The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

When the stars of the abyss shone in the eternal sky of darkness, the flames of war that lasted for four months had finally extinguished.

 

The mountainous area where the Watie Tribe once resided, at this moment, was almost completely razed to the ground, with burnt debris everywhere. The wind in the abyss was like a biting sharp knife, blowing from the north mixed with gunpowder smoke and the stench of corpses, also causing the war flags to flap with a whistling sound.

 

When everything quieted down, a distant and melodious chant arose, accompanied by the beat of drums and the ringing of bells. The tune was peculiar yet loud and clear. It was the Demon Clan priest chanting a victorious hymn.

 

Who would have thought that the Watie Tribe, the leader of the three major demon tribes in the abyss, that had been planning a rebellion for many years, to only be crushed by the Demon King’s iron cavalry in just four months.

 

This elite force from the royal court traveled from south to north, crossing the contiguous frost capped mountains at an almost impossible speed, and defeated this huge tribe whose strength was several times their own. In the end, even the chieftain of the Watie was captured alive, and was placed with shackles symbolizing a prisoner of war.

 

Hun Yao, the youngest and most legendary Demon King in history, once again declared his throne to the entire abyss with his iron fist.

 

The Demon King’s camp was stationed in the former palace of the Watie tribe. The white tarpaulin was covered with the dark gray fur of barbary sheeps, in order to withstand the strong wind, rain and snow that might come at any time.

 

An old demon dressed as a witch doctor, was hunched down while carrying a wooden box, and hurried into the main tent.

 

This was originally a tent belonging to Hun Yao, but the Demon King had not returned yet, and with only two attendants busily walking around under the dim light.

 

When they saw the old witch doctor coming in, they stopped what they were doing, rolled up the white curtain hanging in the middle, and quickly retreated.

When passing by the old witch doctor, an attendant whispered to him, “His Lordship’s condition is not very good. Just slept for a while and suddenly coughed up blood.”

 

“The King went into battle outside, Duogu, you must serve carefully.”

 

After saying that, the attendant quickly withdrew without waiting for the old man’s reaction.

 

The main tent became eerily quiet.

 

The old witch doctor began to sweat, but he didn’t dare to wipe it away and simply tremblingly stoop his waist.

 

“Witch Doctor Duogu, pays homage to His…His Lordship.”

 

The old demon tremblingly saluted. His low gaze pierced through the white curtains, and first saw the red and shiny fox fur blanket hanging down from one corner.

 

Duogu knew that it was the fur of the hundred-year-old Fire Fox King in the abyss.

 

Two years ago, its head was chopped off by the Demon King himself with a scimitar, and its fur was sewn into this luxurious creation by the Demon Clan’s best craftsmen. And at this moment——

 

A pale red and bare ankle was quietly trapped between the red flame-like firefox fur blanket.

 

Demons did not have such slender feet, it belonged to a human.

 

“Your king is not here, there is no need to salute to me.”

 

A gentle voice came. “Sir Duogu has worked hard traveling at night, come inside.”

 

The pale foot exerted a slight force, and the veins and bone traces on the instep straightened silently.

 

It was the human being struggling to stand up, stepped on the firefox fur blanket deeply, and slowly walked out of the tent.

 

“Your Lordship! You mustn’t..”

 

Duogu was startled and rushed forward to help the person.

 

The old hands covered with gray and black scales, with sharp and rough nails, were only separated by a layer of white robe and soft cloth, supporting the human’s soft forearm.

 

Such a comparison was too impactful. Before the other party could react, Duogu himself shuddered for a moment.

 

He still didn’t dare to look up, he just wanted to send this lordship back to the depths of the tent as soon as possible, and let the fire fox fur support this delicate body.

 

But the old demon’s hand, or rather his scale and claws, were suddenly pressed down hard by the human.

 

Clatter.

 

Followed by that crisp sound, the young man in white robe bent down and looked at the old demon’s expression from bottom to top.

 

The dim light in the main tent illuminated a soft and beautiful face.

 

The eyes were light purple, like violet orchid, and the long hair hanging down was like silver smoke. A dark scale grew under the pale corners of his eyes, like a teardrop branded on the flesh.

 

He had a silver collar around his neck, and a string of bone ornaments on his chest. The ferocious beast’s tooth hung in the center was surrounded by bone fragments, and with a gentle touch and movement, it mysteriously produced a voiceless sound.

