In the Demon King’s Castle, a giant tower forged of obsidian pierced into the blood-red twilight, the air thick with the pungent stench of sulfur and rust.
Unlike the despair and mourning of the royal palace, this place was filled with a cold and fanatical atmosphere of victory.
The monsters talked excitedly about the “results” from the front lines—news of the Atlan Third Empire retreating step by step echoed through every corner of the castle like the most beautiful piece of music.
However, in a humble servant’s room within this castle that symbolized conquest and power, a completely different scene was unfolding.
Ling Xiya curled up on the cold stone floor, her eyes that were once as bright as stars now empty and lifeless, as if covered by a thick layer of gray dust.
The monster maid outfit Ling Xiya wore seemed only ironic at this moment.
The smooth silk outlined her curves that had been forced into maturity, and the lace trim that should have symbolized gentleness instead gave off a twisted, dangerous allure under the revealing cut.
This clothing was like a second skin, constantly reminding her of her current identity—a minion of the monsters who had lost her freedom and dignity.
She still clearly remembered the moment those vivid faces fell before her eyes.
Those strangers, who might have once approached with kindness, terror, or had simply been passing by, finally froze beneath her cold blade.
Hot blood sprayed out, staining her vision red and seemingly soaking through the last shred of humanity remaining in the depths of her soul.
She wanted to scream, to rush forward and stop it, to question why all of this was happening, but the Magic Essence forcibly transformed within her body acted like the most vicious curse, deathly suppressing every ounce of her strength to resist.
The Invisible Shackles bound her body even more firmly, leaving her like a marionette stripped of its will, forced to watch lives wither away one by one with her own eyes.
Until the last person fell, those eyes full of resentment seemed to stare at her fixedly, intertwined with a hatred too thick to dissolve and a deep confusion, etched into her heart like a brand.
Day and night, these images were like maggots on a bone, gnawing at her already scarred nerves.
Until today, that string—tightened to its absolute limit—finally became overburdened and snapped.
Perhaps it was because the roars of the monsters celebrating their victory outside the window were too piercing, that savage and fanatical clamor stabbing into her eardrums like countless needles; perhaps it was because of the Obsidian Wine Cup she was wiping, its cold touch reflecting her familiar yet strange face, a distorted expression that made even her feel fear and disgust; or perhaps, it was simply because that faint, lingering scent of blood permeating every corner of the castle dragged her back into the abyss of those painful memories like maggots on a bone.
“Ahhhhhhh—!!!”
A shrill scream that didn’t sound human suddenly burst from her throat, tearing through the deathly silence of the room like the desperate wail of a wounded beast, echoing crazily through the empty, deep corridors, creating layer upon layer of echoes that did not dissipate for a long time.
Ling Xiya suddenly smashed the Obsidian Wine Cup in her hand violently against the opposite wall!
“Crash—!” The cup shattered instantly upon impact, the deep purple wine looking like coagulated blood as it mixed with the sharp glass fragments, splashing across the cold stone wall and leaving a messy, hideous stain.
“Why… why me of all people… why on earth…”
She roared incoherently, her voice hoarse and dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper, every word filled with endless pain, anger, and a despair that penetrated to the marrow.
The fear, helplessness, self-reproach, and hatred that had been suppressed for too long now surged out like a flood breaking a dam, washing away all her reason.
Like a trapped animal gone mad, she began to charge around the tiny room, crazily destroying everything in her sight.
Heavy oak tables and chairs were overturned by her without care, and exquisite vases were swept from their shelves, shattering into pieces on the floor, the flowers and fresh water inside mixing with porcelain shards in a mess.
The magnificent decorative paintings hanging on the walls were also torn down by her.
She reached out her fingers, using her well-trimmed yet now incredibly sharp nails to scratch violently at the canvas, leaving behind deep, distorted marks, as if she wanted to vent all the pain and anger in her heart through this method.
Her breathing was rapid and heavy, tears mixing with the blood from a scratch on her cheek that had appeared at some point, rolling from the corners of her eyes and dripping onto the messy clothes and broken objects.
The entire room had now become a sacrifice to her despair, a total wreck, just like her broken heart.
She didn’t know what she was doing, nor did she know what she wanted; she only knew she had to destroy, to vent, to tear apart this defiled shell along with this boundless darkness.
A shrill scream that didn’t sound human suddenly broke the silence of the room again, echoing in the empty corridor.
Ling Xiya suddenly smashed the wine cup in her hand against the wall, the cup shattering instantly as the black liquid mixed with sharp fragments to splash across the wall.
“Kill me… Isayat! Kill me!!”
Ling Xiya’s crying and shouting were like shattered glass, sharply piercing the silence of the room.
Her fists pounded crazily against the wall, every blow landing with desperate force, her knuckles turning white from overexertion and then turning bright red from the blood rushing to them.
Tears had long ago blurred her vision, mixing with the flowing mucus to create a pathetic mess on her once delicate face.
Her voice was hoarse and deformed, every word sounding as if it were being vomited from the depths of her throat:
“You devil! You monster! I curse you! I curse you to go to hell along with your Demon King’s Castle!!”
The sound grew louder, turning from initial grief into a heart-palpitating hysteria, as if her soul were burning and twisting in endless agony.
Suddenly, she stopped hitting the wall and instead used her forehead to slam violently against the cold, hard stone wall.
“Thud… thud… thud…”
The dull sounds of impact echoed in the room, once, and then again, carrying a resolve like self-destruction.
Hearing that sound, it felt as if even the air was vibrating, making one shiver.
She seemed to want to knock herself unconscious, to smash this shell that carried too much pain, using it to escape this suffocating, desperate reality.
On her forehead, bright red blood quickly seeped out, sliding down her cheeks and leaving shocking bloodstains on her tear-streaked face, looking like tears of blood.
But she seemed completely unable to feel the pain, still repeating this action mechanically and crazily like a puppet that had lost its soul, her eyes frighteningly empty.
Gradually, her movements slowed, and the sound of the impact grew weak.
She slumped to the floor, her back against the cold wall, and began to mutter to herself in a voice as light as a candle in the wind:
“Everything is fake… everything is fake… the victory is fake… the hope is fake…”
Her gaze completely dissolved as she stared into the void ahead, as if seeing countless lost souls drifting by.
“Dead… everyone is dead… everyone is dead… why am I still alive… why…”
This low, broken murmuring was even more bone-chilling and sorrowful than her previous hysterical screaming.
Her near-mad venting and destruction had already alerted the guards deep within the castle.
Quick and heavy footsteps came from outside the thick stone door, followed by a loud “Bang” as the door was brutally kicked open.
Several tall, hideous demon guards appeared at the door, their bodies emitting a strong scent of sulfur and blood.
When they saw the mess inside—the overturned tables and chairs, the broken vessels, and the maid curled in the corner acting like a lunatic with a bleeding forehead—a trace of undisguised disgust and cold killing intent immediately flashed in their eyes.
In their view, this out-of-control “toy” had already lost its value for existence, leaving only the necessity of destruction.
The lead demon guard let out a low growl, his thick arm already reaching out, about to step forward to drag this maid who dared to run wild in the Demon King’s Castle out and end her pain and madness in the most cruel way possible.