TBR CH177

At that time, none of them took the prophecy seriously.

They were all too arrogant, weren’t they? Demon King Kriesmeier believed he could keep the one he loved and had no interest in tearing the world apart with his scythe one day; Archmage Roland, on the other hand, believed that besides himself, no other being on the continent could be called the Demon King’s match. If he became the protagonist of the prophecy, there would be nothing to worry about.

Their pride and passion matched each other so perfectly that sometimes, the realization would strike them with a hint of trepidation.

Then came the complete disappearance of Archmage Roland Xavier of the Star Tower.

Before that, they had spent a rather pleasant evening.

First, the silver platter on the dinner table held perfectly seared and tender demon beast meat. Archmage Roland meticulously cut a piece and put it into his mouth. The rich juices filled his tongue, making his amber eyes instantly brighten. It was basically his first time tasting something universally delicious in the Demon King’s palace.

And the Demon King across from him still, as usual, tore apart a whole piece of meat directly with his sharp teeth, without even blinking.

Kriesmeier was the type of Abyss demon who completely disregarded culinary pleasures and retained considerable carnivorous habits. Most of the time, this would make mealtime fraught with bloody, terrifying implications. Even so, he performed it with a strange elegance, a kind of highly coordinated violent aesthetic.

“Do you like it?” Kriesmeier asked the human.

“I’d say the taste is quite good,”

Roland blinked. “But I didn’t know your palace was equipped with such a good chef before, and I can’t understand how, with such a chef, you could tolerate eating uncooked meat all this time.”

It wasn’t during the meal, but rather as he watched Roland swallow the small, sauce-dipped pieces of meat, that a hint of satiety finally appeared in Kriesmeier’s dark golden eyes. The Demon King shook his head and explained:

“Earlier, I made a trip to the territory under the Gluttony Lord’s jurisdiction.”

Roland understood: “There should indeed be many good chefs there.”

“I demanded that the Gluttony Lord personally provide us with a dinner suitable for human palates,”

Kriesmeier said at the same time, completely disregarding how much his words sounded like a tyrant. “Because it was your wish, I wanted it to be the best, so having him come over was most fitting. He’s still in the palace’s front hall; if you find any problem with the dishes—”

Roland could basically imagine the embarrassed mood of the Demon Duke, the Gluttony Lord, who ruled one-seventh of the Abyss, as he was forced by absolute force to prepare dinner for the monarch’s lover, and his despair when faced with the palace’s meager kitchenware and seasonings. Moreover, he would have to tremblingly await Demon King Kriesmeier’s feedback on his efforts.

“No problem,”

He decisively shook his head. “It’s excellent.”

Kriesmeier stared at him, as if waiting for him to continue.

Roland’s amber pupils couldn’t help but reveal a hint of a smile. He dropped the silver dining knife—the Demon King had long tolerated him using a knife in his presence—in any case, he leaned forward, across the pristine white tablecloth and the sauce-only plate, past the hard candles and impatiens he had placed on the table, and lightly and quickly embraced the Demon King by the neck, even stroking his silver-gray long hair.

The human’s breath was instantly too close, almost triggering the physiological instinct to resist danger.

“And also, I’m very happy,”

The overly presumptuous human whispered softly, “Kries, you truly care about what I’ve said. If they were humans who loved each other, they would try every possible way to give the other person what they wanted most. As for Abyss demons, I haven’t heard of similar situations before this. This isn’t to say that humans are better than Abyss demons; on the contrary, in many aspects, humans have no redeeming qualities. But, at least when it comes to the word ‘love’…”

He murmured, at the same time kissing the Demon King’s slightly pale lips.

Kriesmeier quickly responded with double the candor. His dark golden pupils were very close, magnifying the prey before him. Even the faint tremor of eyelids and the dark shadows of nostrils were fully taken in. When he kissed, he was basically greedy and unrestrained.

No human had previously been bold enough to seek excitement by falling in love with an Abyss demon.

