TBR CH183

The night’s rain curtain was as viscous as oil.

Roland instinctively rushed to the internet cafe entrance. Through the heavy sound of rain, he saw a flash of white car lights at a distant street corner, a beam quickly piercing a corner of the darkness before vanishing from his sight.

He slowly took a breath, feeling the cold, damp air of the rainy day filling his hair and throat.

In such a night, catching a taxi in the rain was nearly impossible.

…The person in the car wasn’t necessarily the one he was looking for; in fact, there was no concrete evidence. Yet, a strange and unpleasant intuition nagged at Roland, a premonition that he had just, in the last second, brushed past an important clue.

The spot where Roland stood had been occupied by another person just minutes ago.

“Uncle Shan,” the young man’s expression momentarily darkened, “was there a customer who wanted to come in just now? Do you remember what he looked like?”

“Oh,” Shan Sheng, holding the recently hung-up phone, scratched his head, “What did he look like?—I was busy talking to my boy, so I don’t remember very clearly. Just a student from nearby, not very tall, carrying a black backpack. He just took a taxi. Xiao Luo, why are you asking?”

“I felt his voice sounded a bit familiar. Maybe I knew him before I lost my memory.”

The young man’s black hair was damp, and he gazed steadily outwards, a hint of loneliness in his eyes: “Sorry, just saying that without any basis. I just want to find my past too much. Especially tonight… I really want to go home.”

Shan Sheng, a middle-aged man, instantly softened.

Roland had also been at his shop for half a month. The young man still knew nothing about his past, and tonight, encountering such a major power outage, he could only watch Shan Sheng contact his son, with no one to care for him. Thinking of this, the internet cafe owner sighed silently and tried hard to help him recall:

“That person seemed to be in a hurry. I could tell he was a student, not just because he wasn’t old, but also because he walked outside in the rain and wasn’t very wet, so he probably hadn’t walked far. Our shop isn’t near a residential area; it’s quite close to both University A and the vocational school.”

Student—

The Child of Fortune’s login and logout times seemed erratic, but upon careful study, several distinct time nodes could be identified. Upon realizing this, the Archmage had already formed a guess about his identity in the real world. Roland’s jawline was tight, his amber eyes sparkling.

“Also,” Shan Bin recalled, “I remember now. He initially asked, ‘Can I still log into the game here?’ He must have wanted to log in. Ah, but that probably won’t be of much use to you…”

“Very useful.”

Roland almost immediately interjected, “It’s true. Thank you very much.”

He heard his heartbeat again; it was like distant thunder in the silent night, making him feel as if his heart was also far away at that moment. He suppressed his heartbeat and finally asked:

“By the way, Uncle Shan, I have one last question: how long would it take to get from here by taxi to the East District of Lichiang City, the area with power?”

Kriesmeier looked past the orderly ranks of elven knights at the swaying fruit on the Elven Mother Tree.

The Demon King floated in mid-air, his dark wings spreading like night, merging with the thick darkness. He looked full of hostility, his golden eyes expressing arrogance and provocation. He extended his pale knuckles and declared grimly:

“Do you intend to break your oath? Then I shall have to take it myself.”

“Demon King,”

The Elven Queen’s voice was also hoarse. She pulled out the hairpin from her head, and her elegant long hair cascaded down neatly. She was like a wolf guarding her pack’s treasure.

In the solemn atmosphere, the Queen slowly questioned:

“We have no intention of troubling you, and the Archmage himself vouched for you. What exactly happened between you and Saint Roland? The Mother Tree has not sensed the aura of slaughter. I will not allow our tribe’s enemy to take our treasure. But if he left without a word, the Archmage had instructed that the oath still applies, and there’s no need for you to insist…”

The intense demonic aura caused all living beings present to feel a strong sense of suffocation, as if sharp blades were whizzing past their most fragile and tender pupils. The undisguised hostility finally ignited the battlefield.

Kriesmeier’s mood seemed ten times worse.

“Shut up.”

The Demon King’s voice was hoarse, like the silver-gray hair on his shoulders. His dark golden pupils contracted into bestial vertical slits, looking at a point in the air, as if to ignite it:

“Do you think invoking his name can stop me—do you think I would allow him to leave without a word? Dare to insult the Lord of the Abyss, and you shall face endless retaliation. Roland Xavier is my eternal enemy. I killed him, ate him, crushed his bones, and I would do it again countless times without regret. I never needed his pity.”

Kriesmeier’s voice did not cease; he seemed to want to continue filling this scene with images of slaughter.

But a disturbance from the distant Mother Tree stopped him.

Even though Kriesmeier’s wings were vast and overshadowed everything, within the natural glow suddenly emanating from the Elven Mother Tree, the Demon King’s hovering figure was obscured beneath its enormous canopy. Its sprawling roots, buried in the dark, sweet earth, suddenly rustled from all directions, like growth itself. The Mother Tree instantly transformed into a living giant, shaking its crown.

“Elf fruit—”

Countless tongues murmured the words.

