The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

Great Light Calendar, year 898.

The sky of the abyss was as dark as ever. The wind, sharp as a knife, urged the unicorns on, and the army marched across the plains.

That year, the demons broke the seal once again, attacking the human royal city, and retreated back to the abyss before the onset of the abyss’s harsh winter.

On the way back, complex emotions filled the soldiers’ chests. On one hand, the afterglow of victory had not yet dissipated. However, the contrast of returning from the sunlit lands to this dark homeland filled them with indescribable resentment.

The low prison cart creaked forward.

A dozen soldiers walked with spears, frequently looking at the human inside—

The blond monarch from the sunlit lands, now had his hands shackled, and could only kneel in the prison cart in a humiliating and uncomfortable posture.

The Holy Monarch had become the Demon King’s prisoner. There was nothing more delightful for the demons, and no better outlet for venting their hatred. The demon soldiers would come to insult him after drinking, spitting on his face, and jabbing his back hard with the handle of their iron spears.

Langmuir closed his eyes, biting his lips until they bled, without making a sound.

It’s just this, he thought.

Just this bit of pain, he was prepared for it.

Seven years ago, during those seven days, his body weakly fled, but his soul was locked by this land…and now, at least he was on the right path.

Because the heavy shackles on his soul had lightened, the pain of the body didn’t seem so important. He could endure it.

But the Holy Monarch’s calmness annoyed the demon soldiers. One of them weighed his iron spear and fiercely jabbed it into Langmuir’s lower abdomen. “Worthless pig, scream for me!”

This time, they finally got their wish and heard the prisoner’s voice, a short and miserable one. Cold sweat flowed down the blond hair over his pale cheeks, Langmuir was in so much pain that fine blood vessels burst on his forehead, and the chains clanged.

“Hey, you few idiots, don’t mess around!”

The captain passed by, shouting, “That guy is the most valued trophy of our King. If he is killed or crippled, our King will be angry, and we will all die.”

The soldiers put away their spears, laughing and shouting, “This is His Majesty the Holy Monarch, how could he die so easily!?”

Another also shouted, “It was this guy who shot our King’s right horn years ago. The worse his fate, the happier our King will be!”

The captain cursed, “That’s why I say you guys are idiots! You’ve ruined the man, how can our King enjoy himself? Let me tell you, the King’s order has been issued, no one here is allowed to touch him!”

Hearing that it was the Demon King’s order, the soldiers had to respond in a scattered manner. The abuse finally stopped.

But Langmuir’s situation did not improve much. The wound hurt, and the corrosion of the miasma hurt even more. Kneeling for too long, his knees and back had already stiffened and could not move, showing signs of necrosis.

The Holy Monarch silently endured, biting his own lips and the soft flesh in his mouth. It was useless, it still hurt. The blood that flowed out was instinctively swallowed by him, it was useless, he was still thirsty.

A soldier passed by the prison cart, hearing the blond prisoner asking for a little water in a hoarse voice. The demons laughed viciously, “Pah, worthless pig, I won’t even give you my urine to drink!”

Langmuir said nothing more. Slowly, he was exhausted, his head drooped slowly, his body hung on the prison cart by the chains, like a white reed swaying in the wind.

Time passed bit by bit, and night fell. The army in front stopped, it was time to set up camp and rest. The soldiers began to stir, they saw a wildebeest rushing over.

It must be the king sending someone to claim his trophy, the soldiers laughed and shouted.

But when the figure emerging from the dust became clear, all the demons widened their eyes—

“My King!”

The soldiers didn’t know if they saw it wrong before bowing their heads, the Demon King looked panicked, and even stumbled when he dismounted.

…..

Hun Yao still couldn’t figure out what was going on.

The last impression in his mind was of his beautiful lover sleeping with his arm as a pillow.

That should have been just a routine nap on a winter afternoon, the location was their palace.

Two years had passed since Gasuo’s barrier opened, and the two demon kings, one firm and one gentle, ruled the abyss, and everything was moving in a good direction.

That day was a bit cold, and it was snowing outside the window. Langmuir was half-curled up in his arms, his eyelashes curled, and his breathing shallow. Hun Yao couldn’t help but look at him for a long time, cherishingly wrapping him up a bit more with the blanket, and closed his eyes to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, he was on a marching wildebeest—the Demon King broke out in a cold sweat and almost fell off.