So Roland was a pioneer in this field, and at the same time, he had to face the Demon King’s chilling possessiveness, as if he wanted to devour his lover bit by bit, starting with their intertwined lips and teeth. Basically, it took him a long time to make Kriesmeier understand that tearing apart and devouring someone’s soul wasn’t necessary to keep them by his side forever.

Of course, this wasn’t Kriesmeier’s fault.

The emotional system of Abyss demons could practically be called an inverted wasteland, and this was not merely a superficial theory, but a truth verified by countless tests. Kriesmeier’s father, the former Demon King Eris, deeply loved his children through their sole bloodline connection, and so set up a barrier that forced them to slaughter each other.

And Kriesmeier’s brothers and sisters, too, harboring feelings for each other, ruthlessly killed each other.

The final victor was Kriesmeier; he was the former Demon King’s most perfect successor, an absolute killing machine, who then personally killed his father Eris, devoured all that power, and finally successfully tore open the Abyss that had confined the demon race for thousands of years.

Roland soothingly ran his fingertips through Kriesmeier’s long hair. The cool silver hair didn’t feel so soft, but rather had a somewhat coarse texture, yet it felt quite good.

He followed the posture and found Kriesmeier’s broken horn, a mark left by those battles, and also the most vulnerable spot on the Demon King—vulnerable not meaning a weakness; a demon’s weakness was always the heart, but this area was unusually sensitive. He caressed the uneven, healed fracture, which successfully made the Demon King raise his dark golden eyes and look at him with displeasure.

Very timely.

Giving in completely to kissing was very dangerous. Roland already felt Kriesmeier’s sharp canines beginning to silently grind. This was an instinctive urge of the Abyss demon race. Several times, the Demon King even slowly licked away the blood he had bitten from Roland’s lips. The Archmage once suspected whether the Demon King was interested in an extra meal due to hunger, but later found that Kriesmeier was just particularly interested in his blood.

Well, given that just a few months ago they were seriously trying to cut off each other’s heads—

Roland thought, anyway, he had plenty of time, enough to teach Kriesmeier how to properly treat a human he loved. To teach him that even without killing him, he wouldn’t leave.

The human then compensated for touching the violently arrogant Demon King’s most sensitive broken horn.

Of course, at this point, they moved their position and arrived at the Demon Palace’s bedchamber.

The Demon King’s silver-gray long hair was gathered by the person behind him, then pulled back somewhat roughly. Kriesmeier grunted, forced to tilt his head slightly. Those dark golden eyes flashed with a momentary pain and a deeper desire. His neck, connected to his shoulder blades, tensed into an uncertain curve, trembling slightly against the Demon King’s will.

Roland leaned down, his amber eyes falling on his exposed back, then down to his easily accessible waist.

“Kries,” he joyfully announced, “You like this.”

This night was no worse than any of their other nights. On the contrary, there were no ominous omens, no disturbing scents to be sniffed. Outside the Demon King’s palace was a rare sea of flowers in the Abyss, an untainted land preserved by some miracle the moment Kriesmeier tore open the Abyss.

At this moment, the delicate fragrance of violets and impatiens also drifted through the window with the night breeze and moonlight.

None of them remembered that the Gluttony Lord was still waiting in the front hall.

The Gluttony Lord angrily grilled himself a large demon beast steak. In the grand shadows of the palace, he carried the plate out, then suddenly heard a faint movement carried by the night wind, stumbling and almost dropping what was in his hand.

Since he didn’t want to be torn apart by their violent monarch in a short time, he quickly left the palace and prayed that he would not have to return.

The unfortunate lord would, of course, not realize that this was the last day of good times.

The next morning, when Kriesmeier woke up, he was alone. Not only that, but all traces of Roland’s existence in the Demon King’s palace had completely vanished.

No signs of danger, no single word of explanation.

And then, an incredibly long and painful wait, the despair of betrayal, and deep hatred. Demon King Kriesmeier felt such clear, such heavy hatred for the first time. This hatred was heavier than any he had ever experienced, probably because it had once been mixed with fragments called love.

Challengers prophesied to “kill the Demon King” began to appear on the Mirar Continent.

Archmage Roland’s Observations on the Demon King circulated to every corner of the Mirar Continent.