 

The young man was holding back his laughter, thus his gentle voice contained a soft vibrato. “Sir Witch Doctor, why is it that everytime you come here, you’re so afraid of me? You were never like this before.”

 

“Your, Your Lordship!!”

 

Duogu was so frightened that his soul almost flew away, he slid backward, scurry and knelt on the ground, wanting to cry without tears. “Lord Langmuir, please don’t say that. If the King hears it, Dogu’s old life…”

 

Langmuir shook his head and started to laugh. He lifted up Duogu’s arm, led the old witch doctor into the tent, and sat cross-legged on the fire fox fur with him.

 

He lowered his voice, “There’s nothing wrong with me, it’s still about the old problem. Sir Witch Doctor, don’t worry. This time, I just want to take advantage of the King’s absence to ask for some more medicine. Besides…”

 

He paused and lowered his soft eyelashes, “I still want to ask…how much more time do I have left.”

 

Langmuir extended his other forearm and showed his wrist to Duogu.

 

Duogu raised his eyes in alarm. He simply placed his hand on that piece of skin, allowing the demonic qi to circulate within the human body for a while, but then he started trembling again and shook his head repeatedly.

 

“Just say it directly.” Langmuir said softly, raising his index finger in front of his lips, “Don’t be afraid, no third party can listen here.”

 

Duogu swallowed his saliva and forced himself to speak, “Three…three…”

 

Langmuir: “Years?”

 

Old witch doctor: “…..months.”

 

The two voices awkwardly overlapped.

 

“…”

 

“…………”

 

A suffocating silence permeated.

 

There was some commotion outside the camp, as if the defeated prisoners were being pressed over.

There was a mix of low growls and sobs, and among them was a rude voice calling out the name of the Demon King, asking him to come out.

 

Inside the tent, the old witch doctor was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering and his fingers were shaking.

 

He raised his cloudy old eyes, and through the candlelight, he could see clearly the appearance of the human opposite him again.

 

Langmuir sat calmly under the lamp, his brows and eyes shrouded in a very faint halo, like the bright moon on the mountain, and that long silver-gray hair was like a stream flowing under the moon, which looked a little desolate at first glance.

 

…Even the most crude and arrogant demon in the abyss had to admit that this was an almost divine appearance.

 

Such a creature did not belong to the abyss. The miasma and flames of Gasuo Abyss could only breed cruel demons.

 

Langmuir sighed leisurely, “Yes, three years is too long.”

 

As he spoke, he clasped his palms together, making a gesture of apology. He smiled sheepishly and said, “Sorry, I said something strange.”

 

The old witch doctor looked away and did not dare to look further. In fact, yes, Duogu knew the former identity of the young man in front of him.

 

……Langmuir, the Holy Monarch of the Human Kingdom, was born in a temple and was raised by the grace of the gods. He belonged beyond the abyss, where the sun shines.

 

And that silver collar was the shackle that imprisoned the Son of God.

 

Duogu asked in a trembling voice. “The King over there…”

 

Langmuir shook his head. “Let me tell him. Just wait a bit longer, until we return to the royal court.”

 

His expression was tranquil, and there was an invisible but reassuring energy in him. The old demon witch doctor, as if granted amnesty, wiped his sweat and nodded repeatedly.

 

The commotion outside the tent became more and more intense. Duogu even heard the sounds of fighting.

 

Langmuir turned his head and glanced, slowly put on his robe and stood up. “I am fine here. Please, Sir Duogu, accept a reward from the rear tent before leaving.”

 

“Your Lordship.” The old demon couldn’t help but speak.

 

“Please take good care of yourself, Your Lordship.”

 

Langmuir quickly returned a salute and bowed deeply. “The same goes for you, Sir Duogu. These years of care, I am very grateful in the heart.”

 

As he spoke, he walked out and casually pulled a bronze scimitar from the shelf and placed it across his arm.

 

****

 

Outside the main tent, a dozen strong demons were stripped off of their armor, donned on chains, and were forced to kneel on both knees on the ground.

 

These were the strongest fighters of the Watie Tribe, and the one kneeling in the middle was none other than the Chieftain Watie. He had thick hair and beard, and the coiled horns on the top of his head and the scaly tail behind him were bluish-gray. At this moment, his eye sockets were filled with bloodshot veins, and he was roaring with all his strength.

