TBR CH204

The Demon King Kriesmeier and the black cat were nowhere to be found.

But they didn’t need Hilda to worry about them. Debbie’s face was pale, her dress tattered, clearly indicating she had been frightened. The Knight-Captain wrapped her in a thick blanket and gave her hot water. 

The python faithfully stayed by the princess’s side, while the purple-haired witch, with a cold and displeased expression, blocked the carriage door.

“You’re not welcome here,” she told the hero.

The hero, “Bai Mingchen,” at this moment looked genuinely remorseful. He was already strikingly handsome, his blue eyes brimming with concern, and his tone filled with worry for the princess. “It’s all my fault. I know you won’t believe me, but I just wanted to make Debbie happy…”

He deliberately raised his voice so that those inside the carriage could hear. Sure enough, hushed voices came from within the carriage. The Knight-Captain pulled back the curtain and emerged, looking a bit helpless. Hilda knew what she was about to say with just one glance.

“Stop,” the witch interjected mercilessly. “Don’t rush to take the blame. Debbie, you’re a good child. If the hero hadn’t deliberately lured you and promised to protect you, you wouldn’t have left him for a single step. 

But the truth is, he knew you were in danger and still secretly took you out of the palace without any guards. If only he truly cared about you, but he only cared about flirting with female passersby and didn’t even notice you were missing at first. If he had even a shred of remorse, he wouldn’t speak the way he just did.”

“How did I speak?”

After a long pause, no new sounds came from inside the carriage. Bai Mingchen’s expression darkened, and his tone gradually became tinged with a hint of threat. “Your Royal Highness, I originally thought you liked me, but even you listen to them and go against me.”

Speaking in such a tone to a victim still shaken by fright earned him a cold glare from the Knight-Captain. “I will truthfully report everything that happened,” she said. 

“I swear by divine law, His Majesty and the Queen will decide how to deal with those who harmed Debbie.”

Her current demeanor had become increasingly steady. Unlike the always headstrong Hilda, she exuded a quiet and decisive aura. This gaze, even through the screen, forcefully stifled Bai Mingchen’s courage to continue speaking.

The situation was getting worse. Bai Mingchen, in front of the screen, nervously gnawed at his fingernails. After a long while, he reached out and adjusted the Bluetooth earpiece by his ear. The melodious game BGM flowed into his ears through the expensive headphones; the occasional static must have been his imagination.

“Didn’t you say,” he asked the system, “that the day of world fusion is not far off?”

The system was a hundred times more anxious than he was. It was precisely because the previous few worlds were too easily infiltrated by the black book, and its plans were repeatedly obstructed, that it came up with the idea of “Abyssal Continent.”

Splitting the strategy into two worlds, neither world consciousness could interfere; using the game system to expand the influence of the ‘charismatic halo,’ giving all capture targets extremely high favorability towards the favored son from the start. This was originally a foolproof plan, not even requiring the favored son to have any subjective initiative.

But its capabilities were limited. Maintaining the invasion of the Mirar Continent required a great deal of energy, so it had set up a program in advance. Once the deadline arrived, “Abyss” as a channel between the two worlds would self-destruct, and the worlds would then merge.

“That’s right,” the system said, frantic, suddenly feeling a surge of doubt. “But the host’s progress has stalled, and even regressed, which shouldn’t be the case. Could it be… has the host noticed anyone acting unusually? I suspect that the will of the world has secretly contacted one of your capture targets.” Just like in the previous few worlds.

Bai Mingchen shivered, “If that’s truly the case, then what do we do?” His head buzzed even more. Bai Mingchen activated auto-follow, then let go of the mouse and took off his headphones, feeling truly stifled in his role as the protagonist. The system’s guess was very reasonable; he had also heard it mention the so-called “will of the world” that had been pursuing him in the previous few worlds.

“Don’t worry, host,” no matter how worried the system was, it had to first stabilize the favored son’s emotions. “Even if world fusion happens now, you still have an advantage. As long as you convince the King and Queen that Debbie’s incident wasn’t your fault, you will still be a distinguished guest of the kingdom, the legendary hero of the Mirar Continent. However, do you have anyone in particular you suspect?”

The system constantly replayed the clues that had occurred earlier. Someone whose attitude changed very suddenly, or the unyielding Demon King Kriesmeier, or… a seemingly very harmless black cat. Was its appearance a little too frequent?