The reason he didn’t give himself away was Tianpo, the little girl was still wearing the armor of the guards, and strangely turned her head and shouted “My King”.

That childish face immediately made Hun Yao realize the time discrepancy. Then, he belatedly felt the weight on his head: tsk, the left horn is still there. Oh, the demonic breath is also there.

Is it a dream? An illusion? A miracle?

It doesn’t matter, he knows what he should do.

But even if he was prepared in his heart, when he saw the prison cart, Hun Yao still collapsed.

There was nothing else left in his sight, except for that winding, blood-stained blond hair. The Holy Monarch, with his arms shackled, hung his head and did not move, as if he had long lost consciousness.

Hun Yao’s eyes were filled with red threads, his hands tightly gripped the bars of the prison cart, and he roared, “Unlock it!!”

The soldiers had long been stunned. And each of them was scared pale by the Demon King’s low pressure, who dared to ask more at this time, they scrambled to get the keys.

Hun Yao’s legs had already softened, he knelt in front of the prison cart, gritted his teeth and reached in through the gap in the bars, “Langmuir, wake up…”

He held up the Holy Monarch’s face, the temperature was as cold as holding a handful of snow. There was no movement.

The Demon King’s eyes and fingers began to tremble, and his chest was so sour and swollen as if it was stuffed with cotton. He moved his fingertips, condensed the dark demonic breath into the shape of a healing incantation, and sent it into the Holy Monarch’s chest.

“…Hmm.” Langmuir frowned in a daze, and let out a weak voice.

Areaction, there was still a reaction…..Hun Yao’s eyes welled up, and he quickly held the person more carefully. Beside him, the demon soldiers were trembling, kneeling and holding the keys to the prison cart.

“My, my King, the key…”

Why? The unlucky soldier stuttered, seeing stars in front of his eyes: Why, would he see the King kneeling in front of the prison cart, speaking softly to the human monarch!?

Help, it must be a nightmare, a nightmare, a nightmare…

“Get lost!” Hun Yao grabbed the key and kicked the guy’s butt, “Go call the witch doctor, let Duogu wait in my big tent!”

The soldiers scattered like birds and beasts. Hun Yao’s hand was shaking so much,

He fumbled twice before unlocking the prison cart,

Then he went to unlock the chains that bound Langmuir.

Without support, the body tilted and fell.

Hun Yao was terrified to get the person out of the prison cart, then he looked down and immediately felt a surge of heartache.

Underneath that deep golden hair wet with cold sweat, were young and beautiful features, and snow-white skin covered with bruises and scars.

Langmuir Brett, who was only twenty-two years old, was faintly unconscious in his arms. Still pure, like a human.

Suddenly, his heart tightened in severe pain, as if it was being cut by countless sharp blades.

“…Langmuir…”

Hun Yao almost couldn’t control the urge to cry, stroking that face from his memory over and over with the side of his palm, his heart, liver, lungs, and intestines all ached terribly, as if they were being boiled and rolled in a pot of regret.

His Langmuir, his beloved, his other half of the soul; his treasure that he had personally shattered once ten years ago.

Now…just like this, quietly lying back in his palm again.

It was at this moment that Langmuir’s eyelids suddenly moved.

A few seconds later, he struggled to wake up a bit, his eyes opened a slit and then closed, murmuring in a daze, “Who…”

Hun Yao was startled, and suddenly all the scales on his body exploded. In such a weak state of the human, he dared not let Langmuir suffer even a little bit of stimulation, and didn’t know whether to respond or not.

Hesitating for a second, he still moved his gaze away with a heavy heart, spread his arms to pick up the Holy Monarch, and walked towards the wildebeest next to him.

Langmuir was in a daze, half-opening his eyes. It wasn’t until Hun Yao held him and mounted the horse that he suddenly murmured softly, “Does…cough…does the Demon King want to see me…?”

After saying that, he actually laughed weakly. On that pale face, there was actually a hint of expectation and joy.

“…”

Hun Yao closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, as if he had been stabbed alive.

He took off his own beast fur cloak, wrapped Langmuir tightly, and whispered in the human’s ear, “Yes, the Demon King wants to see you.”

“He wants revenge, he’s going to start torturing you himself… so before that, before I allow it, you must hold on, you must not fall asleep, do you understand?”