Several roots emerged from beneath the ground, like giant pythons suddenly awakening. They coiled and intertwined in place, eventually condensing into an old yet upright figure.
An aura of withered desolation spread out.
"Is this the ancient castle of the Blood Clan?"
Hardwick reached out his hand, and a few more roots broke through the soil. Like living vines, they coiled and wove together in his palm, subsequently forming a walking stick in his grasp.
As the walking stick took shape, his originally straight posture hunched over just right, and his shoulders slumped slightly, as if unable to bear the heavy burden of time.
As the Withered Tree rooted in the center of the Yellow Springs Hell, his roots occupied the underground of the entire Demon King's territory...
Hardwick stroked the gray beard on his chin, which was formed from fine roots, feeling quite satisfied with his appearance.
After all, he was here to beg someone to take over his mess.
Pretending to be a little weaker might earn him some sympathy.
For the longest time, that Blood Clan Progenitor had made no moves at all, which meant she did not value the position of Demon King very much.
For some reason, Hardwick suddenly remembered what Mida had said before...
Things wouldn't really develop like that, would they?
For some reason, the premonition in Hardwick's heart grew stronger and stronger.
Hardwick shook his head and hobbled toward the depths of the ancient castle.
The main doors slowly opened.
A scarlet carpet, the color of coagulated blood, was laid out straight across the smooth floor, extending all the way into the depths of the gloomy corridor.
Niya and Feina, having received Aina's orders, had long been waiting behind the doors. They bowed slightly to him. "Lord Demon King."
Hardwick was slightly taken aback. Had they anticipated when he would arrive? They even rolled out the red carpet...
"I wish to see your Progenitor. I have matters to discuss with her." Hardwick tried his best to make his voice sound older and gentler, like a grandpa from next door coming for a visit, without the slightest pressure of a Demon King.
"Please follow us." Feina and Niya exchanged a glance and did not say much, tacitly leading the way at the front of the red carpet.
Soon, Hardwick met Aina in the drawing room.
The drawing room was highly characteristic of the Blood Clan, with a strong stylistic impact hitting him head-on. Crimson walls like blood plasma, dazzling gilded decorations, and jeweled candelabras embedded in the walls... The main color scheme of red and gold was dark but not oppressive, exuding luxury and elegance everywhere.
Aina wore a well-tailored black dress that made her skin look even paler. When Hardwick's figure appeared at the door, she slowly straightened up. Her movements were casual yet polite, like a cat waking from a deep slumber.
Hardwick was undeniably a senior figure. Long before Aina was born, he had already taken root here.
As for his true age, perhaps even the tangled growth rings within him could no longer be counted.
Hardwick was also a very reasonable Demon King. As the ruler of the Yellow Springs Hell, he had never mistreated or overly restricted the powerful Blood Clan... so Aina had a decent impression of him.
And when Hardwick's gaze fell upon Aina, a trace of unconcealable surprise and joy flashed across his aged face.
The deep and terrifying magic power on Aina's body... was far beyond his expectations. Obviously, she fully possessed the strength and qualifications to become a Demon King.
Of course, this was only the tip of the iceberg that Aina voluntarily allowed him to see.
"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Aina." Hardwick could not help but become a bit more solemn.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Hardwick," Aina nodded slightly.
Hardwick suddenly noticed that there was actually another young human man in the room.
Xia Lun smiled at him, then stood up from the sofa and left directly.
The drawing room fell silent.
"Miss Aina, my presumptuous visit this time... is to ask a favor of you." Hardwick cut straight to the chase, breaking the silence with a heavy tone. "I hope... you can take my place and become the new Demon King of the Yellow Springs Hell."
He paused, observing Aina's reaction, and continued to throw out the bait. "If you are willing to accept, you can start preparing immediately. When the next Demon King Conference is held, I will officially hand over all the authority and responsibilities of the Demon King to you..."
"I am very sorry, Mr. Hardwick. I am not interested in this position," Aina directly refused.
"Cough, cough!" Hardwick acted as if he choked on invisible smoke.
"Can you really not consider it a bit more, Miss Aina?" Hardwick let out a bitter smile. Was the throne of the Demon King really that worthless? She didn't even want it when it was given away for free.
