TBR CH203

Kriesmeier didn’t have experience dealing with children.

This was an illusion, and he quickly realized it. The Demon King slightly curled his finger, but wasn’t in a hurry to summon his “Demon Eye.” He straightened up, standing amidst dried blood and mutilated corpses, his silver-grey hair like a dim moonlight illuminating the horrific scene. The Demon King’s inhuman golden eyes scrutinized little Roland, who was tugging at his cloak.

The boy was probably startled. He let go and stepped back, staring blankly at him.

The child’s hair was like the sun.

The opponent in the prophecy, powerful enough to rival him, was… him?

A never-ending emptiness gnawed at a part of the Demon King’s heart, just as it did every time he captured the nameless “him” in his dreams. The person’s image had been continuously filled with flesh and blood from the moment he entered this illusion, so much so that Kriesmeier felt that if he could just remember a little more, he could uncover his true identity.

He commanded coldly, “Say it again.”

Little Roland’s slightly longer golden hair obscured the emotions in his beautiful eyes. He seemed eager to explain, but also didn’t want to directly face the Demon King’s sharp edge, so he could only retreat step by step.

The Demon King’s boots creaked as he stepped over gravel and bloodstains, relentlessly approaching him, unable to be driven from his sight.

“Did you just say, ‘Destroy this world for me’?”

Kriesmeier’s scythe was bone-white, capable of turning anything it touched into dust within seconds.

“It’s not what you think.”

Little Roland bit his lip and spoke slowly, taking another step back. Behind him was the rock wall. “Calm down a bit, I’ll explain. Don’t come so close, Kris…”

His voice was still childish, yet he spoke in an adult tone. Kriesmeier remembered the Archmage who appeared as a black cat; he too always seemed at ease, perhaps a habit cultivated since childhood.

But of course, there was another possibility: that the illusion had changed again from a certain point in time.

The Demon King’s raised fingertips paused.

This gave little Roland an opportunity. His heels were already against the damp, salty wall, but he could cleverly slip under the Demon King’s arm, escape into a dark cave on the other side, and gain some breathing room.

Kriesmeier looked down at him coldly.

The prey’s instinct was to struggle, but the Demon King only wanted his answer. He had been inexplicably gentle with this boy; otherwise, the child would have long been pinned to the wall by his scythe. No matter what the other party’s reaction was, it would not change his will.

The boy took a deep breath. The temperature inside the cave was very low, and a thin mist formed in front of the human. He bent down, his leg muscles tensed, fully prepared to escape. The next second, he shifted his weight downwards, as if exerting all his strength, and took a step forward—

He hugged Kriesmeier’s waist.

The human’s body temperature could reach the Demon King even through thick clothing. Little Roland closed his eyes, his fluffy golden hair pressed against the Demon King’s dark cloak, his arms spread wide, and the blood on his body rubbed onto the Demon King’s clothes. His eyelashes trembled uneasily, and his amber eyes were blank.

But thankfully, Kriesmeier was even more bewildered than he was.

“You—” Kriesmeier stiffened. Abyssal demons were already considered large cold-blooded animals; the Demon King’s blood was cold, and he could barely feel anything except for the part of him closest to the human. He reached out to push the boy away, but found that tears were streaming hotly down his cheeks. Well, that made his cloak even messier:

“Archmage Roland Xavier, you’d best pray I don’t eventually discover you’re merely toying with me.”

Kriesmeier said through gritted teeth, yet his fingertips remained in little Roland’s soft hair, unmoving. The Demon King merely stood there, even appearing a bit flustered, his wings flapping against the ground before silently disappearing.

Why was it like this? He just couldn’t do anything about this human.

Kriesmeier forced himself to remember faster. In the illusion, he felt the large lock sealing his memories becoming increasingly shaky, almost on the verge of shattering. From this perspective, the human in front of him was simply a gift delivered right to his doorstep.

His fingers slowly moved down from the boy’s hair.

Until he touched the boy’s delicate neck, the boy suddenly released him, revealing a pair of frightened and bewildered eyes, as if he realized he had done something wrong. But this time he didn’t run; the clever boy understood that running was useless:

“How should I address you?”

Little Roland knew nothing. Kriesmeier released his hand from his neck.

“Demon King.” He said arrogantly, “I am not your God.”

Roland experienced an emotional roller coaster in just a few seconds. This wasn’t his fault, at least not entirely. Firstly, he shouldn’t have forgotten that “Abyssal Continent” had a complex operating system, with different races corresponding to different commands; secondly, he shouldn’t have confused the vast differences between humans and purebred animals, and then naturally assumed he could use his usual keybinds; lastly, the thing he should least have done was press that key on the keyboard.

