At that moment, Hun Yao was sitting by the window, eyes closed, slowly flicking Langmuir’s face with the tip of his tail.
Hearing this, he couldn’t help but curve his lips into a smile, thinking to himself: this person was tied up in the palace like a dog every day, where could he have possibly heard such things?
It was probably just some boastful words said by some demons when they were bullying him.
Hun Yao opened his eyes and casually remarked, “Not bad.”
“Some fools think that the demons should not retreat, that they must burn every inch of your land to the ground, chop all humans into minced meat, or dry them and hang them on the city walls to be done with it.”
“And I, the Broken Horn Demon King, retreated back to the abyss at a time when the situation was most favorable, so cowardly, unworthy of the title of king.”
“Langmuir,” he said, stroking the human’s neck with his scaly tail, “do you know how much I gave up to have you? You must keep your promise and be an obedient slave…”
Unexpectedly, Langmuir gave him a deep look, one that seemed a bit helpless. As if to say: You might deceive others with such words, my King, but why put on such an act in front of me?
Langmuir cleared his throat softly, his voice low and slow. “Although the demons are formidable, their numbers are not even one ten-thousandth of the human race. You have conquered the royal city, but there are still forty-two other cities of various sizes, all under divine protection.”
“Moreover, there are races other than humans living on the continent, and they had no grievances with you before, but the nature of the demons means it is impossible for you to establish a foothold on the continent.”
“Not retreating to the abyss while victorious, as time goes by, the demons will only be surrounded and exterminated…Your judgment, my King, is wise. As for me, I am just a spoil of war you brought along.”
From some point on, a faint light began to glow in the depths of Hun Yao’s red eyes.
He is indeed the Holy Monarch of the human race, the Demon King thought. A choice that most of the fools in the abyss could not understand was as clear as glass in this man’s eyes. He just didn’t expect that Langmuir, who was always as soft as a rabbit, would also utter such a cruel word as “extermination.”
“It seems you have not yet learned how to speak to your king and master in a certain tone,” Hun Yao hummed indifferently, not actually angry.
But then, he heard Langmuir ask, “Do all those captives have to die?”
****
That night, Hun Yao could no longer remember the details clearly. The only vivid memory was the reflection of the cliff moon on the cold floor, illuminating the winding silver-gray hair, brighter than the snow.
He remembered Langmuir lifting his violet eyes, calmly saying, “I’ve heard that in the abyss, the clansmen entrust their lives to their leader, and if the leader is defeated, most of the time, their clansmen will die as well…”
“But the people forced to obey are innocent, they are just trying to survive.”
“Slaughter can create a dynasty for a moment, but it cannot protect it for a hundred years. If my King truly wishes to carve out a place for the demons under the sun, then you must change these bloody and cruel old customs, mustn’t you?”
Crash!
The peaceful night was shattered. The sound of chains vibrating brutally interrupted Langmuir’s words, turning his final tone into a suppressed groan of pain.
“Langmuir,” Hun Yao suddenly laughed. He stood up, his features bold and fierce as they spread out, like a tiger suddenly enraged, “Langmuir! Very good, I underestimated you.”
The Demon King’s iron-like arm pulled the chain, lifting the human into mid-air. Langmuir struggled for breath in his grasp, hoarsely shouting something, but the next moment he was smashed to the ground, the chains rattling loudly.
“—You’re actually trying to teach this demon? What, you want to teach me the prayer of the God of Light? Is this why you willingly came to the abyss!?”
That force seemed intent on crushing the human’s bones alive. In just one blow, half of Langmuir’s face was stained red with fresh blood. Immediately after, darkness enveloped him, a tremendous force struck his chest, and he rolled out awkwardly, blood choking out from his mouth and nose.
Hun Yao retracted his long tail, “Langmuir, you forgot, you’re no longer in the temple.”
“…” Langmuirl lifted his face, blood dripping from between his teeth, staring at him with unwilling and sorrowful eyes.
The Demon King’s response was a kick. With a crack, he directly broke the human’s ribs.
“Not even the God of Light can illuminate this Gasuo Abyss—”
The Demon King laughed harshly. “Here, your faith! Your kindness!–”
“Is even cheaper than mud, emitting a hypocritical and foul stench.”
Langmuir had no strength to resist. He kept coughing up blood but stubbornly shook his head.
The more he did so, the angrier Hun Yao became. The sickly slave could not withstand such a brutal beating from the demon race, and soon he lay motionless.
Only when Langmuir’s breath became as thin as a thread did the rage in Hun Yao’s mind slowly subside.
In the darkness, he turned to lean against the wall, as if trying to suppress the churning magma beneath a volcano, clenching his teeth and closing his eyes, taking several deep breaths before he managed to suppress the rising urge to kill.
“Tomorrow, Langmuir,” the Demon King left a sentence before turning to leave, “I will make you see how foolish you are.”
The next day, Hun Yao allowed Langmuir to leave for the first time…..or more accurately, he was dragged out of his own chamber.
The Demon King personally tied the slave deep in the grand stone hall of the royal court, right beside his own throne.
At that time, the abyss was just showing signs of winter, with gray-white clouds rolling across the sky, and the wind cutting like knives, even forming a layer of frost in the crevices of the stone pillars.
Langmuir, in only a coarse and tattered hemp robe, soon began to shiver from the cold, his eyes closed, not speaking.
Hun Yao patted the slave’s cheek, bent down, and whispered in his ear. “Open your eyes, see clearly. If you dare to faint, a demon will immediately come to curse you.”
After speaking, he sat on the stone throne inlaid with tiger teeth and bones, and ordered the demon attendants holding long spears on both sides. “Bring up the captives.”
