The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

Even during the day, the sky over the Gasuo Abyss remained dim.

 

The sun never shone into this land, and the nights in the abyss were dark and eerie, while the days were covered in a layer of dusty haze.

 

Except for the Demon King’s “royal court” located in a relatively stable environment, all other surfaces were burning, and miasma filled the air in the sky…..The demons lingered here, like a group of insects in a sewer that were unable to see the light, hunching down continuing their lives.

 

A tall wildebeest galloped under the gray sky.

 

Hun Yao held the reins in his right hand and supported Langmuir’s shoulder with his left hand, letting the weak human sit in his arms.

 

When he was not fighting, he’d be too lazy to braid his messy black hair and just tie it up with a hair tie behind his head, which was now fluttering in the strong wind.

 

“Last time, when General Mo Duo’s patrol came back, she told this slave,” Langmuir spoke with curved eyebrows and eyes, “that the barrier had become much thinner, and white and golden spots of light often shone through. I told her that was the sun.”

 

Hun Yao ignored him, and Langmuirl continued, “I guess going back this time, the flowers planted before will have bloomed.”

 

Hun Yao still didn’t say anything.

 

In fact, every time Langmuir mentioned those flowers before, he couldn’t help but sneer. This naive human actually thought he could grow human flowers in such an environment like the abyss.

 

But now the sunlight had really penetrated the barrier, although it was only a tiny spot of light, it was still real sunlight… So, who knows for sure? The Demon King thought absentmindedly.

 

A high cliff gradually appeared in front of them, Hun Yao shouted, lightly clamping the horse’s belly and the mount obediently turned onto the steep rocky road.

 

“Our army will be pulling out at noon,” Hun Yao lowered his head and kissed Langmuir’s nape, his voice deep, “There isn’t much time, can only accompany you for a short while.”

 

“That’s enough,” Langmuir said. According to the customs of the demon race, during a successful battle, the Demon King must return to the side of the warriors who shed blood for him.

 

Hun Yao was truly strict and harsh, but he cared about his people, his soldiers, and his subjects. Langmuir knew he would never show favoritism in such situations.

 

After the wildebeest came to a steady stop, Hun Yao dismounted first, then stretched out his arms to hold Langmuir down.

 

The entire body of a demon was covered in hard scales, including their feet; the wildebeest has four hooves burning like flames. But Langmuir was a human whose Mana had been exhausted, and his feet were white and tender, the earth’s fire could burn it in an instant.

 

Over the years, whenever they needed to travel long distances in dangerous areas of the abyss, Langmuir would ride the wildebeest with Hun Yao and be carried by the Demon King when they dismounted, like a delicate canary.

 

It was also the same case now.

 

Hun Yao held Langmuir upright and walked up to the barrier cliff.

 

This was the highest and closest place to the sunlight and the human world in the Gasuo Abyss.

 

The cliffs on both sides extended upwards, while the huge barrier array was hidden in mid-air, making it impossible for the creatures below to continue walking upwards.

 

At night, the barrier emitted a glow. From a distance, it looked like a small moon hanging at the top of the high cliff. Therefore demons also referred to it as the Cliff Moon.

 

Above the Cliff Moon was Langmuir’s hometown. It was a place called the continent, the world, or the human world, where the sun shone, a fairyland with four seasons in rotation.

 

“Flowers!”

 

Suddenly, Langmuir exclaimed with joy, “Ah, look, my King, there are really flowers!”

 

Hun Yao couldn’t help but be stunned. Langmuir had always been gentle and obedient in front of him, and he rarely heard such an eager and emotional voice from him, so he didn’t react for a moment.

 

Langmuir gently struggled and fell out of the Demon King’s arms, barefoot on the rough mountain cliff, and trotted forward a few steps.

 

“You!” Hun Yao, without noticing for a moment, unexpectedly lost the slave from his hands. He immediately chased after him, shouting, “Come back, Langmuir! Be careful of the earth’s fire!”

 

But after chasing for a few steps, he suddenly froze –

 

That mountain cliff used to be no different from other places in the abyss, just a barren wasteland. But at this moment, a small patch of flowers had bloomed, dotted with mostly white and yellow, occasionally mixed with a few light purple, and the least were pink.

 

A few golden spots of light fell from the barrier above their heads, and their furry stamens were illuminated, trembling timidly in the wind.

 

Hun Yao had never seen such soft plants in the abyss before, and he felt that his heart was also shaken.

 

Looking again, Langmuir was already kneeling in front of the wildflowers, fully engrossed in surveying these small flowers, and whispered, “There are so many… I thought even if they bloomed, there would only be a few.”

 

He watched quietly, his face gradually showing a relieved expression, and his purple eyes were misty, as if he was about to cry.

 

“…No, it’s just a few wildflowers,” the Demon King regained his composure. He walked up and reached out from behind to pick up his slave, “So delicate, just like you. When the next earth’s fire comes up, it will all burn to pieces.”

 

However, Langmuir grabbed Hun Yao’s outstretched hand and turned back, revealing a smile in his eyes and eyebrows, “My King, the fact that the flowers are blooming so well,  it means that there is no fire here.”

 

The fine sunlight was falling on his snowy long hair, shining a dazzling silver color. Hun Yao was shaken once again.

 

“…..”

 

The Demon King remained silent for a moment, then lifted his finger to wipe away a distracting tear mark on Langmuir’s face in a rough manner.

 

“Don’t cry,” he said, “It’s just a few wildflowers, don’t cry.”

