a truce, at most the rhythm of the battle was sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Until the bright moon fell, until the sun rose.
By the third day, Hun Yao was almost unable to hold on.
Let alone the crisscrossing external injuries and the painful internal organs, the most troublesome was the symptom of demonic breath backlash.
The Demon King’s red eyes were dark, and he was breathing heavily. His body was burning hot, his scales were cracked and bleeding, and the pain made even the palm of his hand holding the sword tremble.
But compared to the human on the other side who had difficulty even standing up and was fighting desperately with a breath of air, he was already considered good.
“Langmuir, admit defeat.”
Hun Yao said, “There’s no point in continuing this.”
“No…..can”
Langmuir, supporting himself with his sword, was half-kneeling on the ground. A streak of blood unexpectedly flowed from his dissipating eyes, “Not enough…”
Hun Yao slowly approached, sternly saying, “Your Majesty the Holy Monarch, you’re not planning to die for your country, are you?”
The Holy Monarch struggled to shake his head.
Suddenly, a force like a heavy hammer hit him in the chest. Langmuir couldn’t even see what it was before the intense pain tore through his senses.
Was it the back of the blade, the scaly tail, or a flying kick?
The attacks kept falling on him, every vulnerable organ was vomiting blood. The battle was no longer a battle, it began to turn into one-sided torture.
The backlash of the demonic breath was hot, the backlash of Mana was cold.
Langmuir only felt colder and colder, as if his whole person was being pressed into the heavy snow, just like seven years ago.
He couldn’t faint, he couldn’t fall.
As long as he was defeated, the demons would surely attack the city.
Just drag it out for another quarter of an hour.
Even if it’s just one more minute.
He thought dizzily, and so he endured the first quarter of an hour, and then the second, and the third.
In a daze, Langmuir seemed to hear the young Demon King hoarsely singing the sacrificial song again. It was so cold, the north wind blew the young man’s messy black hair, blew the bone piece on his chest, and suddenly the earth was covered with blood-red flowers… But it was so cold.
—— The Holy Monarch’s sword pierced into the Demon King’s ribs, and the Demon King’s knife pierced through the Holy Monarch’s chest. Their blood gushed out at the same time, splashing on each other.
……
Later, Langmuir’s consciousness had blurred to the point where he could no longer retain memories.
He could only, years later, wrapped in a fluffy, bright fire fox fur blanket, lie in the arms of the enemy he had fought against, curiously asking —
“My King, tell me, how did I lose on the day of the decisive battle at the royal city?”
Hun Yao would fall into a long silence, then tell him in a complicated tone, “… In the end, you simply didn’t have the strength, you fell under the city wall and couldn’t stand up no matter what.”
“I asked you to admit defeat, but you refused to die, but after struggling several times, you still couldn’t stand up, and gradually fainted.”
Langmuir, while playing with the tip of Hun Yao’s tail, regretfully sighed, “I see, that’s indeed not very interesting.”
The Demon King frowned, “Not interesting?”
Langmuir looked up, as if thinking, “… How so, could it be that you were actually very distressed? Or very moved?”
“… Get lost!”
What the Demon King wouldn’t say was that he probably would never forget that scene in his life.
When the sun rose from the east, the exhausted Holy Monarch finally fell in front of the royal city he had protected.
Hun Yao sheathed his curved blade and slowly approached. His tall figure blocked the morning sun, and he looked at his archenemy who had fallen into his shadow with a complicated expression.
Langmuir’s eyes were tightly closed, from his cheeks to his lips were all pale and gray. His disheveled, sweat-soaked deep golden hair fell on his forehead, and his silver robe was already stained with blood.
He leaned against the city wall, his head drooping and falling into a coma, his right hand still maintaining the posture of loosely holding the sword hilt. The blood that flowed out from his wounds soaked the ancient bricks and tiles.
The earth was shaking, that was the wildebeests— the demons’ iron cavalry was galloping. Cheers also came from behind, getting closer and closer.
The Demon King didn’t look back at his army, he bent down, first pressing his finger on the Holy Monarch’s neck to check his pulse, then picked him up.
Langmuir was completely unconscious. With Hun Yao’s movement, his limbs drooped, his beautifully lined jaw fell back weakly, his curled eyelashes were dyed amber by the sunlight, and his lips were as white as snow.