For a black cat, that command meant a nimble flick of the tail, finding an opening to slip through. For a human… when he saw the screen showing little Roland ignorantly hugging Kriesmeier, Roland felt that all was lost.

A black cat would wag its tail and blink when idle. But his younger self would start crying with the slightest mishap, getting himself dirty, and even using His Majesty the Demon King’s cloak as a handkerchief for tears.

Roland was already thinking about where the nearest resurrection point was. Then he saw Kriesmeier stiffly place his fingers on the boy’s hair. Roland forcibly swallowed the “Kris” that had been on the tip of his tongue, feeling startled, and then heard Kriesmeier’s gritted threat. Without a moment’s hesitation, he decided that he must remain silent about the fact that the core of the character on the screen was a mature Archmage. 

Otherwise, the Demon King would probably be enraged and kill him to silence him.

Well, that was just a joke. The most important thing was not to let Kriesmeier remember. The shackles personally forged by the Archmage could become very unstable in certain places, especially in an illusion like this.

Roland looked at the Demon King’s dark golden eyes. The beast-like vertical pupils suddenly glowed with greed and obsessive possessiveness again. Even he didn’t realize it, but his fingers rested on little Roland’s neck, and some familiar emotions stirred.

At this time, it was safer to interact with him as little Roland.

This time, Roland’s operation was very cautious. The young child put his hands behind his back, and the hand behind him silently moved, as if just drawing some meaningless symbols in the air. But the elements in the air were quietly mobilized. They obeyed their master’s command, going to find the key to shatter the illusion.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

At the same time, young Roland said timidly, “Your Majesty the Demon King. Who is the Archmage you mentioned? I’ve never heard of him, but he has the same name as me. Is there any connection between us?”

He looked terrified, his face pale, but there was no fear in the depths of his pupils, as if dying here by the Demon King’s hand wouldn’t matter.

Kriesmeier couldn’t resist pressing harder, and the movement of parting his hair left a faint finger mark on the boy’s forehead. Those pupils… what kind of clue did they hold? Did he really kill the other party? He felt more and more that the Archmage was the victor in that situation.

Kriesmeier suddenly leaned in, his eyes almost touching the boy’s eyes, his dark golden pupils seemingly ready to devour everything. But was he truly conversing with the trembling body beneath him? He seemed to believe he could see through those amber eyes into another entirely different yet identical being.

Roland, through the screen, touched Kriesmeier’s eyes.

No, he thought, I still have to lie. But he really couldn’t continue talking in front of those burning eyes.

“Are you still going to lie to me?” Kriesmeier said. His voice unnaturally stopped, because even the Demon King didn’t know the meaning of the “still” he uttered. And Roland’s fingers remained on the screen, unable to let go for a moment.

“Did he remember?” Roland thought. “Even if just for a brief moment.” They remained strangely deadlocked, time in the illusion frozen in a corner of the past.

After a long while, Kriesmeier finally moved his gaze away as if giving up. He changed the subject.

“—The prophecy says you will be the human who kills me.”

The child in front of him looked uneasy. His golden hair was like the sun, shining brightly, until such light swallowed that ominous moon. This was the trick fate had written for him.

“I won’t kill you,” little Roland said timidly. “Mr. Demon King, I can’t even lift a sword.”

Those loyal apprentices and followers of the Archmage should really know this. Kriesmeier thought, this is in an illusion, otherwise he would definitely go back to the kingdom’s square and destroy that statue.

This person could lie, and was skilled at it. Resentment flowed like venom in his heart. Even though the Demon King couldn’t recall any specific scenes, he undoubtedly hated the person in front of him.

“Where’s your staff?”

“…What?”

Kriesmeier simply bypassed him—he almost ran over him like a black hurricane, but still took his hand. The dim cave was filled with the smell of blood and some other cold things; in short, it wasn’t suitable for a hand-in-hand stroll. Kriesmeier pulled the boy, who stumbled along.

When they reached the seventh circle, little Roland called out to stop.

“It’s here,” he paused, “if you’re looking for my ‘staff’.”

Roland actually doubted if Kriesmeier was really looking for it; he was indeed not very good at such things. The Demon King beside him stopped. When he turned his head, Kriesmeier’s silver-grey long hair brushed the back of his hand. Even through the screen, Roland could imagine the sensation, like coarse rope. Their gazes fell to the ground together.