"I understand what it signifies," Aina interrupted him, her ruby-like eyes looking straight at Hardwick. "But I will not stay in the Yellow Springs Hell for long. My journey lies in a vaster world. Being bound to a throne is not what I desire."
"Is that so?" Hardwick let out a long sigh.
Perhaps because Mida's prophecy had already given him a heads-up, he was actually not as frustrated as he imagined he would be at this moment; it was more of a helpless feeling of "just as expected."
Feina entered through the door at the right time, bringing an exquisite silver tea set and a few small plates of delicate pastries. She nimbly arranged the tea and snacks, then silently withdrew.
"Are you not going in?" Feina asked Xia Lun, who was waiting outside the door, in a low voice.
"Just leave it to Aina," Xia Lun gently shook his head.
"The way I see it, Mr. Hardwick, you are completely capable of grooming a successor yourself," Aina took a sip of the black tea in her hand.
"I know..." Hardwick's voice sounded a bit exhausted. "But the path of advancement for necromantic creatures is completely different from that of ordinary living beings. There are no shortcuts; one can only rely on the accumulation of long years and painful refinement... This process is just too long."
"You can afford to wait, Mr. Hardwick."
"But I don't want to wait... especially knowing that there is a ready-made one right here." Hardwick extended a branch and dipped it into the teacup, causing the liquid level within to slowly drop.
"I won't change my mind."
"Alright." Hardwick sighed heavily again. His shoulders slumped even more, and his whole person seemed to have shrunk a size.
Hardwick shook his head. "Alas, I really don't know how much longer I can hold on in my current state..."
"There shouldn't be any major problems for the next five thousand years," Aina said indifferently, having seen through the old Demon King's condition at a glance.
Hardwick's old face flushed with embarrassment.
"Cough, cough, cough! That's hard to say... Time spares no one. Lately, I feel like I'm getting weaker and weaker, with aches in my back and waist," Hardwick said as if it were the absolute truth, somewhat pretentiously knocking on his own spine.
close your eyes and open them again, only to find yourself transmigrated into the role of a villainous male supporting character. Readers familiar with urban wish-fulfillment novels know that it is only through the relentless antics of the villainous male supporting character that the plot between the male and female leads can progress. As the villainous male supporting character, Long Aotian not only has to bully the female lead, harass the second female lead, and flirt with the third female lead, but he also has to go all out to antagonize the male lead. In the end, when his body is discovered, he is still clutching half a moldy fried dough stick in his hand. Fully aware of the plot, Long Aotian is determined to change his fate, starting with the female lead! In the beginning, the female lead lacks confidence: "Big brother, I hope I didn't scare you?" In the middle, the female lead treads carefully: "Brother Long, please don't hit me, okay?" Later on, the female lead becomes coquettishly clingy: "Aotian, it's time to pay the 'public grain' tonight." Long Aotian's legs go weak, and he feels like crying: "I taught you to be thick-skinned, not shameless!"
rowess are unmatched, commanding a million-strong army! Yet, the Emperor wants to depose him for the sake of a false prince? Hold on, are you throwing me into some female-oriented romance plot? How can I tolerate this? With a grand wave of his hand—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! Slander the Emperor? Very well, all of you shall die! ... The False Prince: "Although I am not the biological son, Father and Mother love me more. The throne should be mine!" The Female Lead: "Qin Xiao, you are the Emperor, and I am a commoner. If you wish to marry me, you must abdicate. Otherwise, you will never have me!" The Empress: "After we divorce, you must give me half the empire!" The Transmigrator Consort: "You worthless Emperor, why should I kneel to you? All men are equal—I advise you to be kind!" The Great General: "The enemy general is my childhood sweetheart. For her sake, I willingly abandon the frontier defenses!" The Retired Emperor: "Although Yu'er was adopted, I prefer him. Qin Xiao, you should abdicate and let him become Emperor!" ... Very well! So this is how you want to play? Facing this twisted world of female-oriented tropes, Qin Xiao grins and raises his hand to unleash—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! I am the Emperor. Why would I bother reasoning with you? Seal the gates! Leave none alive!
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
