Tale of the Survivor and the Demon King

Talia's magic already bore the authority of dominion, leaving Lanqi unable to defy her will and forcing him to speak the truth. "Tata... don't do it. I mean you no harm." Lanqi's voice came with difficulty under the pressure around his throat. He could feel that after gaining Lanfu's demonic voice ability, Talia's innate magic had branched in another direction—shifting from mind-reading to mind control. She no longer needed to know what was in another person's heart; a brutal subjugation was all it took. Talia's lips moved faintly. "▇▇." She softly breathed two syllables. As if mimicking the strange sound she had just heard—the moment Lanqi spoke, what first met her ears was unidentifiable static. Lanqi fought to keep his breath steady, watching Talia intently. Just as he thought. For the Lanqi of this timeline, the name "Tata" was something he could not possibly know. It was proof born only of their most fundamental compact. A bond that began in a fateful grudge, progressed through gradual understanding, grew into heartfelt aid, and culminated in mutual protection—a trust assembled piece by piece from countless fragments of the past. Yet here, none of that had ever existed. The version of himself in this worldline might not even be able to speak her full name, let alone address her in such a tone. "I told you to answer my questions." Talia gave it only a fleeting thought before tossing that inexplicable burst of noise to the back of her mind. She had no interest in bizarre anomalies. She had no interest in anything that did not directly affect her own interests. She repeated her command. The crushing weight of mental control deepened by another layer. Lanqi felt his will being ground down by an external force. Mind control of this caliber was enough to make him spill every secret he possessed. Lanqi had little time to gather his thoughts. His current options were razor-thin. The approaches most likely to convince Talia—such as bringing up her origins, her ambitions, her obsession with restoring the demon race—might all degrade into meaningless static because they relied on information this timeline's Lanqi could never possess. And if he relied neither on his foreknowledge nor his understanding of Talia... Then standing before him was merely a dangerous demon walking the path of a Demon King—one far more distrustful of humanity than when they had first met, far more full of hatred toward him. The fingers clamped around his throat tightened a fraction more. Breathing grew labored. Back then, the harshest Talia had ever been to him had still been tender by comparison. This Talia was genuinely throttling him with one hand until he could barely draw breath. Yet Lanqi knew why she hadn't killed him yet. She didn't want any unnecessary complications in Ikerite, nor did she want to leave behind a loose end over a worthless human. Nothing more. Lanqi understood completely that he could no longer treat this Talia as the Tata he knew. He had to change his approach entirely. Since he was the Lanqi of this worldline right now, he might as well think from this Lanqi's predicament. If he were truly the Lanqi who lacked any knowledge of the future, who had foolishly provoked Talia and been beaten half to death, who had lost his family and fallen into utter despair—what would he do? He would have nothing left. No strength, no connections, no money, no future. Yet he still possessed one thing. Silver-tongued eloquence. "The Hymn of Compassion," Lanqi uttered those words. "You took it from my family." Lanqi continued, his voice halting from the grip on his windpipe, struggling to pronounce every single word with utter clarity. "But you still haven't mastered it, have you?" "..." Talia's golden eyes bore into Lanqi. He couldn't read her thoughts, yet he met her gaze head-on without flinching. No matter how high her affinity was with the Hymn of Compassion, assimilating an epic-grade ancient relic without sufficient magic engineering resources to support her was no easy feat for a vagrant like her. That was precisely what Lanqi was gambling on. "You want to take it back." Her question was devoid of inflection, and the fingers around his neck tightened another half-fraction. Just as it had been when they first met. "No." Lanqi's voice was crisp and resolute. "It's useless to me now," he said quickly. "I have no need to recover it for my family anymore." Because his family no longer existed. All of this was the pure truth. Talia's fingers remained on Lanqi's neck, but the tightening