[Brain Storage Area, don’t like it, don’t spray.]
[Don’t keep books, I beg you.]
[The plot is slow at the start, I suggest jumping to the third volume.]
[But I still recommend reading the first chapter and the prologue, since the plot later is indeed slower.]
When the sunset sank like a ruined golden plate below the horizon, the night curtain slowly rose like a vast black drape.
The gentle silver moonlight that once poured down was gone, replaced by a strange Blood Moon.
It hung high in the sky like a giant, bloodshot eye, spilling crimson light across the earth.
That bloody radiance seemed to carry an evil Magic, and wherever it touched, the air was thick with the scent of slaughter and death.
In the Northwest of the Atlan Third Empire, stood the fearsome Demon King Castle, a place that struck terror into all who heard its name.
Here, the existence had always been irreconcilable with the Empire, and today, the flames of war blazed once more.
The scene before the Demon King Castle was like a painting of hell.
Corpses lay scattered in disarray, the land shrouded completely in the shadow of death, not a trace of life in sight, even the once-resilient grass dared not poke its head above the earth.
Weapons abandoned by the Empire Army mostly jutted at odd angles from the eerie Swamp before the Demon King Castle, their rusted surfaces bearing witness to countless brutal battles.
Many Empire Soldiers’ bodies had been torn into pieces, their flesh devoured by Wicked Hounds tainted by evil power, their fangs ripping through meat, emitting a chilling sound that filled the air with the stench of blood and rot.
Moving the gaze further ahead, a group of Empire Knights clad in fine armor charged forth atop Warhorses sheathed in silver barding, spears gleaming coldly in their hands.
They surged like a silver torrent toward the monsters of the Demon King Castle, attempting to reclaim this land occupied by evil.
The shouts of the knights, the screams of the Warhorses, and the clash of weapons intertwined, forming a tragic symphony of war.
And in the midst of the fierce battle between soldiers and monsters, a strange sight appeared—both sides unknowingly gave way, opening a path just wide enough for a single person.
This passage was like a dividing line between life and death, as if fate itself had carved it out for someone.
Further ahead lay the Spirit River, not far from the Demon King Castle.
Just hearing its name sent chills through the heart.
It was named after the Great War Between Hero and Demon King, when countless soldiers and monsters died, their grudges unbroken, eventually merging into this river that was not truly a river.
The water glowed with an eerie green, like countless spirits’ eyes flickering in the darkness. Occasional ripples on the surface seemed as if spirits were weeping softly.
Broken armor and shattered weapons floated upon the surface, remnants left by wars long past.
Bathed in the Blood Moon’s light, the Spirit River appeared even more ghastly and terrifying.
The red glow reflected on the river, turning the green water into a haunting crimson, as if stained by fresh blood.
The wild grass along the banks swayed in the breeze, producing a “sha sha” sound, like spirits whispering secrets.
From afar, the Spirit River wound quietly around the Demon King Castle, forming a stark contrast with the blood-soaked land—a seemingly peaceful flow hiding unseen turmoil.
From nearby, a powerful mental force emanated from the river’s surface, like invisible tentacles, tempting people to leap into its depths.
Once someone succumbed to the lure and jumped in, they would be devoured by the river’s evil power, becoming nourishment for the Spirit River.
This was precisely what troubled Luo Ling.
According to records, the death rate of Heroes at this river reached as high as 90%. Any wavering of will could lead to being consumed by its evil force.
Just now, two more soldiers with weak mental strength were bewitched and leaped into the river, vanishing without a trace.
“This can’t go on.”
Luo Ling sat astride his horse, frowning deeply as he pondered alone.
He knew well that continuing forward with these soldiers would only send them to their deaths.
Time ticked by.
After an intense struggle in his mind, he made a shocking decision.
He gathered all the soldiers and spoke firmly:
“All of you, go back. The rest of this path, I must walk alone.”
The soldiers could see Luo Ling’s determination to face the Demon King Castle alone and tried to dissuade him, hoping he would change his mind.
However, Luo Ling’s resolve was unshakable. His eyes were steadfast and unyielding, rejecting all persuasion.
“Lord Luo Ling, you can’t go alone, it’s too dangerous!”
A young soldier cried anxiously, his eyes filled with worry.
Luo Ling shook his head slightly, his tone calm yet unwavering:
“My decision is made. If you follow me, you’ll only die in vain. You cannot imagine the danger here. Go back, and live.”
“But Lord Luo Ling, we are your subordinates, it is our duty to share life and death with you!”
Another soldier shouted, face full of unwillingness.
Luo Ling patted the soldier’s shoulder, speaking with heavy earnestness:
“I understand your feelings, but this is my mission. I cannot watch you sacrifice yourselves for me meaninglessly. You have families of your own. Go back. My Childhood Friend died at the hands of monsters…”
There was a barely perceptible sadness in his voice—a painful memory hidden deep in his heart.
Though the soldiers were reluctant to leave the Hero who could save them, Luo Ling was completely different from the proud Heroes of the past.
Though he appeared cold, he was filled with care for his soldiers.
He was attentive, never putting on airs, and treated the soldiers like an older brother.
To them, he was not just a Hero, but also their hope—a Savior who might bring unity and end the Nightmare War.