The Mage Tower regarded him as a great enemy. The Western Church issued countless wanted posters and spread rumors that Roland had been killed by the Demon King.

Kriesmeier cut his previously injured broken horn. Blood flowed stickily down his fingers. Within the already drawn magic circle, he let his power drain. Intense love and hatred allowed the blood of the Abyss demon race to activate forbidden magic. That magic was supposed to verify the life or death of the person to whom he was bound, and to maintain an unbreakable link, a forbidden art that could only be broken by the other party’s death.

Roland was still alive.

But even the forbidden magic could not tell Kriesmeier his location.

No one knew what feelings the Demon King faced such a result with; they only knew that after that, the name “Roland” became forbidden in the Demon King’s Castle, only to be whispered silently.

And Demon King Kriesmeier became even more perverse and violent than before. Although some rumored his power had weakened, after several challenges from already deceased lords, no one dared to speak lightly of it again.

Many years passed after that.

Until today, an amber-eyed black cat arrived in the Demon King’s Castle.

The curve of Kriesmeier’s jaw remained taut.

Roland told him a story—a crazy, absurd secret, more difficult to accept than the most unspeakable secrets on the Mirar Continent. But as the story entered his ears, accompanied by a gentle, bright starlight, and by a black cat rubbing against him in his arms, still intending to take advantage, it became less difficult.

“Humans are the species most skilled at lying.”

Kriesmeier was silent for a while, then stiffly delivered his post-listening remarks.

“Actually, no,”

The black cat lightly rubbed against the Demon King who had just made a discriminatory remark, symbolically correcting him,

“According to statistical data, goblins have the highest frequency of lying among all magical creatures, even though they appear to be the most honest and reliable. Moreover, judging an individual’s behavior based on racial characteristics is a bit too absolute. Although I understand, you actually don’t care about humans at all; you’re just hesitating whether you should trust me.”

Kriesmeier’s voice was grim when he spoke a short while later:

“Pointing all this out in front of me won’t make you seem particularly smart.”

“I just wanted to set the stage,”

Roland’s voice sounded a little tight. The Demon King placed his fingers on the black cat’s abdomen; the warm, fluffy sensation and the fragile tremor of the heart within were transmitted, and the Archmage’s voice also came from it, but it was not quite the same.

He then moved his hand upwards, and Kriesmeier’s carnivorous intuition easily led him to the black cat’s windpipe. The windpipe did not vibrate.

It wasn’t the black cat meowing.

But the voice was undoubtedly coming from this black cat.

“Kriesmeier, I’ve thought about those foolish words, like telling you now that you don’t have to believe me, or that even if you want to kill me, that’s fine—those kinds of words are meaningless. Because what appears before you at this moment is not the real me, nor is it a real cat. You are not before me; for me, it is still a very distant place.”

Roland paused for a moment.

“When I first learned teleportation magic, I thought there was no place in this world I couldn’t reach; after that, I became the Archmage of the Star Tower, and I believed there was nothing I couldn’t do. But I was terribly wrong. I’m very sorry, the only thing I could think of was that I must, must formally apologize to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t keep my promise.”

Kriesmeier didn’t speak.

Roland slowly closed his eyes. The screen was exceptionally dazzling, but he had just been staring at it until he could no longer bear it. “This thought is selfish, but I still hope you can believe me. Believe me—I will use every means to return to your side.”

When he opened his eyes again, the Demon King of the Abyss still sat perched on his cold, bone throne. Kriesmeier’s dark golden pupils stared motionlessly at the black cat, while Roland, separated by the screen, gazed at the Demon King’s profile illuminated by one hundred and one silver candles.

The candlelight was cold. Kriesmeier did not summon his overwhelming wings again, appearing solitary and gloomy.

Roland’s thoughts inevitably slid deeper.

He briefly averted his gaze from the screen, raising his eyes to look at the sunlight streaming in through the room’s window. Outside was the clamor of the modern world; he heard the honking of vehicles, the vibrant noise of crowds—all within his reach. But the darkness on the screen before him was too heavy, pulling his heart downward.