halted. "Why bring up that I cannot master it?" Talia could not possibly be ignorant of the Hymn of Compassion's worth, or what it meant to the demon race. For a demon treading the road to restoration, where every ounce of power was vital, an undigested power was undeniably a thorn caught in the throat. "I have a way to help you comprehend the Hymn of Compassion," Lanqi said. "How?" The pressure from Talia's hand eased just enough to give Lanqi the chance to speak. Yet the instant half a deceitful word crossed his lips, she would offer no mercy to a human who knew she held the Hymn of Compassion and dared to use it as leverage to negotiate. She would eliminate the future threat right here and now. "The Hymn of Compassion is an ancient relic legally owned by my Wilfort family." Lanqi made sure everything he said remained strictly within the realm of what this timeline's Lanqi could know. "It is in your hands now, but by law, it is stolen goods," he explained. Talia's gaze grew a degree colder. "I am merely stating a fact. You cannot take an ancient relic of dubious origin to any expert in Hutton for appraisal or analysis. Neither the Magic Crafters Association, nor the School of Magic Engineering, nor any institution with official backing can sell you the high-grade auxiliary materials required by the Hymn of Compassion." Lanqi drew a breath. "But I can." Talia remained silent. "I am the survivor of the Wilfort family, the only person who can legally hold that ancient relic. As long as I remain within the legal framework of the Hutton Kingdom, lawful ownership of the Hymn of Compassion belongs to me." Lanqi looked directly into her eyes. "I can transfer it to you." After those words fell, a long silence hung in the air. Dusk filtered through the cracks in the clouds, spilling across the gravel path of the cemetery and stretching their shadows long. Talia was contemplating. Lanqi knew what she was weighing. She was weighing whether a weak human youth with virtually zero value could truly deliver on his promise. And whether she ought to enter into a partnership with a human for the sake of an ancient relic she had not yet mastered. If she used brute mind control to force Lanqi into Ikerite's judicial institutions to finalize the transfer procedures, anomalies would inevitably be detected; no one could afford to underestimate the capital of Hutton. Thus, she needed this bearer of the Wilfort name to help her willingly. And she would ultimately arrive at the same conclusion: What Lanqi offered was something she could obtain through no other channel. She possessed the strength to seize the Hymn of Compassion by force, but she lacked the means to make Hutton recognize her rightful ownership. With tensions in the Southern Continent deteriorating day by day, she urgently required greater power. And this human— this pampered young master who had once mocked her with roasted pigeon, now fallen so low he seemed like a different person entirely, yet possessing eyes untouched by fear—happened to be able to resolve her immediate predicament. "What do you want?" Talia finally spoke. "Could you let go a little first?" Lanqi's voice had grown increasingly dry from the prolonged choking. "I can barely speak." Talia studied him for two seconds. Then her fingers loosened. Her palm still rested against his neck, the force reduced to a level that no longer hindered his breathing or speaking. Like a tether, reminding him never to forget the circumstances under which he spoke. Lanqi drew a deep breath. The autumn cemetery air flooded his lungs—cold and damp, carrying the scent of earth and withered leaves. "Why help me?" Talia looked up once more, scrutinizing Lanqi. It was a question she had mulled over for a long while before asking. Because her counterpart in this transaction defied her logic. By all reason, a wealthy young master who had been beaten by her and stripped of his heirloom treasure ought to despise her. Seeing how wretched he had become, he might even blame his current failure on her. A foolish man would exhaust every avenue to find an opportunity for revenge, while a clever one would keep as far away from her as possible. Yet this human was acting entirely contrary to expectation, offering to help her. It made no sense to her. And to Talia, things that made no sense were dangerous. "A trade," Lanqi rasped, his throat still hoarse. "I won't help you for nothing." He managed to raise a hand and pointed a forefinger at his neck, which Talia was still loosely holding. "Could you let go completely first?" Talia did