 

****

 

Recently, Hun Yao occasionally thought to himself that even if Langmuir really got his revenge someday and killed him after years of endurance, what would it matter?

 

“Speaking of which, my King hasn’t integrated with this slave in the wild for a long time.”

 

Langmuir looked at the wildflowers, slowly placing his palm on the collar of his white robe, and tentatively said in a soft voice, “I’m happy today, would you like to…”

 

The sunlight shone on the handsome face until it was flawless white. With a movement of the human man’s finger, the white robe fell silently over his ankle, as if he was a lamb walking towards the altar.

 

Hun Yao watched coldly, unmoving, feeling a pang of irritability in his heart.

 

He thought: When did this person become like this?

 

Unexpectedly, he couldn’t even come up with a specific point in time.

 

Hun Yao only knew that the original Holy Monarch was not like this. The former Langmuir avoided this kind of intimate intercourse like snakes or scorpions. But he took pleasure in cruelly grinding this person from the inside out, pushing him off a cliff, and pressing him into a sea of desire, enjoying the sight of his former enemy suffering in the roasting flames with great interest.

 

He dragged Langmuir to the wilderness outside the camp, smeared the crushed bitter grass juice all over the human’s body, and told him that integrating under the witness of heaven, earth, and their people was the custom of the demon race.

 

At that time, he didn’t understand what kind of humiliation it meant for humans, especially for a son of god like Langmuir. Because for the demons, integrating was as natural as eating and drinking.

 

Hun Yao didn’t understand why the human race regarded this matter as taboo. Clearly, they desired it but were shy and embarrassed about it.

 

He only knew that the once calm and composed Langmuir, who was unshaken no matter how he was treated, would change color and even cry in this matter. So he loved it to death, like an addiction, and bullied Langmuir again and again.

 

It wasn’t for revenge or venting anymore, not really.

 

But the former Demon King didn’t understand that. By the time he began to understand some things, Langmuir had already changed.

 

…Like now. Langmuir would calmly, even with a smile, say to him that it had been a long time since they integrated in the wild.

 

“I brought your harp out.”

 

Hun Yao suddenly stood up and walked towards the direction of the wildebeest.

 

Passing by Langmuir, his long tail casually hooked the white robe, draping it back over the slave’s shoulders.

 

Langmuir tilted his head in confusion, “My King?”

 

Hun Yao took the harp hanging from the wildebeest’s saddle. It was made by Langmuir himself with wood and animal skin. He had told the Demon King that the harp was his favorite instrument when he was in the temple, followed by the grass flute made from leaves he picked up at random – Brett Temple never lacked flowers and herbs.

 

“Play a song to listen to.”

 

Hun Yao handed the harp to Langmuir and sat down shoulder to shoulder with him in the sunlight, facing the wildflowers on the cliff.

 

Langmuir didn’t understand, but obediently straightened his clothes and began to pluck the strings and sing.

 

The melody was rough and majestic, it was the sacrificial song of the demon race.

 

Accompanied by the sound of the harp, Langmuir sang out ancient and obscure lyrics. He learned quickly, and now when he sang these songs, he sounded more like a real old demon priest than the actual demon priests.

 

“…”

 

Halfway through listening, the stuffy feeling in his heart not only didn’t dissipate, instead, it grew stronger.

 

He said, “Unpleasant to hear, play a different one. Play the song you used to like, before entering the abyss.”

 

“The temple’s music?” Langmuir stopped plucking the strings, surprised. “My King, why would you want to listen to that? Those are all…”

 

Hun Yao didn’t say anything.

 

“Oh,” Langmuir nodded to himself, “I forgot, you’ve started again.”

 

“Then I’ll play it, um…what should I play? The old songs from the temple, I can’t remember many of them…let’s just play that one same song.”

 

Langmuir frowned and thought for a moment before starting to play again.

 

“Oh, my all-knowing and almighty goddess, my bright golden sun.”

 

“Whenever a soul wanders in sin, it will rise with its light…”

 

He was still very serious, and his voice was beautiful. But the harp made of animal skin and rough wood couldn’t play the light and spacious melodies, making it seem somewhat out of place.

 

Hun Yao listened and watched the swaying wildflowers in front of him, thinking to himself:

 

So, even if Langmuir really got his revenge someday, what would it matter?

 

Seven years ago, the Holy Monarch was destroyed in the hands of the Demon King. Langmuir was branded with Hun Yao’s mark and could never return to the aloof and cold golden-haired son of god of the past.

 

He lost his Mana, his body weakened year by year, but his personality seemed to become more and more gentle and obedient. Occasionally, when he quietly leaned on Hun Yao’s shoulder, he was like a tired white sparrow.

 

Perhaps because of this, the Demon King became increasingly unable to distinguish.

 

After finishing the song, Langmuir turned his head to look back at the way they came, hugged the harp in his arms, and stood up, saying, “There’s not much time left, my King, it’s time to go back.”

 

“I’m not in a hurry, why are you?” Hun Yao’s face was expressionless, not looking at him.

 

…He couldn’t distinguish; the reason why he stubbornly believed that Langmuir was lying dormant, enduring, pretending, and waiting for an opportunity to seek revenge was because he firmly believed that any moment of gentle obedience from this person had a profound meaning.

 

The reason why he kept ranting about it in front of the slave every few days, threatening him with bared teeth and claws, even to the extent where Langmuir had become accustomed to it: In the mouth of the slave, it was simply called “you’ve started again.”

 

——Why exactly.

 

Fear of betrayal.

 

Still fearing that the betrayal in his fantasy would never come.