His heart. Kriesmeier activated forbidden power, a power that could even transcend barriers between worlds, sensing life still meticulously beating between his ribs.

And his Kriesmeier had waited for him too long.

Roland could no longer pretend to be lighthearted. He wanted to see Kriesmeier, desperately hoping to tell him everything. The moment all of this came true, the Demon King’s bloody separation finally appeared before the Archmage’s eyes.

Abyss demons wouldn’t have such a deep obsession with one person; it was incomprehensible to them.

He shouldn’t have taught Kriesmeier love.

He shouldn’t have suffered because of it.

Clever as Archmage Roland was, what he failed to realize was that when he pulled the Demon King from the Abyss off his throne and kissed him like a lover, he, who always believed himself to be infallible, had already fallen hopelessly deep. Kriesmeier held the black cat, noticing that the cat seemed listless and slowly quieted down, shrinking into a ball in his arms, its amber eyes as bright as two stars, though still far from Roland’s own eyes.

The Archmage in the other world also quietly lowered his head, unaware that his hands had stiffened, not having typed on the keyboard for a long time, maintaining the black cat’s lively responses to Kriesmeier as before.

“I still can’t find you,”

Kriesmeier raised his dark golden pupils and finally spoke. “Can I? Even though I’ve searched every corner of this world. Now is when I’m closest to you, but you’re not actually by my side. When I look at the black cat, I’m not actually looking at you.”

Roland said softly: “Perhaps I shouldn’t have…”

A change in atmosphere often requires only a brief catalyst, and then everything becomes utterly different from before. The next second, a terrifying roar suddenly resounded in the air. This time, it seemed to portend that something ominous was about to arrive unexpectedly. When Roland raised his eyes, those amber eyes were illuminated by the entire screen, bathed in a dangerous scarlet warning.

Kriesmeier actually put down the black cat and stepped down from the throne.

When the Demon King reached out, the scythe “Demon Eye” suddenly appeared in his hand. This black, sharp weapon, imbued with the aura of death, cut a taut arc through the void—that was the Demon King’s most standard killing posture.

The only problem was—there was nothing in front of Kriesmeier.

Roland instinctively reached out, wanting to manipulate the black cat to come before Kriesmeier, completely disregarding that this was practically a standard posture for offering oneself to slaughter. Kriesmeier’s voice, however, came coldly:

“Don’t move that black cat.”

In Abyss, players control characters from a third-person perspective. Although in most cases, an NPC looking at the black cat was equivalent to looking at the player, due to the characteristics of different characters and the player’s active control over the camera angle, the situation often varied greatly.

Even if an NPC’s gaze, in certain specific circumstances, made the player feel it had the power to penetrate the screen, that was just certain preset angles at work.

Kriesmeier looked at the void before him.

Behind him, the black cat was carefully lifted from him and placed on the bone throne. As the ruler of the Abyss demons, he didn’t mind a fluffy black cat with a wagging tail occupying his spot. That was, of course, because the black cat was not just a fragile animal, but also a symbol, a vessel.

But merely this was still not enough.

Roland recounted everything that had happened. Although it was an absurd, bizarre, and incredible story, still—

The black-haired youth, who had been sitting somewhat glumly at the computer desk, now incredibly raised his eyes.

Roland couldn’t help but place his hand on the keyboard. His view was still stuck at the angle he had set earlier. He had to exert great self-control not to immediately adjust himself to face Kriesmeier directly. At this moment, the direction the Demon King was facing was completely wrong.

Just then, he heard Kriesmeier say to him:

“Tell me where you are.”

The Demon King paused, then said succinctly: “Left or right?”

“Left…” Roland said almost instinctively.

Then his pupils contracted slightly, as if he understood what Kriesmeier intended to do.

The first adjustment was clearly just a rough attempt. Now Kriesmeier was turned slightly more towards him.

Not the character in the game, but him outside the screen.

Kriesmeier raised his eyes, searching aimlessly in the void. His surroundings were empty, nothing there, but he stubbornly sought a correct angle. Even if he found the correct angle, he still wouldn’t see the person he wanted to see.

If it was a little difficult at first, the subsequent adjustments went much more smoothly.