not budge. "I won't run." Lanqi's tone didn't sound like someone speaking to a powerhouse capable of snuffing him out at any second. "Killing me would be child's play for you anyway; my life is in your hands whenever you want it." He paused for a beat. "Unless you don't even have the confidence to catch me?" A faint, mocking smile touched his lips as he asked her. Talia stared at Lanqi. His words seemed to displease her. Slowly, she withdrew her hand. Lanqi rubbed his neck. It would definitely bruise. "Your terms." There was still no variation in Talia's tone. "First term." Lanqi held up a finger. "I provoked you, and you beat me up. I accept that. But you stole my family's treasure. That wasn't fair, and it's no basis on which to build a business relationship." Talia did not contest it. "You must pay me seventy-five thousand pounds." Lanqi opened his hand, spreading his fingers, then held them out again. "Once this sum is paid in full, our past grievances are wiped clean, and the Hymn of Compassion will be considered legally transferred to you." "I do not have that much money on hand." Talia's answer was blunt. "You can pay on credit, in installments," Lanqi negotiated nonchalantly. "I trust your credit. After all, a powerhouse like you has no need to bully a nobody like me. Besides, you carry yourself with the noble air of a princess." "..." Talia regarded Lanqi in silence. Lanqi had called it the first term. That meant there was at least a second. "Second term." Lanqi raised another finger. "Pay me three pounds a day, and I will work for you." Talia's brow furrowed. She clearly found it expensive. "Trust me, you won't be able to hire someone like me for this wage anywhere else." Lanqi spread his hands, wearing an expression that looked utterly mismatched with his currently disheveled appearance. "I'm not deceiving you. If this were in the Kingdom of Posen, finding a butler like me would cost at least fifty thousand pounds." "..." "What's more, the contract can be terminated at any time; the initiative always rests with you. It's a risk-free deal. If I'm getting over seventy thousand pounds from you, would I really try to swindle you over pocket change?" Right now, he was a man who possessed nothing except his silver tongue. Then he would use that tongue. By persuading Talia, he would prove to her his skill at negotiation. Lanqi needed Talia to realize just how useful someone who could smile and haggle while having his throat squeezed would be in future encounters requiring interaction with human society. She was powerful, mysterious, and cold, but she was entirely alone, taciturn, and extreme in her actions. That meant trouble would inevitably find her. Walking through human kingdoms where order still prevailed required more than mere strength; it required someone who could speak for her, maneuver on her behalf, and handle problems that fists alone could never solve. And that was precisely what Lanqi excelled at. Talia fell silent for a long time. She was evaluating Lanqi in her own way. A Tier 2 human wasn't even fit to carry her shoes. This fellow possessed no extraordinary talent that commanded her respect, nor did he hold any influence capable of resolving trouble swiftly, and he didn't even have the money that was once so convenient to use. Yet he possessed a silver tongue. "Why three pounds?" she asked. Moonlight emerged from behind the clouds just then. Silver-white light settled over the branches of the large tree beside them. Lanqi looked at her. Seventy-five thousand pounds. Three pounds a day. Back then, he had been a newly arrived wealthy young master, holding the family fortune, smiling as he handed a checkbook to an impoverished vagrant girl, binding her to his side through a transaction. Yet here, he was destitute, while she held absolute power. It was he who was asking for employment, and she who was deciding whether to accept. The same numbers, in reverse directions. Two transactions branching out from the very same trunk. "If you could read minds, perhaps you'd know," Lanqi murmured to himself, looking at this Talia who felt both so strange and so familiar with a faint, half-formed smile. "I accept the deal." Talia wasted no attention on his irrelevant remark. Her voice was crisp and decisive, leaving no room for hesitation. Once she made up her mind, she never second-guessed herself. "However, the moment I discover you harbor disloyalty," Talia's golden eyes narrowed slightly in the moonlight, "I will kill you on the spot. If that happens, even if you receive no money, you will