Kriesmeier used his scythe to nudge away half an arm resting on the staff, exposing it to the air. If this could even be called a staff. It looked like a child’s toy, adorned with colorful stars made of sequins. Most importantly, it was broken.

Roland slowly walked forward, picked up the ‘staff’ from the ground, and tried to restore it. But the crease in the middle was too deep; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t return it to its original state. The staff was brought by those people to stabilize Roland’s emotions. Treating the symptoms with the right medicine was what this referred to.

At the same time, there was also a letter for a noble little girl, so she could write to her relatives, though the letters never received a reply; and candy, toy swords, and various snacks for other children. Everyone was very satisfied at the time. Now this staff was trampled and stuck in the dust.

“It’s already broken,” little Roland on the screen mumbled, “Even if it wasn’t broken, it wouldn’t do much good.” Otherwise, he would have been able to stop everything that happened back then. A wizard’s staff is more important than his life.

However, when Kriesmeier snatched the staff from Roland’s hand, the future renowned Archmage did not resist. The Demon King examined the staff as if it were a half-finished product. The shimmering sequins stuck to his slender, cold fingers, and he slowly rotated it with his thumb. Then, even through the screen, Roland couldn’t clearly see his movement before the staff was returned to his hand.

“Use this,” Kriesmeier said. The Demon King truly was the kind of being who would thrust a weapon into a child’s hand and then take it for granted that the child should know how to use it.

Roland thought about it while examining the staff, and found that the broken part had been deeply embedded with a pitch-black feather, perfectly connecting the staff. It was flawless, except for being a little aesthetically jarring. The Demon King said to use it… use it for what?

Roland softly said, “I don’t understand.” Kriesmeier was more terrifying than all the monsters he had fantasized about in his childhood. He was an unconquerable enemy.

His voice sounded cold and arrogant: “Blazing Incantation, Ice Seal Magic, Poison Split Magic, High-Efficiency Slaughter Technique, Stars Descend, any one of them, use it to attack me.” These were all high-level, extremely destructive spells, certainly not ones that young Roland should know.

The Archmage in front of the screen felt a bit ineffable, because Kriesmeier even named magic that he would invent himself in the future. However, the character he was controlling still showed a blank expression.

“I won’t—” he said subconsciously, then reacted, “Wait, why do I have to attack you?”

“You are destined to kill me.” Kriesmeier gazed at Roland.

“You mentioned that prophecy,” little Roland murmured, “but prophecies don’t truly come true. The me now doesn’t know any of the spells you mentioned, and shouldn’t even be alive alone. And in the prophecy, I shouldn’t even be a mage.”

Kriesmeier did not comment on this. “Then use what you know,” he simply commanded.

The Demon King sounded like he was being unreasonable. The boy looked up at him in disbelief, and Roland on the other side of the screen showed the exact same expression. But Kriesmeier didn’t look like he was joking. He looked like “the weapon is in your hand, why aren’t you acting?” and walked straight towards little Roland. He grabbed Roland’s hand and pointed the tip of the staff at his own heart.

“Do it.” This statement was practically a threat.

Through the screen, Roland saw the dark, swirling gloom in Kriesmeier’s dark golden eyes. He just stared at him like that. His silver-grey long hair once again fell onto the boy’s wrist, and the wings behind him spread out, the dark feathers sharply piercing outwards at both ends. But to ensure the boy’s fingertip was in the perfect position, he even knelt down.

This scene was extremely absurd. In the dim altar, a terrifying atmosphere permeated, yet the summoned evil god did not satisfy the child’s final expectation. Instead, he knelt before the child, his black wings extending behind him like sharp blades, his dark golden eyes staring unblinkingly at him, arrogantly pulling the tip of the staff to an inch before his heart.

A stance of offering himself for slaughter, yet his expression was as if he wanted to devour the human in front of him alive.

“Why me?” Little Roland asked, looking around frantically, just to avoid looking at the demon in front of him. “I’m someone who shouldn’t have lived. I should have died with them. I don’t have any talent, I don’t have what a hero needs…”

On the other side of the screen, the Demon King’s posture was powerful and beautiful. The Archmage couldn’t tear his gaze away; his heartbeat became clearer and clearer, and his heart sank little by little. There was no reason for it. Kriesmeier shouldn’t be so fixated on him. Had the Demon King already remembered everything that happened in the illusion? But if so, such an action would seem too peaceful.

“You survived,” Kriesmeier said, a more fervent emotion in the Demon King’s dark golden pupils. “The only human alive, enough to display your talent. This is your outstanding quality, and the meaning of your survival.”