 

“Hun Yao!!” Chief Watie kept roaring, his voice like rolling thunder, “Let Hun Yao come out and see me!!”

 

A demon army kicked him and shouted, “Behave, prisoner! A rebellious traitor dares to call the King by his name!”

 

Chief Watie laughed loudly. “King? Ptew, an immature and inexperienced kid, nothing more!”

 

“How dare he make an inferior demon of low bloodline a general, and also feed a human slave with good food and drink…” He roared, “This is a humiliation, a humiliation to all tribes!!”

 

“I knew it all along! Calling a guy with a broken coiled horn king, it only brings shame to the Demon Clan. I knew it all along!!”

 

Suddenly, the sound of breaking wind came. A whip struck Chief Watie fiercely on the face, causing half of his body to be knocked sideways, with splashes of blood flying in the opposite direction.

 

The prisoners of war screamed anxiously.

 

They all raised their eyes one after another and saw a female demon in battle armor approaching. She had fiery red hair, thin and short coiled horns, and a bloodthirsty smile on her face.

 

“Oh, well said, Watie. It was so very well said.”

 

She lazily kneaded her neck and flicked the long whip again——the thing was as dexterous as a living snake in her hands, but sharper than a snake’s teeth. In the blink of an eye, another blood mark was left on Chief Watie’s face.

 

“Then you must remember,” she smiled, “the one who is whipping you now is the inferior demon general under the broken coiled horn Demon King, Mad Flame, Lord Mo Duo, who is not noble at all.” (TL: Mad Flame is probably her nickname)

 

“And you, the distinguished tribal Chieftain Watie, is like a mouse being played with by a cat under her hands.”

 

This sentence obviously greatly stimulated Watie. He rushed forward furiously like a bull seeing a red cloth, wishing he could bite off a piece of the female demon’s flesh with his teeth.

 

But at this moment, a slender hand stretched out from the side and mercilessly tightened the shackle around Chief Watie’s neck.

 

The thing had electric shock runes and spiritual curses. Chief Watie simply fell to the ground with a scream, and his whole body shook violently.

 

Langmuir loosened his fingers and looked down at the defeated chieftain from a high position.

 

Mo Duo curled her lips and snorted. She circled the whip twice around her wrist, swung her red hair and walked to Langmuir. “Your Lordship, this guy is really hopeless, let’s just kill him.”

 

Langmuir said in a deep voice, “Chief Watie, you should be glad that the King has not yet returned.”

 

“Surrender now, I can save the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers and tribesmen under your tribe. But if you continue to be stubborn, the blood of the innocent tribesmen will dye the land red.”

 

Chief Watie twitched for a long time before limping down covered in sweat.

 

He lay on the ground and spat out a mouthful of white foam mixed with blood. “…Ptew.”

 

“Stop being pretentious, human, just a lowly slave…” Chief Watie breathed heavily, “Have you forgotten your identity in just seven years?”

 

“I, Watie, would rather die in the hands of a powerful demon than survive under the humiliation of a human slave like you!…”

 

Langmuir was unmoved. His eyes fell further behind Chief Watie, where thousands of people were still kneeling, connected by hemp ropes on the ground.

 

He said, “Even if your people want to survive?”

 

Chief Watie replied without thinking, “These inferior in blood, loyal with their lives and soul, should belong to their leader.”

 

Langmuir then sneered. For the first time, that face, so beautiful that it could be called divine, showed a distinct emotion and a pressing chill.

 

“Gasuo Abyss has been dead and still for hundreds of years.”

 

He took a step forward and held the handle of the bronze scimitar in his arms, “Until the birth of the King, unlock the seal above your head and connect each tribe into a kingdom, just like dry puddles merging into a stream.”

 

“At present, our people can eat and drink to their heart’s content, is well clothed with firm houses, and no longer needlessly kill each other; but your people are still stuck in the cruel and cold abyss, with no clothes on their bodies and no food to eat—”

 

“Even the blood, life and soul’s loyalty have been abandoned like worn shoes.”

 

“Watie, it seems now that not only are you unqualified to replace the King, you are not even qualified to be the chieftain of the tribe.”

 

Langmuir drew the sword out of its sheath and raised it with his hand.

 

A cold light flashed across the tip of the scimitar, and there was a muffled thud.

 

Chief Watie let out a mournful scream, as the pair of originally majestic and huge horns above his head were all cut off neatly and rolled down to the ground in horror.