At this moment, the fruit had almost absorbed enough power, gently swaying in the moonlight. The emerald energy almost condensed into countless tangible points of light, continuously gathering a tide of natural power at its very center. That fruit, the focus of everyone’s gaze, hung unconsciously from the branch.

“Stop him.”

The Queen’s voice was short and sharp. A slender elf extended her arm, faint scales shimmering on the back of her hand.

Kriesmeier didn’t even glance at her. There was nothing else in the Demon King’s eyes; this emerald fruit left a faint green glow in his pupils, like a hungry beast.

He stepped into the air, moving forward without hesitation. All attacks were torn apart the moment they were about to touch the Demon King. As the Demon King’s mood was not good, every arrow shot at him turned into little more than dust upon falling.

In an instant, all beings present despaired at this terrifying, almost insurmountable power.

“Oh my goodness—”

An elf murmured, “Look at his broken horn… Was he really injured? This is a power that this world cannot bear.”

Kriesmeier’s will was firm; he moved forward until his hands were almost touching the fruit. The Elven Mother Tree sensed the power of the Abyss demons, a terrifying and instinctively abhorrent evil force. Even the Mother Tree’s leaves couldn’t help but tremble. The Demon King’s eyes were once again solely occupied by one thing, this fruit—a promise from Roland.

The elf fruit swayed even more violently.

In such a crucial situation, the black cat was still absent.

The Demon King extended his pale knuckles; no power could stop him from plucking this fruit destined to be his. According to Roland’s plan, this fruit would heal the Demon King’s old scars, restoring his past strength.

But for Kriesmeier, this fruit held a far different meaning.

Just a few millimeters away—Kriesmeier suddenly turned his head. Emerald green runes appeared on his wrist, like thousands of intertwined threads, forcefully pulling him away from the fruit. The Elven Queen frowned, but her power surged towards the Demon King, the continuous natural energy from the Queen contending with the Demon King’s power.

“Since you killed the elves’ benefactor,”

The Queen solemnly declared, “even if it means giving my all, I will stop you from leaving here with the fruit.”

Kriesmeier’s objective was clear. He had the blood of slaughter flowing through him, but no interest in killing the weak. Therefore, all previous enemies were merely part of his environment, not worth his attention. The fruit was about to fall, but it faced one last obstruction.

Brutality surged to his fingertips. The Demon King’s dark golden eyes gazed coldly, and the scythe “Demon Eye” appeared at his command.

Even the Queen of the elves could not stop the Mirar Continent’s now unrivaled Demon King.

—However, the anomaly occurred in the next second.

At the very moment Kriesmeier confronted the Elven Queen, the branch bearing the emerald fruit finally buckled under the weight and lightened. Then, the glowing fruit lightly fell from mid-air.

If the fruit hit the ground, its power would return to nature.

At the most critical moment, Kriesmeier encountered trouble. In an instant, an extremely terrifying power erupted from the Demon King, savagely and recklessly tearing through all restraints. The Elven Queen seemed to understand what this meant; the accumulated natural spiritual energy of the elves basically surged to its peak in an instant, desperately holding onto the Demon King’s wrist.

Even if this was merely a dilemma that Kriesmeier could resolve with a few swings of his scythe.

But the time it took for the fruit to fall was so short, and it was about to hit the brown earth.

Just a little bit—just a little bit more.

Everyone involuntarily held their breath, watching with awe as the elven fruit slowly fell through the air, emitting a glowing brilliance that dyed the surrounding air like a lake. The Demon King was fast, the Elven Queen was overwhelmed, her wrist drooping weakly, and Kriesmeier showed no intention of pressing his advantage, only swiftly rushing towards the fruit.

The Demon King was one step too slow.

But before the elves could feel relieved, they saw the fruit being steadily caught just a second before it hit the ground.

Some real, more fundamental methods, even methods Roland himself was trying to finally find. This was good. But for some reason, Roland felt his heart sink heavily, feeling a cold palpitation.

Everyone was dumbfounded, gazing at the Elf Forest’s new uninvited guest. They had never seen the person who appeared here at this moment, or rather, they simply couldn’t fathom how such a unique existence could have suddenly appeared.

Only Princess Eve, who had been anxiously concerned behind the Queen, suddenly showed a strange expression.

And Kriesmeier, the Demon King, slowly turned around.

In front of him was a very familiar person. At this very moment, the elf fruit rested perfectly flat on her—her pampered pet giant python’s flat body. The purple-haired witch stood awkwardly in the center of the Elf Forest, moonlight illuminating the magic staff in her hand.

Hilda even looked like she didn’t believe she had successfully taken advantage of the situation.

“That… that,”

She stammered, then quickly came to her senses, realizing Kriesmeier was looking at her like a piece of meat on a chopping block. She immediately raised both hands and loudly added a layer of immunity for herself:

“I am Hilda, the Chief Witch of the Witch’s Tower. My mentor sent me here, although the plan has changed a bit. Uh, I don’t know where Saint Roland went. However, he instructed me on what to do in such a situation. I think I must interrupt you for a moment. Please allow me to announce my mentor’s arrangements.”

“—His will.”