In the Demon King’s eyes, it indeed looked like a beautiful trophy of war.
The neighing of horses was close at hand, and the demons were shouting in waves, “My King!”
A demon led his warhorse over, Hun Yao hoisted Langmuir onto his shoulder, and steadily straddled the saddle.
He shouted, “Attack the city!!!”
Countless demons followed him and shouted, “Attack the city!!!”
The army surged towards the royal city like a tide of black water.
But Hun Yao quietly tightened the reins, slowing down the wildebeest, and subtly withdrew from the front line.
…He really couldn’t fight anymore, Langmuir had worn him out, if he didn’t return to camp to find the witch doctor, he would really fall ill here.
Just then, Hun Yao suddenly felt a chill fall on his neck.
The Demon King couldn’t help but turn his head, seeing that the clearly exhausted and unconscious captive, a tear stain had fallen from the corner of his eye at some point.
……
Soon, the demons, with their sharp scaly claws, quickly climbed up the city wall of the royal city. The human soldiers did not resist to the death, but chose to retreat to the inner city and join the civilians there.
Three days was enough for the inner city to undergo earth-shaking changes.
The Goddess did not descend, did not respond; the Son of God was defeated by the Demon King, and it was even said that he had been bewitched by the demons long ago; and the elder prophet, even conspired with the Son of God to deceive all the people…
Countless civilians collapsed directly.
For the first time, the clergy were surrounded by thousands of suspicious eyes, they tried their best to defend the innocence of the Brett Temple, but as Langmuir predicted – the temple had used the Son of God for many years, relying on the Son of God’s nobility to gain a good reputation, now how could it be separated by saying it?
The elder prophet was still struggling on his deathbed, he tried to lay down the magic array to absorb Mana again, to make the “miracle” “descend” on himself again.
Unfortunately, Aiden was waiting for this move.
The prophet was solemnly swearing in the street, he asked people to believe him one more time, saying that if the Goddess still did not respond this time, he was willing to be nailed to the stake…
Suddenly, the prince strode through the crowd, stood in front of the old man, patted his chest, and said, “Well then, after everyone prays, you call for the miracle to descend on me!”
The elder prophet was dumbfounded!
“Ah, Your Highness,” the prophet forced a smile, “Please don’t joke. You’re not a clergyman, this…how could this be?”
Aiden: “The Holy Teachings say that all men are born equal. Could it be that the Goddess would favor a clergyman over a non-clergyman?”
The prophet’s face first turned purple-red, then turned iron-blue.
He angrily said, “Prince! The kingdom is at stake, and you’re here to make trouble!”
Normally, no one would ever question the prophet’s words.
But now, the hesitant people were whispering, their eyes darting around, and not one of them defended the prophet.
Aiden pressed forward a step, “If the prophet doesn’t trust me, someone else can do it.”
“The charitable and daily praying Lady Ram? Old General Toman who bravely blinded an eye to resist the demons? Or, the Jendley couple who run two orphanages? Prophet, what do you say?”
People’s whispers began to turn into loud discussions.
Finally, someone timidly spoke up, “Pro… prophet, why not do as the prince says… Can it be done?”
Done? The elder prophet was completely stunned, for a moment he was staring and couldn’t speak.
How could it be done! If the magic array is not connected with the recipient of Mana in advance, how can a “miracle” descend!?
“—— What’s wrong, prophet, why are you staring at me and not speaking?”
Aiden: “You’re not going to tell me, in this royal city, only your Brett Temple’s clergy are the devout good people, right?”
This sentence finally lit the fuse, and the grieving people uncontrollably surged towards the clergy. The conflict escalated from accusations to physical attacks, they were surprised to find that this group of so-called holy people could also be slapped in the face by ordinary people, and that ordinary person would not suffer any “retribution” or “divine punishment”.
Neither would punching and kicking, nor spitting, nor throwing stones.
“Take these liars,” someone roared, “nail and burn the stake!”
“Burn the stake!” “Burn the stake!” More people also started shouting.
“You’re all mad, completely mad!!” The prophet’s face contorted, he cried out in a mournful voice, “I am a prophet, protected by the Goddess, I am——”
Aiden swung a punch at the prophet’s old face. “Bah!”
Just then, a soldier rushed over on horseback. “Prince Aiden!!”
“His Majesty—— His Majesty——”
The soldier, with a sobbing tone, shouted: “His Majesty has been defeated!!”
