Cold chains wrapped around Luo Ling’s limbs, forcing him into a half-kneeling position on the ground.
The chill of the metal seeped through his torn clothes, piercing his bones, yet it was nothing compared to the storm of emotions surging within him.
He lowered his gaze, his eyes seeming to penetrate the Obsidian Floor Tiles beneath his feet, reaching into a distant past.
Recalling those memories, Luo Ling slowly raised his head, his gaze focusing on the figure lazily reclining on the White Bone Throne before him— the Demon King, Isayate.
Ever since she had personally defeated him in the battle that determined the Empire’s fate, and he awakened to find himself in this Demon King’s castle rising above the Abyss, he had been trapped here.
She had effortlessly sealed away the holy power he relied on and took pride in, as if breaking the wings of an eagle and dragging him from the clouds into the mire.
Where the holy power had been stripped away, only a void of numbness remained, along with a faint pain throbbing with every heartbeat.
Behind him, the armies that had once fought by his side and sworn loyalty to the Empire had crumbled like an avalanche, losing their last pillar of spirit, and were utterly destroyed.
The Crown of the Empire, the hopes of the people— everything he had sworn to protect with his life— all turned to dust with a casual wave of her hand.
Now, the Demon King who controlled his life and death and had overturned his world, lounged on the White Bone Throne built from countless bones.
Under the eerie green magic fire in the hall, the throne gleamed with a chilling luster, each bone silently telling tales of past wails.
Yet she made this gruesome throne appear almost like some luxurious couch.
Her bare feet, skin as pale as the finest mutton-fat jade, contrasted sharply with the ghastly bones beneath, creating an eerie and breathtaking image.
Her slender toes lazily hooked the throne’s cold armrest, with a childlike casualness that nonetheless radiated undeniable authority.
Her eyes were as deep as the coldest pools, as cunning as a fox, filled with undisguised amusement and scrutiny, as if she were appreciating a fascinating toy— watching how the moth caught in her web would struggle and eventually succumb.
The fire of anger in his heart felt submerged in a frozen lake.
Instead of fading or erupting over time, it settled into a nearly dead stillness.
Beneath that stillness lay a deeper, more piercing hatred— and a weariness even he didn’t wish to admit.
“Does love breed hate…? Perhaps.”
Luo Ling whispered soundlessly in his heart.
His thoughts, like a runaway tide, were dragged back to the turning point that changed his life— the death of Eve.
Everything had begun the moment Eve fell.
The girl who always smiled warmly, who could drive away all his darkness, the one he had vowed to protect with his life, vanished without warning.
If Eve hadn’t died, perhaps he would be just an ordinary farmer now, or a small-town blacksmith— rising with the sun, resting at dusk, holding her by the fireplace, listening to the rain and wind outside, living a simple but happy life.
That should have been his life— the true destination he longed for.
But fate played a cruel joke on him.
Eve’s death, like a red-hot brand, seared “revenge” and “duty” deep into his soul.
He was forced to pick up the sword and walk the thorny path of the “Hero.”
For ten years, he fought demons and monsters, bathed in blood, his hands stained with countless lives.
He loathed the endless killing, the life of licking blood from the blade; every swing of his sword felt like tearing apart his longing for Eve.
He only wanted to return to the past— to a time without hatred, when she was still by his side.
But even such a humble wish became an unattainable luxury.
What tormented him more was that after ten years, he still hadn’t uncovered the truth behind Eve’s death.
The murderer vanished like a ghost, leaving behind only a Bloodstained Dagger.
Luo Ling unconsciously tightened his grip on the black dagger hidden in his clothes.
Even through the fabric, he seemed to feel its chilling aura, cold enough to freeze the soul.
On the hilt, a strange insignia was carved— a Twisted Serpent Emblem, with two crimson gems for eyes, shining with an eerie, evil light.
For ten years, he carried this dagger, searching every corner of the continent, questioning countless sages and elders, yet no one recognized the insignia.
It was like an unsolvable riddle, mocking his helplessness and obsession.
Who was the killer? Why did they kill Eve? Everything was shrouded in layers of mist.
“Eh, to think you’re now a prisoner, yet you still have the leisure to daydream here?”