What kind of absurd abyssal demon survival-of-the-fittest theory was this? Even in this situation, Roland felt a little like grumbling internally. But… if it were his past self, hearing such words would indeed have brought comfort.

Just as Roland’s prayers never brought the Demon King’s arrival back then, the current Demon King also couldn’t get what he wanted from a trembling child. Regardless of whether his memories had truly loosened.

“I don’t have that talent.” Little Roland said with downcast eyes, “Your Majesty the Demon King, perhaps you, like others, are mistaken. They will soon no longer think that way.”

But he quickly widened his amber eyes in alarm as Kriesmeier leaned closer, close enough to see the fleeting color in his iris, and his silver-grey hair fell like snow onto his shoulders.

“Only you can kill me.” The Demon King said from above, the rough surface of his broken horn seemingly stained with dried blood. “You are my destined nemesis. At the same time, your life is also mine. I’m only giving you this one chance to kill me.” The staff was then threateningly pulled forward again. Little Roland’s pupils reflected the Demon King’s arrogant and overbearing gaze, a gaze burning like fire.

Kriesmeier said, “Don’t wait for me to act.”

… The more he listened, the more something felt wrong. Roland’s fingers rested on the keyboard, but he couldn’t decide how to press. Once spellcasting talent is learned, even if you’re a cat, you can use subtle magic; it doesn’t really differ based on the individual’s objective conditions. And this toy staff successfully acquired a tangible and effective source of magical power through the Demon King’s feather—don’t underestimate it, it’s certified high-level magical material.

The Archmage didn’t want to expose any flaws, although the situation already made him incomprehensible. The boy on the screen still closed his eyes and mumbled something. With his voice, the toy staff in his hand began to subtly glow with faint light.

When a beast is hungry, its eyes reflect a dark green light, just like Kriesmeier’s now. The light grew brighter and brighter.

Roland wanted to subtly cast a spell. Not at the Demon King, but at the illusion that trapped both of them. His little movement just now had helped him find the key to breaking the situation; now it was time to shatter the entire illusion. Once they left here, any memory would be diluted; this was the shackle he had given the Demon King.

However, the light began to surge uncontrollably. He tried to stop it, his fingers dancing on the keyboard. This was definitely not a power that little Roland on the screen could control. Yet, power continuously flowed out, rushing towards Kriesmeier, too close to the Demon King’s unguarded heart.

The second before the boy’s amber eyes were swallowed by the light, he released his hand, and the staff fell to the ground. And Kriesmeier grabbed his wrist.

“I understand dreams better than you,” the Demon King said, “Thanks to your ‘gifts’ all these years. You’ve walked into your own trap in my dream, Roland Xavier.”

From what moment did those mad, dark memories begin to break free from their shackles? From when he grabbed little Roland’s hand and thrust it towards his heart, or when he unequivocally declared Roland his lifelong nemesis? No, it was even earlier. Dreams were the Archmage’s overlooked key; he was not in an illusion created by magic just now, but in the dream of the Demon King Kriesmeier.

Here, Kriesmeier’s memories melted away like ice, just like the wedding he attended in his dream.

“Dreamcatcher.” This was a peculiar spice, one that even Roland had only heard of. The Demon King’s city had all sorts of wonders, and he hadn’t had a chance to thoroughly research it after moving in, but now he had guessed what the smell that made the black cat sneeze truly was. It had probably been caught in the Demon King’s “dream.”

And his seemingly clever little action just now had been fully observed by the master of the dream.

“I never understood.” When Kriesmeier’s voice sounded, the surrounding cave scene rippled as if scorched by fire. Scarlet flowers swayed, growing out of eerie skeletons and cold rocks.

“Why would a mere human dare to guess my tastes, understand my preferences, why could this human understand me to such an extent, yet I couldn’t even remember your name? The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. Until now, I remember, it was always you who deceived me.”

The young and frightened child disappeared from the screen. But the Archmage did not see the next character he was to control on the screen, no black cat, no human form of Roland. The game system wouldn’t allow such a situation, but they weren’t on the Mirar Continent; they were in the Demon King’s dream.

Kriesmeier stretched out his hand, and a bone scythe materialized in his grasp. His dark golden pupils stared at the other side of the screen.

“Am I looking at you?” the Demon King asked, the flames in his eyes seemingly about to burn through the screen. “Tell me, are you looking at me?”

“I am,” Roland could only say. After committing the crime of personally deceiving his beloved, he had already imagined when and where he would meet Kriesmeier next. But their meeting was much earlier than he had imagined. And now, facing a Demon King who remembered everything, was also much earlier than he had imagined.

