That sentence from Yueqi—“What I’m suppressing is… the Hero’s Instinct”—echoed in Aoki’s mind like a thunderclap, lingering there for a long, long time.
The Hero’s Instinct? That sounded like some kind of blessing—why would it need to be suppressed? Why would Yueqi even call it a “curse”?
He realized instantly that this might be the key to unraveling the mystery of Yueqi’s connection with the Demon Race.
On the day after the victory celebration, he found a chance to be alone with Yueqi—in the family training grounds at dawn, when it was nearly deserted.
“What you said last night, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.” Aoki got straight to the point, his gaze calm as he looked at Yueqi, who was warming up. “The Hero’s Instinct… Why does it need to be suppressed? What is it, really?”
Yueqi paused for a moment. She didn’t answer immediately, but finished a set of gentle stretching exercises instead, as if using the motions to gather her thoughts and muster her courage. The morning sunlight streamed through the lattice windows of the training ground, gilding her in gold, yet it could not dispel the heaviness lingering between her brows.
“Do you know how the Power of the Hero comes to be?” she finally spoke, her voice a little hoarse. She didn’t look at Aoki, but gazed out the window at the cloudless blue sky.
“In legend, it arises when needed—when the world faces a grave crisis, a Hero carrying the light of hope is born.” Aoki answered according to the common knowledge of this world.
“Arises when needed… Yes.” A faint, bitter smile tugged at Yueqi’s lips. “But what does ‘needed’ mean? It’s a crisis of the world. And the Hero’s Power, in essence, is a living curse that grows by absorbing ‘crisis.’”
She turned around, her green eyes locking onto Aoki’s. There was a depth of pain and struggle there that he had never seen before.
“It craves crisis, craves war, craves… slaughter. The more chaotic and despairing the age, the stronger the Hero’s Power becomes. Conversely, if the world is at peace, it… grows ‘hungry.’”
Aoki’s heart gave a violent jolt, as if he’d grasped something.
Yueqi went on, her voice low and tightly restrained: “Compared to other continents ravaged by the Demon Lord, our land has enjoyed peace for far too long. The threat of the Demon Lord’s army mainly hangs over other continents—here, we’re just the fringes. There’s conflict, but nowhere near the brink of life and death.”
“So… the Hero’s Power inside you grows restless because it’s ‘hungry’?” Aoki followed her line of reasoning.
“Yes.” Yueqi nodded, her hands unconsciously clenched. “It roars inside me. It wants to be ‘fed.’ And the ‘solution’ it proposes is simple and cruel—if the world’s crisis isn’t enough, then… create a crisis.”
“Create a crisis?” Aoki’s pupils contracted slightly.
“It whispers to me, tempts me…” Yueqi’s voice trembled a little. “To spark wars, to sow chaos, to… kill innocent people, use their blood and fear to nourish it, make it stronger. It tells me only then, when the true Demon Lord’s army descends, will we have enough power to resist.”
Aoki sucked in a cold breath. At last, he understood! This so-called “Hero’s Instinct” was in fact a crazed drive for power at all costs, even at the risk of corroding one’s own foundation! To prepare for some possible “great crisis,” it would create “small crises” to feed itself! This was not the light of hope at all, but a monster parasitizing its host, feeding on the world’s turmoil!
“So you fight with all your strength each time not just to destroy your enemies, but also to burn off that restless power, to keep it from warping your mind, to keep yourself from ever heeding its whispers… doing something… irreparable?” Aoki’s voice dropped low as well.
“That’s right.” Yueqi closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling. “I have to stay vigilant at every moment, using my will, using high-intensity outbursts to keep it pressed deep inside. Every swing of my sword feels like I’m fighting the demon inside myself. I’m afraid… afraid that one day, I won’t be able to hold it back, that I’ll become the monster it wants me to be…”
She opened her eyes, a trace of lingering fear and deep exhaustion flickering there. “This is the fate of the Fengling family. This is the truth of being a Hero. We’re not chosen champions—we are vessels that bear a curse.”
So this was the truth! A chill pierced Aoki to the bone. The so-called Hero was merely a “cleaning program” generated by the world’s crisis—one that could be even more dangerous than its enemies! In order to fend off outside threats, it would not hesitate to set fires within!