A slightly mocking female voice echoed in the hall, shattering Luo Ling’s thoughts.
The Demon King, Isayate, straightened from the throne and walked barefoot toward the imprisoned Luo Ling.
Her skirt trailed along the ground, blooming like a black lotus in the night.
She studied him with interest, as if admiring a curious plaything.
Luo Ling lifted his eyes, meeting hers with an icy gaze, but said nothing.
To him, any words from the Demon King were merely the victor’s insult and mockery of the defeated.
He was a prisoner, but his will was unbroken.
Silence was his final defiance.
“Oh? Not speaking?”
Isayate stopped, tilting her head slightly, a wicked smile curving her lips as a dark light flashed in her eyes.
“Perfect. Your expressions are so rich, I’m growing curious… What are you thinking about? Your little lover, or cursing me? Hehehe…”
She laughed softly, her voice like a snake’s hiss, carrying a seductive magical power.
With her laughter, an invisible spiritual force, cold as an icy tentacle, slowly reached toward the depths of Luo Ling’s consciousness.
“If you won’t say, then I’ll just see your memories myself… Let’s see what secrets and… weaknesses this great Hero hides in his heart.”
Isayate’s smile grew brighter, but danger flickered in her eyes.
She extended a slender, pale finger, a thread of dark magic gathering at her fingertip, and lightly touched Luo Ling’s brow.
Luo Ling’s heart tightened.
He sensed a powerful spiritual force trying to invade his mind, seeking to pry open his sealed memories.
There were warm moments with Eve, scenes of bloody battles, and above all, the agonizing instant when Eve fell…
Those memories were his most treasured possessions and deepest wounds— not to be defiled by anyone!
He clenched his teeth, rallying the last remnants of strength within him to resist the invasion.
But, bound by the special Dark Magic Chains, his power was but a fraction of its peak, rendering his resistance feeble.
Isayate’s fingertip hovered over his brow, her curiosity and amusement deepening.
She seemed already poised to savor the sight of the Hero’s pain and struggle in his memories.
Beads of cold sweat formed on Luo Ling’s forehead; his consciousness blurred.
He could feel the cold force ripping through his mental defenses, forbidden memories surging uncontrollably— Eve’s warm smile, her form lying in a pool of blood, years of wandering, endless slaughter, the longing for truth and powerlessness before fate…
“No…”
Luo Ling uttered a low, hoarse growl, his eyes filled with pain and defiance.
He couldn’t let anyone see his weakness— especially not this woman!
Isayate’s fingertip finally touched his brow.
“Vmmm—”
A deep, sharp hum echoed, not from any physical source, but directly within Luo Ling’s consciousness.
The next moment, an overwhelming mental impact descended like a tidal wave from the heavens, sweeping through his body!
Luo Ling’s body jerked, jaw clenched tight, veins bulging on his forehead.
He felt as if his mind was gripped by an invisible hand and hurled into a swirling vortex.
The world spun, senses fractured.
Everything around him— the darkness of the Demon King’s hall, the eerie White Bone Throne, even the presence of his own body— all twisted and blurred beneath the assault.
Countless memories, once cherished, remembered, suppressed, or forgotten, burst forth like a dam breaking.
Under the first dawn of the Empire, he donned holy armor, receiving honor and oaths.
On the battlefield, fighting alongside comrades, the clash of blades and battle cries.
On the training grounds, sweating and forging strength and will.
And… Eve.
Scenes of Eve, the sharpest blades in his memories, flashed with painful clarity.
Her handing him the first white rose in the field, dewdrops on its petals.
Her eyes filled with adoration and gentleness as she listened to his tales by the campfire.
These fragments, usually sealed deep within, were now forcefully dragged out, each frame magnified, bringing excruciating pain.
Isayate’s spiritual power moved through his chaotic mind like a surgeon’s scalpel, like a greedy thief, seizing and magnifying the most emotionally charged memories.
She read his life, his pain, and his love with interest, like flipping through an open book.
In the grand hall, only Luo Ling’s rough, pained breaths echoed.
Each breath, trembling with despair, felt like inhaling icy blades that sliced through his lungs.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking his hair, sliding down his cheeks, splattering weakly onto the cold floor— sounds that rang sharp in the silence.
