TBR CH201

Kriesmeier ignored the witch’s pleas.

His gaze never left the black cat. This was a tricky opponent. After he revealed its identity, the black cat began to struggle in denial.

It was as cunning as if it were oiled, not only scratching the Demon King twice, leaving a few strands of cat hair on his dark cloak, but the Demon King had no doubt that if he let go, the black cat would immediately slip away.

But he couldn’t use the scythe. Because the black cat seemed to die too easily.

To personally grasp an enemy’s throat with his fingers, for His Majesty the Demon King, the last time he had such an experience was when he, unarmed, strangled the lives of his blood relatives in the bottomless abyss, finally emerging victorious.

The blood of the Abyss demons was cold. His fingertips sank into the fluff, yet what spread was the warmth that belonged only to living things.

The black cat stopped struggling.

“Are you not considering the possibility that there’s still a misunderstanding between us?” It sighed, “For instance, I’m really just a cat. It’s not too late to believe it now. You should know, if I were truly the Archmage, I would have used my signature spells long ago.”

“No.” Kriesmeier was always concise.

“Alright,” the black cat mumbled, “I should have known. But before I give you an explanation you’ll be satisfied with, I need to first resolve the problem my apprentice is facing. Consider it professional ethics.”

“I forbid it,” Kriesmeier said coldly.

The overly emotional human was still thinking of others even at this point. This thought made him displeased.

But the next second, the Demon King felt an electrifying sensation on his wrist, causing him to almost loosen his grip. The Demon King angrily looked at the black cat, which had suddenly begun to move, then his vigilance against an attack turned into confusion.

It actually—

Wrapped its swaying tail around his wrist.

A tingling sensation spread across the Demon King’s cold skin. Kriesmeier resisted the urge to pull his hand back, staring at the black cat with a palpable malevolence in his expression.

He slowly opened his mouth, as if to utter a threat about maintaining distance, even though for the one initiating the attack, this threat was more applicable to himself.

Then, the Demon King stopped.

His gaze towards the black cat changed once again.

Because at the end of the black cat’s dark, long tail, a staff had appeared at some point. This staff was inlaid with a brilliant gem, shining like the eye of the night sky. The light condensed into a pure, bright blade.

With the black cat’s movement, this blade was now positioned against the direction of his arm, as if a slight movement would pierce his heart.

Very few things in this world would make Kriesmeier feel threatened.

But the light in front of him was different; it wasn’t a matter of differing strengths. Rather, it was as if this was a power that just happened to counter him. The Demon King subconsciously resisted being an enemy of the power’s owner. Even if he was confident that if a war truly broke out, he would be the victor.

Has it really come to this?

“Roland Xavier,” Kriesmeier uttered the name in a low voice through his teeth.

The black cat sighed, as if being very reasonable, “We can’t have a proper discussion otherwise.”

A short while later, three accompanying shadows appeared in the forest.

Speaking of accompanying, the distance between them was almost solidifying into a physical wall.

The Demon King released the black cat and had no intention of continuing to hold it, merely walking gloomily at the very back of the group. Hilda felt a little sympathetic towards her mentor’s emotional problems, but she was more concerned about other things, listening intently for sounds from deep within the forest, not missing a single clue.

Thus, the black cat could only tread silently through the forest ahead, stained with dew.

The mist grew thicker and thicker.

This was man-made mist, not true vapor.

The black cat wrinkled its nose, discerning the presence of hallucinogenic herbs in the mist. These would have little effect on powerful humans or demons, but might not be the case for children.

And not necessarily for animals either.

Through the screen, Roland explained while looking at the “Hallucination” icon that appeared next to the status bar.

Innumerable eyes had sprouted on the bark of the surrounding trees at some unknown point. These eyes spun greedily, peering at the passing group. Tree roots writhed in the soil, as if worms about to burst forth. The white mist in the forest occasionally extended pale tendrils, as if about to grab the traveler’s arm in the next second.

“Master?” Hilda noticed the black cat’s halted steps.

Kriesmeier, however, asked mercilessly, “What do you see?”

The group stopped at a crossroads.