And Yueqi’s “connection” with the Demon Race seemed, in this moment, to take on a new interpretation. The “ancient link” from the Shadow Demon’s memories might not be cooperation at all, but… could it be Yueqi’s own restless “Hero’s Instinct” reaching out, trying to resonate with the “source of crisis”—the Demon Race? Perhaps, even beyond Yueqi’s awareness, that “instinct” was seeking to bypass her suppression and forge some kind of connection with the demons, in order to create the “crisis” it craved?
The very thought made Aoki shudder. If that was true, then Yueqi’s future was almost fated to be a tragedy. Either she would be devoured by her instinct and become a monster of chaos, or she would wear herself out fighting it, only to be replaced in the end by an even more thorough “cleansing will.”
He had to do something.
*****
His awareness snapped back to reality. Alone in his tent, Aoki paced back and forth, rapidly integrating all the information in his mind. The “Hero’s Instinct” in Yueqi yearned for crisis, and the Demon Lord’s army was the perfect, ready-made source of crisis. The “connection” from the Shadow Demon’s memory, the Demon Lord’s army’s peculiar “tacit understanding” toward Yueqi—it all seemed to point to one possibility: the upper ranks of the Demon Lord’s army might well know the truth about the “Hero!” They might even be taking advantage of it!
No, maybe… Yueqi was using them, too?
The closer the Demon Lord’s army came, the less danger the Hero’s Instinct posed to the locals.
A bold plan began to take shape in his heart.
He needed to speak directly with the Demon Lord’s top brass! Not the front-line commanders, but those who truly understood the inside story.
He gathered pen and paper and, using a few magic techniques for concealment and guidance he’d learned in the simulation world, wrote a short but information-packed letter. He didn’t sign his name; just used a few key symbols and coded phrases, referencing the “Hero’s Curse” and the “true crisis,” and proposed a meeting at a specific time and place.
He entrusted the letter to a night owl that happened to fly into camp, subtly influencing it with a touch of soul energy. He knew that if the Demon Lord’s upper echelons were really paying attention, they’d find a way to intercept and decipher this message.
*****
Three nights later, beneath a hazy moon, Aoki came alone to the agreed-upon abandoned temple. The temple was in ruins, broken walls and shattered pillars casting twisted shadows under the moonlight, the air thick with dust and desolation.
He stood at the temple’s center and waited in silence. Time ticked by, with nothing but the wind and the chorus of insects for company.
Suddenly, without warning, a surge of powerful yet restrained demonic aura appeared at the temple’s entrance. It was not a wild, aggressive presence, but like a bottomless, icy pool—cold, heavy, ancient.
A figure slowly emerged from the shadows.
The moonlight traced her outline—a tall, graceful woman in a gown woven from night and starlight, its hem drifting though there was no wind. Her face was beautiful beyond imagination, skin pale as snow, features exquisite, and her deep purple eyes were as fathomless as a sky full of swirling stars. Her hair, black as flowing ink, fell to her waist. She bore none of the Demon Race’s usual savagery or brutality; instead, she exuded an aloof, almost inborn dignity and chill.
She looked at Aoki, standing at the temple’s heart, her flawless face showing not a hint of surprise, as if she had known all along it would be him. The corners of her alluring, dangerous lips curled ever so slightly, holding an indescribable complexity. In the silent temple, her voice rang out—cold and carrying a strange magnetic charm:
“Aoki, we meet again.”
Aoki’s whole body jolted, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints!
Meet again?
He was certain he had never seen this female Demon Lord in any world before! Whether in battle or in any intelligence report—never! She knew him? And she said “again”?
Could it be… in the simulation world? But in the simulation, the highest-ranking demons he’d encountered were just some commanders and spellcasters—there was absolutely no way he’d met a Demon Lord of such terrifying presence!
A thousand questions filled Aoki’s mind at once, but he forced down the waves of shock in his heart, maintaining a façade of calm, his gaze sharp as he looked at the beautiful Demon Lord:
“Have we… met before?”
The female Demon Lord laughed softly. The sound was ethereal, laced with a trace of mockery, as if she were laughing at his forgetfulness—or at the wheel of fate itself. She didn’t answer directly, but slowly stepped forward, her purple eyes gazing into Aoki’s, as if to see straight through to the depths of his soul.