Soon, a group of demons were brought up, the hemp ropes on their hands and feet silently declaring their status.
Leading the way was an old crone holding a baby, her hair white and sparse, her face gaunt, her horns short and mottled yellow.
She knelt down as soon as she reached the throne, wailing loudly while muttering. She said her husband had died, her younger brother had died, her son and daughter had also died, but her daughter’s son was still too young to remember anything—she raised the less-than-a-month-old infant in the swaddle high, incessantly talking about how well-behaved the child was, begging the Demon King to spare the last bloodline of their family.
“He will be an obedient slave in the future, my King,” the agitated elderly crone crawled a few steps on her knees, desperately pushing the dirty swaddle forward, “Look at him, look at him!”
A young demon behind her raised a long spear, ready to execute. Langmuir, who had been silent all this time, couldn’t help it anymore, hoarsely raising his head and calling out to the throne with a pleading tone, “My King.”
The Demon King found it amusing, raised his arm, and said, “Hold on, don’t be in a hurry to kill her. Bring her forward.”
The white-haired old demon shakily stood up, her small frame hobbling along, a cripple. The attendants loosened the hemp rope on her feet, and so the hundreds of captives behind her stared intently at her faltering steps, as if that was their last straw.
When she was still a dozen steps away from the throne, Hun Yao shouted, “Stop.”
But suddenly, the old crone lifted her thin, wrinkled face. A crazed and sorrowful light burst from the depths of her eyes as she fiercely threw the swaddle she had cherished—the less-than-a-month-old infant, whimpering half-dead like a kitten—towards the direction of the Demon King!
The incident happened so fast that no one present could react, except for the Demon King himself, who was the target of the assassination.
Hun Yao stood up abruptly, snatching the long spear from the attendant beside him with lightning speed, and thrust it forward. When the black iron spearhead pierced the infant’s swaddle, it made a “clang” sound!
The next moment, there was a loud boom!
The small bundle exploded in front of everyone’s eyes.
Viscous flesh and bones splattered in all directions, and the iron spear in Hun Yao’s hand was blown away, the deformed spearhead flying far before landing on the ground, bouncing a few times, clattering away.
As a few charred pieces of cloth fell from the silent void, all the demon attendants lay prostrate on the ground.
The old crone had already been pierced through the chest by the attendants on both sides, her blood gushing out, flowing under the gray sky.
The small old demon stared with tearful eyes, her expression so pitiful in death—not even a few hours earlier, she had filled her own grandson’s belly with thunderstones inscribed with curses.
Even the attendants before the Demon King could not have anticipated such a cunning, malicious, and brutal assassination method.
Hun Yao discarded the broken half of the spear in his hand and sat back nonchalantly, the dangerous assassination attempt not surprising him.
The Demon King ignored the attendants who were apologizing for their negligence and slowly turned around.
He gave a cruel smile to the slave tied beside him and asked, “Langmuir, who did you say was innocent last night?”
Langmuir, who had witnessed everything, knelt there, his whole body swaying, like a piece of paper that would fall with a blow.
He blankly lifted his face, now even paler from being stained with blood, and asked, “Why?”
The Demon King’s response was a wave of his hand behind him. The attendants trembling on the ground quickly got up, picked up their weapons, and began to slaughter the remaining hundred or so captives like chopping vegetables.
The screams and cries were unending, the smell of blood growing stronger. Men, women, the elderly, and children fell like weeds being cut down, limbs and heads rolling everywhere.
Langmuir suddenly bent over, clutching the robe at his chest tightly. He gasped in pain, and after a moment, he braced himself against the ground and vomited blood.
Hun Yao burst into laughter beside the slave. “There is no place for the merciful in the abyss. Langmuir, it is you who do not understand the abyss!”
He pointed at Langmuir and instructed those beside him. “Make this foolish human watch the entire execution process, and after it’s over, tie him to the slave shed, let him taste what it truly means to be a slave.”
In the first year, Langmuir still did not understand the abyss.
****
This conflict, as well as the ensuing busyness, caused Hun Yao to quickly lose interest in Langmuir.
Because the temperature was getting colder day by day. He had to seize all the time to prepare his people for winter.
The Gasuo Abyss had no sun, and the only reason living beings have not perished is because of the crisscrossing veins of fire beneath the ground. When the fire veins were active, they turned into flames that burst from the cracks in the earth, scorching hot to the touch. But the dormant period of the fire veins was even more dangerous—then, the abyss would face a long winter, with miles of ice and drifting snow. Every winter, many demons freeze to death in the bitter cold or gradually starve due to a lack of food.
This winter was much better than previous years because they had the spoils of war plundered from the human kingdom. The Demon King was generous, distributing most of the spoils to his people, even the lowliest demons received many gifts.
But having tasted the sweetness, the greedy demons became relentless.
Some tribal leaders resented the Demon King’s hasty retreat, wishing to avoid the cold winter in the warm human world. Others focused on demanding more spoils from the king as rewards, causing endless chaos.
In front of the stern stone pillars of the royal court, the bloodstains were washed over and over again.
Within a month and a half, Hun Yao killed a rebellious small tribal leader, two heirs of leaders who attempted to offend him, two young priests who spread rumors, five commanders who embezzled their people’s share of the spoils, and several hundred unnamed demons caught in the crossfire.
The blood excited him but also numbed him, and Hun Yao gradually put the slave who used to talk with him late at night out of his mind.
After all, he had lived like this for so many years before he captured the Holy Monarch and brought him to the abyss.
Until one day, Mo Duo returned from counting the slaves and casually reported to him. “My King, that human swine seems to be dying.”
The Demon King was tempering a blade with his demonic breath at the time, the bronze scimitar lying across his knees. He didn’t say anything, just lost in thought for a long time.