The forest was pitch dark. Hilda blew her snake flute every so often, trying to locate her python. But the python, which should have been found long ago, kept making tapping sounds from a distant place, as if it was constantly moving in the opposite direction as she pursued it.

This was strange. The python had a strong sense of direction and wouldn’t deliberately go in the wrong direction.

“The source of the mist is a magic formation,” Roland placed his hand on the keyboard. “The purpose of the formation is to induce hallucinations, so that the people they are looking for will be driven by the illusion to constantly walk towards the densest part of the mist, until they reach their pre-arranged destination.”

The increasingly grotesque forest behind them explained everything.

A cold wind blew from behind, and something seemed to be screaming in the wind. Roland could already see distorted human faces.

Only one path in the three-way intersection had not been distorted by the illusion.

—This was the direction the other party wanted the bait to go.

For this purpose, they specifically used a weak hallucinogen. Debbie was a child, and the python was an animal. Only what they saw was the same as what the black cat saw.

This forest was an open book for those who were sober and seeking, but for the isolated and helpless little princess, there was only one path she could take to avoid being crushed by the grotesque monsters in her imagination.

“But—” Hilda clutched the snake flute uneasily. A clearly discernible “tap-tap” sound came from another path.

“We’ll split up,” the black cat stepped on a withered leaf but didn’t crush it. “Hilda, it would be better if you could intercept them before they reach their destination. I can quickly reach the center of the conspiracy by taking this path. If anything happens, I can handle it.”

Kriesmeier looked at the cat.

“His Majesty the Demon King will stay with me,” the black cat blinked, “of course.”

This was not a reassuring statement; “staying with the Demon King” had long been considered a curse throughout history.

But Kriesmeier was confused to see relief on the witch’s face. She seemed perfectly willing to entrust her mentor to him, even though they had just been at odds.

Kriesmeier turned his dark golden eyes towards the black cat again.

He still harbored apprehension towards this Archmage of mysterious origin, and the sudden threat from the other party made him extremely displeased. This was the first time he had encountered such an unfathomable human, causing a long-lost hostility to burn within him.

But even so—he was merely an insignificant human, or a black cat. If it came to a real fight, he was confident he could cut the other party down with his scythe.

“Kris, you’re looking at me again.”

They walked for a while, both silent, until the black cat suddenly spoke.

“…Don’t call me Kris.” The Demon King said, then realized he had been unconsciously staring at the black cat the whole way. It was even more obvious now that the witch wasn’t walking between them. This was entirely the black cat’s fault.

Its tail swayed back and forth, almost as if it wanted to be touched—His Majesty the Demon King did not realize he was merely rationalizing his own thoughts.

The black cat seemed determined to make conversation, and now, with a smile, it continued, “Then what should I call you—Kriesmeier, Your Majesty the Demon King, Evil Abyss Demon, or should I call you Lord like those other demons?”

Kriesmeier crushed the leaves beneath his feet. The withered branches groaned and creaked under his boots.

For Roland, this scene was a bit more restricted. After all, the forest in his eyes at this moment was an entire expanse composed of living flesh and undead. This scene filled him with a touch of nostalgia.

“I’m not here to exchange pleasantries with you,” Kriesmeier said coldly.

“I know,” the black cat said, “but we don’t have anything better to do right now. Since you don’t believe what I say, there’s no harm in just chatting. For example, I’m very curious about what kind of impression you have of me.”

Roland certainly knew how to make him speak.

“Very bad,” Kriesmeier paused, then continued the conversation.

The black cat walked calmly beside him, agilely moving through the darkness. The Demon King couldn’t see the illusions Roland spoke of; he could only see the dark forest with a silvery white moon behind it.

His power was enough to twist the moon into a crimson color, but after seeing the mage’s staff, for some reason, Kriesmeier realized that it was more beautiful for the moon to remain pure and bright.

The black cat seemed unfazed by his deprecation.

“I knew it would be like this,” it said easily, “so, after the deal is over, we’ll go our separate ways.”

Archmage Roland and Demon King Kriesmeier made a deal. Of course, this was why they were here unharmed at this moment.

They both understood that fighting to the death was counterproductive.