“Hilda!” However, Bai Mingchen interrupted its thoughts without hesitation, shouting, “I swear, the will of the world must have contacted her!”

Is it that cold and aloof purple-haired witch? The system considered it carefully and felt that Bai Mingchen’s incessant complaints also made a lot of sense. It was very clear that all these potential romances were ruined by the witch Hilda, from the peasant woman Anna at the very beginning, to the later elven princess Eve, and now Debbie, Hilda had interfered in every single one.

“I almost hate that old witch to death,” Bai Mingchen shook his fingertips, and after a moment, he calmed down and said fiercely, “Is there any way to make her disappear, or to manipulate her into falling in love with me again?”

The favored son didn’t know that the system always avoided the world consciousness whenever possible, and had a track record of ditching its host and running away more than once. This time, the system of course also began to devise its escape route. However, its mindset had indeed changed a little because of the favored son’s words.

In the past, by the time the black book was right in front of it, it was always too late for the system to regret. This time, now that the suspected target was confirmed—before escaping, the system thought, perhaps it could try to take the initiative. Just like how it dealt with the Archmage Roland Xavier, renowned throughout the continent.

Kriesmeier struggled for a while. He closed his eyes, and before him appeared the blood-red stars that pierced the sky. They washed away his memories without his permission. Back then, Roland gently walked to him, knelt and kissed his forehead, his amber eyes, even in imagination, so fresh and sparkling. What he did to him made the Demon King open his eyes countless times in the dead of night, fruitlessly trying to catch the shattered fragments of his dreams.

What the human had done could never be forgiven. But, the Demon King thought, why couldn’t he just—

He abruptly raised his dark golden eyes. The surrounding silence suddenly made Kriesmeier feel anxious. The Demon King walked a few steps forward through the ankle-deep sea of flowers, crushing a carpet of crimson petals. However, his surroundings were empty, and his ears were silent. He stretched out his fingertips, as if reaching for something, a fear of being abandoned once again surging within him.

“Roland Xavier?” he said sharply, “Are you still here?”

Fortunately, as soon as his words fell, he heard a familiar voice. Roland vaguely “hmm”ed, and then seemed to smile, “Kriesmeier, I’m watching you.”

“If you’re here, why aren’t you speaking?”

“You told me not to speak anymore,” Roland said obediently. “I’m afraid of making you angry.”

If he had always been this obedient, things wouldn’t have turned out this way.

Kriesmeier didn’t really believe Roland could truly mend his ways, nor did he think his own prohibition would really have any effect. However, at least he was right about one thing: Kriesmeier’s anger, burning within his chest, never ceased for a moment, and he didn’t want Roland to add fuel to the fire. The Archmage was exceptionally serious this time, remaining silently for a long time.

“Besides those flowery words,” the Demon King made his voice sound emotionless, “don’t you have anything better to say?”

“It’s not that I don’t,” Roland was silent for a while. His voice was almost in his ear, yet he was in a place so far away that Kriesmeier couldn’t reach him. “However, saying it now would seem a bit hypocritical. Some things are better said when you have the scythe under my head, it would show more sincerity.”

Kriesmeier stared at the void in front of him, wanting to say something sarcastic, but couldn’t. Just as the human said, he would now question every word the other party said. Even if he futilely repeated those promises and vows, being on opposite sides of an unbridgeable chasm rendered them meaningless. In truth, with the Demon King standing alone in his dream, this fleeting and destined-to-be-forgotten conversation also held no meaning.

They didn’t speak for a while. Roland took the opportunity to thoroughly examine Kriesmeier from head to toe, feeling that his hair had grown again, now reaching his waist. He was almost frozen into a statue; even his silver-grey hair was motionless. There was no wind in the dream.

The Demon King spoke abruptly: “Don’t make me guess if you’re still here.” When he said this, he subtly averted his gaze, deliberately not revealing his insecurity, but the human immediately understood his meaning.

“Okay,” Roland said indulgently, “then I’ll start making sounds from now on. What do you want me to say?”

Kriesmeier seemed to have no opinion on the matter.

“Then I’ll improvise.” The human rested his head on his arm, tilting his head to stare at the Demon King on the screen, accidentally nudging the mouse with his elbow. His perspective swayed, but Kriesmeier was completely oblivious, still facing his original direction.