In contrast, Isayate’s lazy, delighted chuckle floated in the air.
The laughter was clear as silver bells, yet cold as a snake’s hiss, striking Luo Ling’s heart.
“Hm? This is… that girl?”
Isayate’s voice carried a perfectly measured surprise, as if discovering a new world.
Her spiritual force paused as it touched Eve’s memory fragments, then her amusement deepened, nearly overflowing.
“I see…”
She drew out her words, the light in her eyes flickering like a dragon finding treasure.
“So this is your weak spot, Luo Ling… Hero?”
She emphasized the word “Hero,” dripping with irony.
Her bare toes still lazily hooked the armrest, her body leaning forward, mischief and dangerous greed glittering in her eyes.
“Truly… fascinating.”
She whispered, a wicked, enchanting smile curling her lips.
“If I… turned that ‘Eve’ in your memory into myself, what would happen?”
Her words, like poisoned daggers, pierced Luo Ling’s most vulnerable place.
“Tell me… when you recall those gentle moments, but see my face instead— would you become a bit more obedient?”
Her voice was soft, like a lover’s whisper, yet so poisonous it made one shudder.
This was not just psychological torment, but a violation and trampling of his deepest emotions.
As her words fell, her spiritual power rampaged even more wantonly through Luo Ling’s memories.
She greedily absorbed the turbulent emotions— the pain of violated memories, the heart-wrenching sorrow of Eve’s defilement, the rage at his powerlessness, the longing and despair that smothered him since the Empire’s fall.
For a Demon King who fed on negative energy, these were the finest delicacies.
She could taste the lava-like agony, the ice-cold sorrow, the beastly rage in Luo Ling’s heart— every emotion so raw and intense, bringing her indescribable pleasure and fulfillment, as if drinking the richest wine.
She even felt her own power grow stronger, nourished by these pure, potent energies.
Luo Ling’s body trembled violently— not from cold, but from overwhelming anger and humiliation.
He wanted to roar, to bellow, to question, to stop her.
But his throat felt crushed by an invisible hand; no sound emerged.
His mind was shackled, forced to watch as his dearest memories were ravaged, enduring the soul-rending pain helplessly.
His eyes filled with bloodshot lines, the dead calm shattered, replaced by savage hatred and despair.
He glared at Isayate, like a wounded lone wolf, madness and murderous intent in his gaze.
If looks could kill, Isayate would have been torn to shreds a thousand times.
Yet Isayate paid his glare no heed— if anything, his fierce reaction delighted her further.
She reveled in toying with her prey, savoring the power to manipulate another’s emotions at will.
Her spiritual force surged like a tide, continuing to invade Luo Ling’s mind, forcibly twisting and warping the beautiful memories of Eve.
To his horror, Luo Ling “saw” Eve’s gentle smile in his mind blur, then distort, transforming into Isayate’s mocking face!
Those tender eyes turned into cold, playful ones; the words “I’ll wait for you to return” twisted into her taunting whisper.
“No——!!!”
A voiceless scream erupted within Luo Ling’s soul.
He summoned every last ounce of will to resist this terrible mental corruption.
He could not let Eve be desecrated!
Never!
She was the only light in his dark existence— his final hope.
His consciousness fought back, colliding violently with Isayate’s spiritual force.
Thunder boomed in his mind, memories shattered and reformed.
He felt himself being torn apart, agony blackening his vision, nearly fainting.
Isayate raised her brows, surprised at his tenacity, then grew even more interested.
“Oh? Still struggling? How tenacious… But doesn’t that just make it more painful for you?”
She intensified her assault, spiritual power lashing Luo Ling’s mind like a storm.
His will flickered like a candle in the wind, threatening to extinguish at any moment.
His breaths grew weaker, his body faltering.
Yet he still clenched his teeth, bloodshot eyes fixed on the woman atop the White Bone Throne.
In the depths of pain and despair, a faint, unyielding light flickered in his gaze.
It was his last defense for Eve— the final shred of dignity and principle as a human.
“Pu——”
A mouthful of blood burst from Luo Ling’s lips, splattering onto the cold ground in a vivid crimson bloom.