only have yourself to blame." "Be sure to kill me with your own hands, then." Lanqi smiled nonchalantly and extended his right hand toward Talia. Palm up, fingers parted slightly. Talia glanced down at the hand offered to her. "This is proof of our contract," Lanqi said to her. "My name is Lanqi Wilfort. And you?" Naturally, he knew her name. In another timeline, he had called her name countless times. Yet here, it was the first time he had ever asked. If he were truly the "Survivor Lanqi" of this worldline— meeting once more the mysterious powerhouse who had beaten him into the hospital, who happened to be the only person he could be certain had little to do with the Wilfort Tragedy because she had inadvertently saved his life, thus ruling out most suspicion— then his choice would undeniably be to follow her, even swallowing humiliation to take her as his master, until he uncovered the truth behind the Wilfort Tragedy. "..." Talia looked at his hand. "Tata," she said. Then she slowly extended her hand. Under the moonlight of the late-autumn cemetery, their two hands clasped. A cold, slender hand capable of shattering every bone in the youth's body in an instant held the hand of the survivor. They were merely two survivors backed into a corner in their respective worlds, temporarily bound together by a transaction within a garden where the dead slept. Yet that was how all stories began. In those chapters destined to be sung as legends, the very first page was often steeped in cold, despair, and necessity. No one knew what would happen next. Only one thing was certain. In this timeline, the youth and the great demon would walk a very, very long road side by side. And upon this withered branch, everything had only just begun. "Tata," Lanqi murmured softly. It seemed that even in this worldline, his ill-fated connection with her would not end so easily. Besides, even after obtaining Lanfu, Talia wouldn't find it so easy to become a leader in troubled times; she would definitely need a clever fellow assisting her from the shadows. This time, his voice did not seem to turn into static. Clear syllables fell from his lips, drifting through the damp autumn night air, reaching Talia's ears in their entirety. Talia's brows knitted slightly. Presumably, she didn't appreciate this fellow calling her name out of nowhere. Yet she did not deny that she was Tata. Lanqi recalled it now. Under Demon King Talia, there were several mysterious figures. From the silhouettes, Lanqi could now recognize Aetio among them, while several others looked more and more like Nigel and those other demon lords from the City of Flowers, alongside others he did not know. Now, Lanqi reasonably wondered whether there was also a strategist among them. "It couldn't be that no matter which worldline I'm in, I'm destined to ▇▇▇▇, could it?" Lanqi laughed self-deprecatingly. "▇▇▇▇?" Talia heard the static again and repeated the sound. Lanqi offered no futile explanation. Then, the world began to feel amiss. At first, it was merely the sounds around the cemetery growing faint. The chirping of autumn insects, the rustling of leaves, the occasional rattle of carriage wheels from the distant streets of Ikerite—all the background noise was receding little by little, as if an invisible volume dial were being turned down. Then came the light; the moonlight blurred. The contours of the tombstones, the silhouettes of the trees, Talia's face—everything was slowly losing its definition, just like the closing moments of a Shadow World. Lanqi felt weariness wash over him. An irresistible drowsiness welled up from the depths of his soul. The cemetery vanished. Talia's pair of golden eyes were the last thing to fade from his sight. They lingered brightly in the boundless dark for a long time before slowly dimming away as well. Then, there was light. Sunlight. The bright, unsparing morning sun poured over his face. Thin, transparent leaves were embedded in the windowpanes. Natural light filtered through those leaves, casting pale green patches across the room. The air was suffused with the pleasant, crisp fragrance of wood. From outside the window came the sound of birdsong. A canary sang carefree upon a branch. Lanqi blinked. Both eyes. His right eye was no longer covered in gauze. The bedding was soft and clean, the sheets carrying the fresh scent of soapberry. The bedroom was tidy, the furniture polished to a shine, and fresh flowers were arranged in the vase on the windowsill. This was South Vantina. His bedroom. Autumn. Morning. The weekend. The sunshine