“Kris,” Roland began to repeat his name. He felt his entire chest overflowing with bitterness and fatigue, almost sighing with every touch. But when he spoke, it was still light and quick, sticky and sweet. After repeating it a few times, he started pushing his luck, gently saying, “Dear…”

The Demon King stiffened almost imperceptibly. Three minutes was his limit of endurance. The human faithfully performed the task of “making sounds to show presence,” but his presence was a bit too strong. When he mumbled softly, his name seemed to be set to a melody, becoming an overly cheerful ditty, lingering between Roland’s lips, and the theme must have been love.

Kriesmeier interrupted him, “Don’t repeat my name.” The Demon King’s face was cold, his silver-grey hair falling solemnly and coldly. His tone was both a command and a reprimand.

However, the sea of flowers in the dream clearly didn’t reflect his seemingly merciless demeanor; instead, it gently swayed with the wind that came from who knew where. 

The crimson flowers had become more and more luxuriant in the past few minutes, rustling upwards from the ankles again, their petals unfolding, as if in the next second, bees and butterflies would dance among them.

Roland pretended not to see it. “No problem,” at least this time he decided to be very obedient to the Demon King. “I won’t say it anymore.”

As soon as his voice stopped, the wind that swayed the flower stems also abruptly ceased. The last ripple created a crimson tide in the sea of flowers, seemingly surging into Roland’s pupils through the screen, and then everything gradually stilled.

Silence spread once again. But this time, it didn’t last long, because Kriesmeier heard a soft “tap-tap” sound, as if knuckles were knocking on something. This sound occurred every few seconds, which, translated, of course meant “I’m right here.”

It had to be said, it was very reassuring. Kriesmeier stood in his dream, his trembling heart echoing the human’s unhurried rhythm. 

The Demon King’s fingers curled loosely in the air, as if trying to grasp something. But he finally opened his palm, and in the depths of his dark golden eyes, the ever-present gloom and hatred could be temporarily ignored, even if only for a second.

“Roland,” he said, “if I were to ask you now—to unlock the seal you placed upon me.”

This was Kriesmeier’s closest approach to a plea. Roland had thought they had implicitly moved away from this topic. His hand remained motionless on the keyboard for a moment, his previously somewhat lighthearted mood once again becoming heavy, as if he had just swallowed a piece of iron.

He lowered his eyes: “I’m very sorry.”

“I didn’t leave myself any fallback for my decision. Besides, you should understand, it’s in your dream right now that you can remember everything about me.”

“Then,” Kriesmeier began, “I suppose there’s nothing more to say between us.”

“…Is that so?” Roland felt something cold and hard grinding against his stomach.

The Demon King’s tone was one of icy arrogance. “No matter what you say, I will forget it upon waking. You are right, human; a fleeting conversation holds no meaning. In this game between us, I must be wary of your every word. I admit you are the winner; you have played me like a fiddle.”

“No,” Roland instinctively wanted to refute, but then bit his lip like a child who had made a mistake, hesitating. Unforgivable. 

Kriesmeier thought, he had never allowed anyone to toy with his fate, and he would never let go of the human who dared to do so. As he thought this, the petals crushed beneath his feet emitted a strong, rich fragrance, yet showed no signs of decay.

“Then come and kiss me.” This sentence was so abrupt that Roland almost doubted his ears. But Kriesmeier was an even more thorough pragmatist than Roland. He watched forward with a terrifying gaze, as if he would kill someone the next second, and at the same time, unfastened the metal clasp of his cloak. The faint click of the buckle sounded clearly in the human’s ears.

“I said,” the Demon King’s gaze was provocative, “‘I want to kiss you first,’ and you kept going on and on, as if only you had to take responsibility for that sentence. No, you never even thought about taking responsibility. If you can do it, then come and kiss me now.”

He took a step forward, his dark golden eyes taking on a bloody hue in the reflection of the crimson sea of flowers. Kriesmeier’s cloak fell to the ground, and he casually tore off two silver buttons from his inner garment. The skin of the abyssal demons was pale, almost untouched by the sun. The Demon King suddenly raised his eyes, and the possessiveness in his gaze was sharp and beautiful.

“You yearn to have me,” he said, “just as I yearn to have you. Why can’t I see you yet?”

“Kiss me… or can’t you do it?”