His body wavered, then collapsed, hands bracing against the floor, coughing violently with each painful spasm.
His mind, like a tiny boat in a raging sea, threatened to capsize at any moment.
Isayate seemed bored of the one-sided torture, or perhaps had “tasted” enough of Luo Ling’s suffering.
She chuckled lightly, withdrawing her spiritual power.
With the external pressure gone, Luo Ling’s consciousness ebbed like a receding tide, leaving exhaustion and pain.
He collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath, his body drenched in cold sweat as if escaped from a nightmare.
In his mind, the distorted memories clung to him like maggots, filling him with nausea and terror.
Isayate watched his pitiful form, then stepped down barefoot from the throne.
She approached, stopping above him, her pale toes nearly touching his face.
“How does it feel, Hero?”
Her voice held a lazy smile, yet was icy as a blade.
“Remember this feeling. Everything of yours, your memories, your emotions, now belong to me. If you don’t want that girl called Eve to completely ‘become’ me in your memory…”
She bent down, bringing her lips close to Luo Ling’s ear, her words a devil’s whisper heard only by them.
“Then… be a good boy.”
Warm breath brushed his ear, yet his blood froze.
He squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms, piercing skin so blood mingled with the stains on the floor.
But he felt no pain— only the bone-deep humiliation, hatred, and tormenting worry and longing for Eve tearing at his chest.
The hall returned to silence, broken only by Luo Ling’s ragged, agonized breaths echoing in the emptiness.
Finally, he could endure no more.
His tense body crumpled, falling forward.
“Thud”
He hit the cold, hard floor with a dull crash, stirring a faint cloud of dust.
As darkness claimed him, the last image in his mind was Eve’s gentle smile, and her tearful, “I’ll wait for you to come back.”
Regret and despair drowned him like a frozen sea.
He had fallen, in this fortress of darkness and despair, like a leaf destroyed by storm.
High above, Isayate straightened, satisfaction and amusement in her eyes.
She stepped unhurriedly back to the White Bone Throne, her bare feet striking the stone floor with quiet authority.
She lounged elegantly on the throne, fingers tapping the armrest in a crisp, rhythmic beat, savoring the aftermath of a perfect performance.
Her eyes lazily swept over the unconscious Luo Ling, a cruel smile curling her lips.
Then, her voice rang clear and cold through the hall.
“Liliya.”
At her summons, a figure appeared from the shadows.
A woman in black tight clothes, hood obscuring her face save for glowing eyes and bloodless lips.
She knelt gracefully, head bowed.
“At your command, my lord.”
Her voice was enchanting, like a siren’s song.
Isayate’s gaze fell on Liliya, commanding.
“Take your ‘brother’ and imprison him in the Abyssal Prison.”
She stressed the word “brother” with affection.
Liliya jerked as if shocked, then regained composure, head lowered, excitement trembling in her tone.
“Yes, my lord.”
Isayate let out a chilling, bell-like laugh.
“Clack clack…”
The sound echoed in the hall, sending shivers down the spine.
“I want to see how long he can endure.”
Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, like an audience awaiting a show.
She wanted to watch the former Hero be swallowed by darkness in the Abyss, to see if he would become like her, or just a loyal dog at her feet.
For Isayate, conquering a strong enemy, especially by shattering him mentally, brought more pleasure than mere slaughter.
Luo Ling— once an enemy, now a plaything— was her new source of joy.
Liliya said no more, rising and walking to Luo Ling’s side.
She easily lifted his limp form, carrying him on her shoulder.
His head drooped, hair veiling his face, only faint breaths proving he lived.
Liliya, bearing Luo Ling, turned and vanished into the shadows as silently as she had arrived, leaving behind only the undried bloodstains and the lingering air of blood and despair.
On the throne, Isayate reclined again, toes hooking the armrest, eyes deep, lips curled in a cold, eerie smile.
She savored the “delicacy” just consumed, already anticipating the next “feast.”
The Abyssal Prison— even the most vicious demons feared its name.
To cast Luo Ling there was the cruelest punishment.
And this was only the beginning.
The true hell awaiting Luo Ling had just begun.