was wonderful. From outside the door came light footsteps, followed by two cautious knocks. "Young Master, it's time to get up," Francine's voice called out. "You said yesterday that you'd have breakfast at home." She spoke very softly. Lanqi sat up in bed and looked toward the doorway. He was back. He wondered if he would ever have a dream like that again. He raised his arm and looked at the Skywood Golden Bee Bracelet on his wrist. The gem set into it, which he had bought at the Church of the Goddess of Fate in the City of Flowers, shone brilliantly under the reflected natural light. Two more knocks sounded on the door. "Are you awake? Breakfast is ready, and Master Noe is already waiting for you downstairs." Francine's voice carried through the wooden door. She worried both about waking Lanqi and about failing to perform her duties. Lanqi got out of bed, stepped onto the plush carpet, and walked over to open the door. Francine was standing outside. She wore a clean, neat maid uniform, her apron tied properly, her flaxen medium-short hair framing a naturally innocent expression completely devoid of worry. "Francine," Lanqi called her name. "Yes!" Francine snapped to attention, straightening her back. "Do you have enough money?" "...Uh." Francine's eyes darted away. Though she hadn't been accused of anything yet, her expression already resembled a student called on by a teacher with a guilty conscience. Her hands twisted the corners of her apron, her gaze flitting from Lanqi's face to the wall, and from the wall to the vase in Lanqi's room. "From now on, in addition to your wages from the Wilfort family—" Lanqi was only halfway through his sentence. "I'm sorry!" Francine blurted out, interrupting him. "I really did take a double wage! Please don't cancel my pay from the Wilfort family!" Tears immediately began streaming down her face, making for a pitiful sight. "I know I shouldn't draw two salaries at once, but—but I worked hard for both sides! I clean the manor spotlessly every day, I dust the study on schedule, and Master Noe's documents, I..." "No," Lanqi shook his head helplessly. "I'm going to give you a separate wage of your own from now on." "?" Francine's mouth snapped shut. Tears still clung to her cheeks, but she forgot to keep crying. "Roughly three times what the Wilfort family pays," Lanqi added. On top of her wages from the Wilfort family and House Aransal, adding three times that would amount to quintuple pay. Francine stared at him blankly. Her tear-streaked face was a picture of bewilderment. She sobbed a tiny bit more—likely out of sheer momentum—before wiping her face with her sleeve. "Why?" Francine asked Lanqi. "What work am I supposed to do?" "Well..." Lanqi leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head slightly. He thought for a moment about how to explain it. "You can think of it as an insurance policy. If disaster ever strikes me one day, you have to help me." He paused there. "Fortunately, no disaster has struck me right now. So this money is yours." "Eeeh—!" Francine gasped in astonishment. She stood dazed in the hallway, turning Lanqi's words over and over in her head, only to become increasingly confused. "What does that mean?" For a moment, she forgot all about decorum and muttered to herself. "Isn't that just giving it away for free?" Her brow furrowed. "But Boss Cat said that you should never accept gifts from you for nothing, that fate always extracts a price..." "I can actually hear you," Lanqi said, caught between annoyance and laughter. "If you don't want it, never mind." He sighed and waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, well, let's donate it to the Church of the Goddess of Fate in the name of the generous Miss Francine. What a kind-hearted girl she is." As he spoke, he watched Francine's expression out of the corner of his eye. The effect was instantaneous. "Wait, I'll take it!" Francine shouted hurriedly. In a matter of seconds, her expression shifted from touched, to shocked, to panicked, and finally to a blatant desire to claim the money for herself. Lanqi smiled. Not the bitter, forced smile he had worn in that worldline. Francine smiled bashfully alongside him, wiping away her tears even as she chuckled, the tip of her nose still red. Sunlight from the hallway streamed in through the window. In the courtyard, the canary sang on, tirelessly warbling one melody after another, as if trying to pack all the fine weather of this autumn morning into its song. Autumn in this world had only just begun. Yet it was already plenty warm.