“The demons are attacking the city, the outer city is about to fall…”
The crowd exploded in an instant, countless people were scared to the point of collapsing on the spot, as if death was imminent; some people started crying out loud, others kept cursing, filled with resentment…even more people were still stunned, unable to react, how could the Holy Monarch lose to the demon?
And Prince Aiden, swaying back two steps, his eyes were already blurred by tears…
He couldn’t believe it, just how far had his brother pushed himself to hold out alone for three whole days; he dared not imagine, what kind of treatment the defeated Holy Monarch would receive.
That was the Demon King, the Broken Horn Demon King who had a grudge against the Son of God.
Aiden bit his teeth in sorrow, but now, he couldn’t even rush to the outer city to save his brother. His brother had instructed him before he left, that he had to complete his unfinished wish for him, he had to…
Yes, he had to.
Aiden gripped his sword with trembling hands, he took a deep breath and held it, then suddenly drew it from its sheath, pointing it forward.
He shouted, “Do not fear, my brave people!!”
“The hypocritical temple can no longer save this city in crisis! Come, follow me, pick up your weapons, let your blood be shed where it should be shed!!”
……….
The battle of defense around the inner city between the humans and the demons lasted for five days.
Many demons were surprised to find that the humans, who were always spineless, could actually make the small inner city surprisingly hard to chew on with their full of anger.
The morale of the demons began to wane. They had crawled from the dark abyss to the human world, and had tirelessly followed their crazy Broken Horn Demon King all the way, and until now they hadn’t really enjoyed fresh meat and fine wine, hadn’t played with pearls and gems.
Even the most warlike race wouldn’t like to suffer this injustice.
On the fifth day, Hun Yao began to realize that this inner city probably couldn’t be taken.
He was also decisive in letting go, the next day he ordered the demons to stop their offensive and rest and reorganize in the outer city.
On the seventh day, a scout came to report that the reinforcements from forty-two human cities were on their way.
Out of caution, Hun Yao still ordered the demon army to withdraw from the royal city on the morning of the ninth day, to avoid being trapped and attacked from both sides in the city. At the same time, he sent out a small cavalry to block the two nearest reinforcements.
After giving these orders, Hun Yao stood in the warm autumn sun, lost in thought.
He knew that perhaps it was time to return, to return to that land of deep hatred and deep love.
The land bathed in sunlight no longer had a home for the demons. But the spoils of this battle could at least allow the royal court to weather the coming winter in peace.
When the Demon King had arranged everything and returned to his own tent, he found that his captive, who had been quiet for many days, had actually woken up.
Langmuir was curled up lying on a blanket, his eyes half-open, his expression very empty, looking like he was about to faint. His hands and feet were all shackled, and the chain was hung on an iron stake not far away.
After all, the Holy Monarch was of special status, Hun Yao didn’t want to stuff him into the prisoner cart with other human captives, so he simply put shackles on him and locked him in his own large tent.
Hun Yao glanced at him, “Holy Monarch, have you had enough sleep?”
Langmuir was dazed and didn’t respond.
Hiss, is he awake or not? The Demon King’s forehead twitched, he casually took a water bag that was warmed by the side of the stove and walked over.
He pulled up Langmuir’s chain, lifted the captive up a bit, and brutally clamped his lower jaw, feeding him a few sips of hot water.
“Cough…cough.”
After a while, Langmuir finally coughed a couple of times with a slight tremble all over his body, his gaze finally focused.
“Don’t play dead,” Hun Yao was annoyed at his half-dead appearance, “I haven’t done anything to you these past few days.”
Langmuir gradually woke up.
“…Demon King.”
He said hoarsely, “Let my people go.”
Hun Yao: “.”
Tell you not to play dead, not to be so presumptuous!
The Demon King laughed in anger, he shook the chain in his hand forcefully, “You’re in this state and you want to negotiate with me? Your Majesty the Holy Monarch, you are already my captive.”
Langmuir said lightly, “Yes, but I can still commit suicide.”
He frowned and coughed for a little while, waited until his breath was even, then said, “Demon King Hun Yao, I once broke your horn, this is a lifelong defect. Since you hate, you should torture me longer, at least…another seven years.”
“Leave the human world, retreat to the abyss, and let my people go. I promise, you will have a humble and obedient slave.”