As long as the Demon King got what he wanted to know from the Archmage, the demons and the black cat would no longer need to be involved with each other. And what Roland wanted was precisely this.

As for how to get everything the Demon King wanted to know—

“I don’t believe what you say,” Kriesmeier said before letting go of the black cat. “Human, you’re lying to me.”

“I said,” the black cat’s ears drooped, looking a little dejected, “I transformed from the revered Archmage into an unknown black cat. This is nothing glorious. I was utterly defeated by you in that duel, and thus I lost all my crowns. I just want to live anonymously as a black cat. Is that so hard to understand?”

These words were much more authentic than the previous nonsense.

At least the Demon King couldn’t discern whether the Archmage, whose voice was now filled with regret, was sincere or feigning it. This had never been Kriesmeier’s strength.

But he would not lightly trust a human either. He stared at the black cat and said slowly: “Your apprentice said that her power is not enough to see visions from the past through a bone, but you—Archmage Roland Xavier—certainly can. I want you to let me see the owner of this bone and the memory of it being given to me. I will use my eyes to discern the truth.”

The amnesiac Kriesmeier was getting harder to fool.

Roland thought, his amber eyes dimming for a moment. Didn’t he know very well? The Demon King’s unwavering trust in him had only one reason: at that time, Kriesmeier loved him deeply.

And now it wasn’t.

The Demon King had forgotten himself, and now looked at him with unfamiliar eyes.

“…Deal.”

He would deal with future matters in the future.

Roland said so, then took the lead in flicking his tail, and the staff disappeared into the air. Kriesmeier slowly loosened his fingers. The black cat rolled once as it landed on the ground, then stood up unharmed.

The flashback ended here. At this moment, they were traversing the forest.

The temperature here was getting colder and colder, and the surrounding mist was terrifyingly thick. The black cat seemed to effortlessly draw something on the ground, and the mist around it retreated very tactfully, leaving a small patch of clear ground for him and the Demon King to proceed.

But it was only a narrow corner.

Kriesmeier’s dark golden eyes pierced coldly forward, whether he had an issue with the mist or the black cat.

He suddenly stopped. The air around him was terrifyingly still. When he lowered his eyes, the black cat’s black tail flashed by, and then he was enveloped by milky white mist.

“I have to say,” he said slowly, taking a long time to realize he was still thinking about how to evaluate the Archmage.

Then, the Demon King proudly and solemnly declared, “Among all the humans I have seen, you are the most courageous, and truly outstanding.”

Saying such words, or expressing admiration for others, was clearly not easy for Kriesmeier.

The dark Demon King shifted his gaze from the mist in front of him. He didn’t have to say this, but that starry, pure light still lingered in the Demon King’s vision; it was the brightest thing he had ever seen in his life.

Had he truly killed such a human?

Kriesmeier thought, but his memories became increasingly chaotic. Had he truly killed such a human, and then had no memory of it? Was that even possible?

What had happened in the past?

And how did that new bone on his scythe come into his possession?

Kriesmeier slowly drew his scythe. The scythe’s black blade and the white bone handle formed a stark contrast. His dark golden eyes reflected on the scythe’s sharp edge. He drew the scythe in front of him, its tip outward. If any monster truly lurked in the mist, it would be pierced by the most terrifying Demon King on this continent.

The surrounding air was deathly silent.

If the black cat had heard his words, it wouldn’t have remained silent until this moment.

Not only the black cat, but everything around seemed to have vanished.

Before, he could still hear the faint sound of the black cat’s paw pads lightly stepping on fallen leaves, but now all sounds around him had dissipated. Missing it by just a second, in the mist, all existence seemed to have completely vanished without a trace.

Kriesmeier scornfully smiled at the void in front of him.

No matter what trick this was, trying to stop the Demon King of the Abyss would only have one outcome.

Kriesmeier stepped on something. The ground beneath his feet was no longer unchanging withered branches and fallen leaves, but a blood-red arc, seemingly part of a larger pattern, made of some kind of sparkling powder, and it had a strange, metallic smell.

The Demon King looked at them indifferently.

Then, his giant wings suddenly unfurled, their sharp domain like blades, tearing apart the mystifying fog layer by layer. The cleared space that remained in front of him quickly became visible, including the huge magic circle on the ground, whose purpose could not be identified, but which still retained hot aftershocks.