Roland could hardly breathe as he watched all this. The lover on the screen finally stood still. They both knew this was the final adjustment. At this moment, Kriesmeier raised his eyes in the game world. What he faced directly was a dark corner of the palace, the smooth surface of the marble giving an inorganic, cold impression. Anyone would think there was nothing in the direction he was looking.

Kriesmeier’s gaze had nowhere to rest.

But he still looked in that direction.

And Roland gently closed his eyes. His tongue felt as if it had been stung, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. On the screen before him, Kriesmeier’s gaze accurately, without deviation, passed through the screen and landed on himself. No need for the black cat, no need for a so-called character, no need to put on another layer of falsehood between worlds.

Now, the distance between him and Kriesmeier was only the distance between two worlds.

This did not seem like an occasion to use “only” to express it.

The black cat was left behind, but Kriesmeier, being an Abyss demon, possessed hearing more acute than any other race. He heard the Archmage’s soft intake of breath, and thus knew he had arrived at the correct position. Behind Kriesmeier, enormous dark wings rose overwhelmingly, their sharp blades, across a screen, slowly aimed at him.

“Kries,”

Roland suddenly laughed from the heart. “That’s the right direction.”

Kriesmeier paused for two seconds. In his dark golden eyes, his beast-like pupils were now tightly fixed on the blank space before him, reflecting nothing. But Roland finally found his place on the screen. Sunlight streamed into the room, and the computer screen was slightly reflective, vaguely mirroring his figure in the very center of the Demon King’s pupils.

“I will find you,”

Kriesmeier, in the posture of hunting prey, gripped the scythe in his hand. “Just like this. After I find you, I might kill you, take the ribs above your heart, and forever leave your head on the Demon King’s throne. Even if you regret it, Mage, I will definitely—”

“You’ve gone soft, Kriesmeier,”

Roland’s expression had never been so gentle. He reached out and touched the Demon King’s eyes on the screen. “You shouldn’t say ‘might’.”

Because of his words, Kriesmeier stopped conceiving a hundred ways for the Archmage to die.

The Demon King who descended from the Abyss now displayed an arrogant and disdainful smile, like the poster on the internet cafe wall, like the game’s login screen where he reflected the player’s enemy-meeting eyes with the back of his scythe.

At this moment, the silver-haired Demon King held the scythe across his chest. The dark scythe, at certain angles, showed old bloodstains, like a blood-red crescent moon slowly rising behind the Demon King. In this flash of lightning, an ancient chanted ballad suddenly appeared in Roland’s mind:

“—The needle of fate reverses under the crescent moon; the cursed Demon King will tear the Mirar Continent with his scythe.”

Kriesmeier lowered his eyes. “Demon Eye” erupted in a dazzling black light, so heavy yet so light as it cut through the air, astonishing one with its cold beauty imbued with the meaning of death, even making one forget to flee. It was an attack capable of making the player in front of the screen believe it to be real, as if suddenly dragged into the world of the game—

“I will kill you,”

As the sharp black edge pierced the screen, Roland heard Kriesmeier say:

“But before I personally find you, be it two worlds, lies, the system, the Child of Fortune, even the Heavenly Dao—it doesn’t matter. You are my target; you can only belong to me. These obstacles between me and you…”

“I swear one day I will tear them all apart.”

It was a terrifying light. Even after Kriesmeier retracted his scythe, that black light still lingered in Roland’s vision. The young Archmage reached out to touch the screen. The screen was smooth, with no signs of being torn. This was, of course, not so easy. But Kriesmeier might truly possess such power, and he had sworn such an oath to him.

It took Roland a while to realize he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning up.

This caused Kriesmeier to hear only suppressed, intermittent laughter.

Roland seemed genuinely happy because of such words, at least Kriesmeier had resolved the earlier suppression as well. At this moment, the young man barely managed not to laugh too much. A faint madness trembled in his throat. He lowered his voice, praising and marveling, and that voice was faithfully transmitted to the Demon King’s ears in the other world.

“My goodness,” Roland said, “Kriesmeier, I have never seen beauty like yours.”