“Very good,” the Demon King slowly said, his scythe heavily scraping the ground. “Roland Xavier.”

“You are my enemy, a complete deceiver, a revered deceased saint.”

Roland, on the other side of the screen, received his judgment. He reached out to touch his lover’s appearance, feeling his heart heavy, yet unusually relieved. At least in this instant, the Archmage was simply willing to accept all the accusations he deserved. He said hoarsely, “And what else?”

“And what else?” Kriesmeier looked around indifferently. At some point, the surrounding scenery began to churn and distort. On the cold and bloody canvas, scarlet flowers bloomed everywhere. These flowers swayed in the illusion, instantly submerging their ankles.

“You are the only lover worthy of me,” the Demon King raised his dark golden eyes.

Roland felt a little dazed. How long had it been since he had seen such a pair of eyes? The possessiveness within them was so intense it couldn’t be diluted, as if the entire golden eye could only reflect him, a mere human. Kriesmeier reached out, as if to pierce through time and space, to directly touch Roland on the other side.

“Be careful not to fall into my hands,” the Demon King said.

Roland blinked hard, still feeling his heart pounding like a drum. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something else.

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Kriesmeier looked at the void in front of him, his tone cold. He reached out and touched the section of rib on the scythe, a surge of impulse to destroy it welling up in his heart, his fingernail lightly tracing the smooth, pristine bone.

“I want to know, in your memory, when did I do this?”

“Just now,” Kriesmeier looked at Roland with a strange gaze. “You sealed my love and hatred within my reach, as if you had just committed the crime a second ago. Yes, for the past few decades, I haven’t truly remembered for a single second.”

“That’s good,” Roland said flatly.

Kriesmeier couldn’t see the human’s expression, so he couldn’t discern the human’s emotions. But this emotionless sentence deepened the churning black rage in his heart. He was almost devoured by his own hatred. Was this the deep-seated flaw of the abyssal demons? They truly shouldn’t come into contact with the word “love.”

“That’s all?” Kriesmeier’s voice was almost distorted with the taste of fresh blood. “That’s all you want to tell me. If I couldn’t kill you right now, you would definitely be reduced to dust and ashes. I said I wanted your rib, and you gave me your rib, but what about your life? You selfishly live, bearing all of this. Don’t you have anything else to say to me, you vile deceiver?”

How could he not? Roland thought. He wanted to reassure Kriesmeier, at least that he was actively preparing to return, and would be back soon; everything was going well, the Demon King wouldn’t have to wait and would regain him, as if he had never lost him. He wanted to say that he still loved Kriesmeier, and as long as his heart beat, he probably would continue to love him.

He had so many things to say. He closed his eyes and said, “I miss you so much, Kris.”

The burning flame of anger in the Demon King’s eyes intensified by a whole magnitude. His fingernail scraped against the new bone above, the bone that once rested in someone’s warm chest. He thought through gritted teeth, who allowed it to unilaterally become a part of the ‘Demon Eye,’ a part of himself?

“I will destroy it,” Kriesmeier threatened, his fingernail scratching out a rough, sharp sound.

“That was a gift in the first place,” Roland didn’t know how he kept speaking, but he truly spoke without a pause, “Do with it as you please. Kris, what’s happening now wasn’t in my plan, but only you can shatter my plan. You are that good. Because I feel so much pain, I have to believe every moment that what I’m doing is right. But after seeing you, I feel it’s okay to admit it, I didn’t expect I’d miss you this much. But I truly, truly want to touch you.”

Kriesmeier stared at the void in front of him through gritted teeth.

“Don’t pretend to be pitiful.” The Demon King’s voice was cold, but the flame in his eyes flickered for a moment.

Roland wasn’t conscious of what he was saying. But he indeed became more and more outrageous.

“Kris,” he said abruptly, “you can kill me. It’s fine if I end my own life now, but I want to kiss you first. I missed you. Sometimes during this time, I also felt hatred, and thus I could increasingly understand your desire. But I want to kiss you first.”

How could this human not stop talking about kissing? Kriesmeier thought, yet felt the scythe in his hand begin to burn. Demons have cold blood and cold weapons; it must be that human who did something to him.

“Stop talking.” The overbearing Demon King miserably commanded. His gaze shifted from the void in front of him to the long, ankle-high scarlet flowers.

The Demon King had still lied to the Archmage. In reality, he couldn’t control his own dreams, so he didn’t know how these creations blossomed luxuriantly from the depths of his subconscious. It was as if when he thought of hatred, he would think of this beautiful sea of flowers, and a series of fragrant and damp kisses that came with a dagger pressed to his heart.