Kriesmeier corrected her with a cold expression. Then he said coldly, “Unfortunately, I won’t comply.”

Hilda didn’t know where she pulled out a piece of parchment from; it truly looked like she was reading a will. She briefly and carefully glanced at the Demon King, and then cautiously at the Elf Queen, the ruler of this place, feeling very regretful to be there at that moment. She rubbed her nose, took the fruit from the python, and then had the python carry the parchment to the Elven Queen.

The Queen took the parchment with slender fingers and read it intently.

Hilda felt a prickling sensation on her back. With the fruit now in her hands, her scalp tingled because Kriesmeier’s dark golden eyes continuously rested on the elf fruit. This was like facing a… well, no metaphor could describe it, for there was probably no threat in the world of the same magnitude as the Lord of the Abyss at this proximity.

The witch blinked. Out of concern for her safety, she abruptly opened her hand.

“Mentor didn’t mention it before because it was an extremely unlikely event, and announcing it prematurely would only cause the Demon King to face other scrutiny. But since you—”

She said softly, looking at the Elven Queen. And the Queen’s expression gradually softened. Although she still looked at Kriesmeier with some apprehension, “After seeing the Archmage’s explanation and having no objections, I will follow the Archmage’s instructions and hand the fruit over to the Demon King.”

The Elven Queen nodded gently.

Instead, Kriesmeier shot a piercingly cold glance. The Demon King still stood alone in mid-air, his silver-gray hair gleaming with a metallic luster. His pure black cloak and dark feathers complemented each other perfectly. The Demon King declared in a low voice, almost as if to ensure the witch hadn’t missed his previous statement:

“He will die by my hand. I will do it countless times. My war with him is far from over. I will no longer be as I have been these past few days—it shames me. Do you still dare not to be my enemy?”

“And also,”

Hilda forced herself to ignore the dangerous feeling these words gave her, and finally bowed to the Elven Queen. “Next, I might still need to trouble you and the Princess to continue cooperating according to the original plan. As for His Majesty the Demon King, uh, His Majesty the Demon King…”

The purple-haired witch felt the irreversible consequences of what she was about to say, but having steeled herself, she stroked the giant python that had come closer for affection, carefully and cautiously repeating her mentor’s words, while her gaze involuntarily drifted downwards, resting on the chest of the all-powerful Demon King.

A pure white rose was pinned there.

Goodness, this truly looked like a full-blown funeral.

And Kriesmeier was attending as the…

“Mentor said that if he truly died, then what’s left on the parchment is indeed a will,”

Hilda closed her eyes, silently screaming internally. She would surely be killed by the Demon King. But on the surface, she spoke calmly and serenely,

“Including his body, all his honors, and all promises made to him by other races, witnessed by the Goddess and magic, all are logically transferred to his first-in-line heir of all his assets, which is you, His Majesty Kriesmeier, the Demon King from the Abyss. After all, you are, well, in my mentor’s words, his only ‘widow’.”

When the black cat reappeared in everyone’s sight, Kriesmeier was nowhere to be seen.

The Archmage naturally passed through countless gazes of “He’s really not dead.” Usually, the black cat was protected in the arms of the fiercely territorial Demon King, so others dared not observe him casually. But at this moment, the black cat walked along, wagging his tail, his amber pupils cautiously looking around, basically conquering the hearts of every elven passerby.

Roland subtly rejected all beings who wanted to get closer to the black cat.

The black cat on the screen was reflected in his eyes. He silently pressed a key, and the black cat picked up a piece of a wing that remained on the ground. The feather was firmly embedded in an arrow shaft, sharply cutting it almost in half.

—He was really sulking.

And he was very, very difficult to appease. Their problem could hardly be resolved in the black cat Roland’s state.

Kriesmeier had left—that was because the Demon King finally realized that simply keeping the black cat by his side was meaningless. Although this was stark reality, Roland did not want the cruel truth to be revealed so early. He sighed silently, suddenly wishing he could look up and see the black cat on the screen not walking alone, but held in the arms of a demon with large wings.

Digesting the elf fruit would take time.

Roland reassured himself that Kriesmeier needed some time alone.

However, the Archmage could not convince himself to stop the ominous imaginings in his heart. He had sharp intuition, sometimes perhaps even sharper. He asked Hilda about the Demon King’s reaction, imagining the white rose he last pinned to his chest. That was the one the black cat brought from outside the window that morning, when Roland smiled and asked the Demon King to guess the meaning of a white rose.

“Death.”

Kriesmeier said, then hesitated, guessing: “…Slaughter?”

The black cat licked his hand: “Most of the time, when giving flowers to others, such a meaning is not used.”

How did Kriesmeier answer him then? “Because white roses remind him of dead bones, those messy ribs exposed on the chest.” These thoughts temporarily bothered Roland, then scattered. He remembered Kriesmeier wearing that pristine white rose when he left.

—Where was he going?

He didn’t stay; the only reason was that he would find other ways to keep Roland.

Roland suddenly realized that after dealing with the matters in the Elf Forest, he had to find Kriesmeier immediately.