Just a little in front of him, a plum-blossom shaped cat paw print was pressed into the blood-red powder.

The paw print extended to the center of the formation, then abruptly stopped.

The Demon King took two steps forward until he stood in the center of the formation. He felt this enormous formation constantly trembling under his pressure, prostrating itself at his feet. The lingering aftershocks, driven moments ago, still permeated the air here.

For this formation, he was too powerful, and thus could not be its target.

Kriesmeier was silent for a moment.

Then he held the scythe horizontally, its cold blade radiating an aura of destruction. This was his forte, more so than discerning the truth of human words. His fingertips intimately traced the rib, from which black flames began to burn, an extreme intensity that seemed capable of melting everything.

He swung the scythe, and the ground shook with it. A black and hideous scar cut across the formation, directly destroying it.

At the same time,

Hundreds of meters from here, Debbie let out a small shriek. She hugged the large python in terror, forcing herself not to cry out, her face pressed tightly against the python’s rough scales, hot tears streaming down to her chest. She simply couldn’t move forward.

A monstrous earthquake-like roar came from ahead, as if thousands of trees fell simultaneously.

But behind them were relentless ghouls and monsters, everywhere, reaching out from the thick fog behind them, chasing them.

She was so terrified she could barely breathe. Kneeling and hugging the python, she felt as if she would be caught and die in the next second; they were right behind her, just a little bit away.

But she tightly closed her eyes and prayed. After an unknown amount of time, nothing happened.

The damp, cold wind in the forest gently brushed against her skin.

She tentatively opened her eyes. The python, docile and steady, coiled around her, like a loyal guardian.

And everything around looked like a normal forest. The mist had dissipated, revealing bare tree trunks and glistening black leaves. The leaves clustered in bunches. The tree roots beneath her were deeply buried in the soil. The forest was quiet, with only the python’s tail regularly making soft sounds.

Only then did Debbie finally let out her first sob.

She cried and cried until she vaguely heard distant calls of “Debbie, Debbie” approaching her.

The voices seemed to come from two different directions; one was accompanied by a melodious and charming flute, while the other was the urgent shouts of the older female knight.

Debbie staggered to her feet and eagerly ran towards them.

When that thing suddenly dropped from the air, ecstatic prayers echoed through the dark cave.

It landed directly in the altar.

Roland adjusted his vision, realizing that the black cat was now inside a strange vessel. The vessel contained a viscous liquid, most likely blood, probably animal blood.

It was pitch black outside, and the torchlight flickered on the cave’s ceiling. All those strange murmurs fell into Roland’s ears.

…The last one?

Roland, of course, saw the formation ahead, but for him, it would be strange not to try stepping on it.

It was a rather crude teleportation array. The array itself was very simple but had been enhanced with many unnecessary exaggerations, making its effects excessively flamboyant.

This style was very familiar to him.

The black cat barely managed to stand firm in the vessel. At the same time, the whispering around him gradually subsided. It seemed that a leader spoke up, explaining that “it’s normal for the sacrificial offering to lose control of its emotions and refuse to speak,” thus proving that the black cat’s silence was very normal.

But this still didn’t explain why the princess seemed like a dark mass when she fell.

Then, the external firelight drifted slightly.

The footsteps of unknown people surrounding the vessel echoed in the cave.

The reason he confirmed it was a cave was because the salty humidity in the air and the hollow footsteps were too clear, and Roland was somewhat familiar with the hiding places of these people.

The person coming to confirm gradually approached, proclaiming melodically:

“We have finally awaited you, the ritual is about to begin, the kingdom’s newborn jewel, a qualified sacrifice, a pure and flawless lily…”

The hand holding the torch froze.

The word “lily” twisted strangely at the same time.

Because looking at him from inside the vessel was not some golden-haired, pure-blooded princess, nor a shrinking little girl holding back tears, but the least “pure and flawless lily” in this world—a cat with fur as smooth as silk and as black as night.

The black cat’s pupils, illuminated by the torchlight, gleamed like a pair of sparkling amber eyes, and it “meowed” at him.