He was close enough now that, even through the screen, Roland could clearly see the fleeting, hungry green glow of a beast in his thin iris. When the Demon King finally stood still, he imagined the amber eyes were before him, and stretched out his fingertips, perfectly overlapping with Roland’s fingers touching the screen.

Their heartbeats pounded like drums. Well, a good beginning and end are always hard to achieve, Roland thought, and their last ending was so tragic.

Kriesmeier lowered his eyes indifferently. Reflected in the Demon King’s gaze were the flowers at his feet, or rather, the blood everywhere. 

In his dream, they were the externalization of his uncontrollable emotions, but even at this moment, these flowers were still pristine and fresh. Even when crushed by the Demon King, the juice that flowed out was still crimson and fragrant. He hoped the human couldn’t see them. At least, not so nakedly display his still-beating heart of admiration.

“Roland Xavier,” he said, “I haven’t surrendered to you yet. Don’t be an enemy I despise. I won’t make you swear a blood oath; those tricks of the soul can’t trap you. But you must consider carefully whether you can swear an oath to me.”

“I dare,” Roland said softly. He grasped the black feather.

“I will forget again after the dream shatters,” Kriesmeier said, “I won’t let you take shortcuts.”

Roland’s pupils suddenly constricted slightly. The sky behind the Demon King seemed to be covered by a haze, and then began to shatter piece by piece. He abruptly reached out, but only touched the cold screen. He spoke urgently, suddenly feeling that there were many things he still wanted to tell him. Even if it was one in a million chance, he deeply cherished this “reunion,” but he only managed to utter a few short syllables.

“Wait, at least say goodbye…”

Those eyes—those eyes that looked at him strangely. Kriesmeier laughed. The Demon King raised his scythe, and wherever the dark blade pointed, everything collapsed at an incredible speed.

“It’s time for you to taste my flavor,” he said vengefully. “Watching an unexpected ending suddenly arrive, but being unable to do anything. I won’t give you time to say goodbye, and I will forget you the next second. This is the price you pay, my dear.”

The scene in front of him shattered into countless fragments. Kriesmeier resolutely withdrew, and even his dream-self seemed to fade into a marble statue, losing all color.

In the final moments, Roland didn’t waste time on words. Now, all words were as pale as the Demon King had said. Only when he truly returned to the Mirar Continent could his actions reassure His Majesty the Demon King. The only thing he had to do was to make his utmost effort to return.

And… perhaps a kiss.

“Soon,” Roland thought, he still had many unsaid words. The real world no longer needed his prolonged stay. Now, the only thing holding him back was a new possibility. The traversal between two worlds was bound to be accompanied by a disruption of connections, which meant a temporal dislocation. But, if he could utilize the intelligence gleaned by those world consciousnesses—if he could find a way to use the system, perhaps… they wouldn’t have to wait that long.

The human, through the black feather, gently and reverently placed a kiss on the fading image. The kiss landed on the Demon King’s forehead.

Kriesmeier looked unpleasantly at the black cat on the ground, gently touching his forehead with a finger. He didn’t know when he had fallen into a deep sleep, nor what kind of dream he had. 

When he woke up, even the arrogant Demon King felt a splitting headache, but he couldn’t remember anything about the dream, only feeling a sense of satisfaction at the final outcome. He looked suspiciously at the other suspect present.

The black cat lay motionless on the ground, as if asleep. But when Kriesmeier touched its fluffy fur with his cold finger and dangerously traced its neck, its amber, round pupils slowly opened.

The Demon King withdrew his hand and scrutinized the black cat’s expression, “A nightmare?”

“No,” Roland said, “It was a good dream, just ended too abruptly.”

They both looked around and found that the other people participating in the ritual had also fallen into a deep sleep, lying scattered on the ground. Currently, no third person had woken up. Roland took a few seconds to find the priest, who was leaning peacefully against the rock wall, his expression serene, as if he had found what he had always wanted in his dream.

“He’s dead,” Roland judged. Then they checked the others present—meaning the black cat sniffed each one, while Kriesmeier observed coldly—in short, fortunately, only the unfortunate priest had died.

“I must go to the kingdom first,” the black cat said, then silently looked at Kriesmeier. The Demon King seemed very displeased with the fact that he had also fallen victim.

“I’m going back to the Abyss,” he said concisely. “Some demons will have to pay for this.”

“Then,” the black cat smiled, looking very friendly, “if you have no objection, let’s part ways here for now.”