Faced with the one-way path Luo Ling was about to tread, the soldiers felt sorrow, but even more concern.
They could not bear to see such a kind Hero leave, but understood that Luo Ling had his own resolve and mission.
At that moment, Luo Ling slowly dismounted from his Warhorse.
He gently stroked its mane, reluctant to part, and whispered:
“Goodbye, Yi. I must walk alone now…”
His voice was so soft it seemed afraid to disturb something.
Yi seemed to sense its master’s sorrow and nuzzled Luo Ling affectionately.
In its eyes, there was a trace of sadness as well.
Luo Ling took a deep breath, turned, and strode resolutely toward the unknown and dangerous path ahead.
His shadow under the Blood Moon appeared both lonely and steadfast.
As Luo Ling departed, the soldiers remained standing, unable to move for a long time.
They gazed in the direction Luo Ling had gone, silently praying that this Hero would return safely, complete his mission, and bring peace and tranquility to this war-torn land.
Only after Luo Ling’s figure had faded into the distance did the soldiers slowly turn back.
They knew they could not follow Luo Ling on his journey, but they too had their responsibilities.
They had to return to the Empire, protect those who remained, and await the day Luo Ling returned victorious.
But in the end, even this promise was broken…
Luo Ling pressed on alone, crossing the eerie Spirit River with great caution.
As he set foot on the far bank, a surge of powerful and evil Magic swept over him like a crashing wave.
He frowned, clenched his jaw, and struggled to resist the force.
At last, he stood before the Demon King Castle.
Before him, the castle loomed grand and imposing, exuding a chilling aura.
Ninety-nine skulls encircled its walls, emitting an eerie green glow, as if proclaiming endless Curses.
The gate was formed from the fangs of beasts, radiating primal savagery and cruelty; the walls were entwined with countless tentacles, as if guardians of the Demon King Castle, ever ready to devour any enemy who dared approach.
Just as Luo Ling steadied himself, a figure slowly descended from above.
It was a woman.
Her very presence seemed to halt time.
On her head, sharp horns marked her identity as the Demon King; a Gothic dress of black fabric traced her graceful figure; black stockings and high heels adorned her legs, every step falling like a heartbeat.
Her golden hair cascaded like a waterfall, glimmering softly in the darkness.
She had the classic face of a Western beauty, skin white as snow with a cold sheen, flawless and delicate.
Her brows were sculpted and elegant, pale gold slanting softly toward her eyes—gentle, yet fierce.
Her eyes were especially unique—pink heart-shaped pupils, deep as the starry sky and filled with secrets, yet veiled in a layer of frost, indifferent and proud.
When her gaze swept over Luo Ling, it felt as if she could see through his soul.
Her nose was finely shaped, as if sculpted from art, its tip slightly upturned, adding an air of nobility.
Her lips were full and rose-colored, pressed tightly, the line cold and stern, radiating undeniable authority.
A powerful aura radiated from her, intimidating all who saw her; even a single glance could steal one’s breath and silence all thoughts of defiance.
She was none other than the First Hundredth Demon King, Isa Yat.
Luo Ling did not hesitate.
Determination flared in his eyes.
He raised the Holy Sword Dawn, and charged at Isa Yat like a black flash.
Each strike was precise and deadly, driven by hatred for the Demon King and the resolve to avenge the Empire and the fallen.
Yet Isa Yat merely defended in silence, making no move to counterattack.
Her movements were graceful and effortless, like a cat toying with a mouse, her gaze tinged with mockery and disdain.
Luo Ling’s sword struck Isa Yat again and again, but to his shock, she remained unscathed.
Her defense was impenetrable, always evading Luo Ling’s killing blows at the perfect moment.
A sense of unease welled in Luo Ling’s heart.
He realized the Demon King before him was far stronger than he imagined.
But he did not retreat.
He knew his mission well.
Even if an abyss lay ahead, he would march forward—for the Empire, for the lost, and for the justice in his heart.
At last, Isa Yat seemed to tire of the cat-and-mouse game.
She flicked her finger, and an invisible force erupted.
Luo Ling was flung aside like a severed kite.
Understanding the peril, at the edge of life and death, Luo Ling resolved to burn his own Life Force in a self-detonation, taking Isa Yat with him.
Just as the scorching, dangerous power began to surge within him, a familiar voice rang out:
“Luo Ling, don’t!”
It was the voice of his Childhood Friend, Eve, whom he thought long dead.
Luo Ling froze.
Memories of childhood with Eve flooded his mind.
In that instant of hesitation, Isa Yat struck again, and Luo Ling was knocked hard to the ground.
Only then did he awaken, realizing he had fallen under Isa Yat’s Illusion Art.
But it was already too late.
Isa Yat closed her hand, and the Saint Knight Sword in Luo Ling’s grip snapped like brittle glass, crumbling to dust in the air.
Immediately, he felt himself constricted—a powerful Forbidden Binding Force locked him in place, suppressing the Holy Power within him so completely he could not move.
A mocking smile curved Isa Yat’s lips.
She spoke in a playful, disdainful tone:
“As expected of the legend. Hatred born from love is truly the most pitiful of all…”
(Maou Isa Yat illustration):