Chapter 495 - 299: Witch Palace Language Side Story: The Maiden and the Divine Beings

My mother once said.

The Human Race is detestable because they once betrayed the Divine Beings they believed in.

Demon Fiends are born to be enemies of the Human Race.

’I don’t think that’s entirely true.’

On the long path of Cultivation, I’ve met many people with chivalrous hearts who cared for the common folk. Some were scholars prepared to die for their cause, some were heroic Sword Cultivators, and others were Defenders stationed at the Great Wall.

’I only hope that when I end their lives, they don’t suffer too much.’

’And that I can grant them the respect they deserve.’

But the humans of the Central Plains World don’t seem to see it that way.

They call me—Demoness.

’After a while, the title has become rather intimidating.’

In the cold, damp dungeon.

Shackled by her hands and feet, Witch Palace Language watched Sui Yuqing leave. In those eyes, which belonged to Qi Muxue, lingered an indescribable emotion, a sense of reminiscence.

She wasn’t just intrigued by the potential of the Heart Demon within Sui Yuqing; she was reminded of her past self.

’It was as if I was the same way back then—ignorant of the outside world, every word and action driven by instinct.’

Sui Yuqing’s Heart Demon had been born so long ago that it had developed a mind of its own.

She was the product of desire and passion.

She was the embodiment of all the mortal passions that Fairy Ci Hang cast aside to cultivate the Supreme Forgetting Emotions.

Perhaps in the eyes of a Cultivator, such things are nothing but filth and impurities.

But Witch Palace Language believed this was the most authentic part of being human.

Influenced by a traumatic childhood, Fairy Ci Hang sought to abandon all distracting thoughts for the sake of the Dao and her Cultivation. She wanted to stabilize her Daoxin and ascend to the Upper Three Grades, becoming a being on par with the Divine Beings. Without passion or desire, there would be no risk of her Daoxin being corrupted. This is a common practice for many Qi Cultivators: abandoning all mortal passions is the way to stabilize one’s Daoxin.

But the Heart Demon didn’t want that.

Witch Palace Language smiled faintly.

’Perhaps the one who most wants to sleep with Lu Mingyuan is actually the Heart Demon.’

When they first met, the Heart Demon’s initial reaction was to flee.

Because Witch Palace Language was born a demon of the most noble Celestial Demon Race, her bloodline and soul exert an immense pressure on any other Demon Fiend.

No Demon Fiend can hide from her.

The concealment and trickery they prided themselves on were merely child’s play in her presence.

This is a talent unique to the Celestial Demon Race.

The bloodlines of the Demon Race have a clear hierarchy.

Celestial Demons, Earth Demons, and Human Demons.

Human Demons, also known as Heart Demons, are an extremely numerous type of demon. They are often born from the subsequent mutation of a Cultivator and are the lowest-status class within the Demon Race.

Their ancestors were originally human but pledged allegiance to the Holy Netherworld and began cultivating demonic techniques. Even after millennia, and though their descendants have lost most of their traces of humanity and look remarkably similar to Celestial Demons, their bloodline remains impure.

However, there aren’t many true Celestial Demons.

As a result, the Celestial Demon Race’s situation is not as favorable as one might imagine.

Internal conflicts within the Holy Netherworld have always been significant.

It isn’t easy for any race to rise above the others.

’If it weren’t for that person, I might not be who I am today.’

...

「A hundred years ago.」

Moonlight draped like a curtain over the land beneath the border’s Great Wall.

Corpses littered the ground, staining the earth with blood. Near a breached section of the wall, a slender girl with flowing black hair pulled her Battle Sword from the chest of a blood-soaked man. She wore beast-hide Bone Armor, and blood splattered across her face. Fortunately, a carved wooden mask of a withered ox shielded her eyes.

The disciple before her, dressed in a Sect’s uniform, was now a cold corpse.

The wall before her stood a full hundred meters tall, majestic and imposing.

VWOOOM—!

A heavy horn blast echoed, and the dense, teeming army began to slowly retreat.

The young woman let out a heavy sigh, dragging her exhausted body toward the Witch Race’s encampment.

All her fellow warriors had been killed in the battle. She was the only one to make it out.

This border Great Wall had stood for tens of thousands of years. It never fell, perpetually gazing north, forcing the Holy Netherworld to keep its distance.

Her name was Witch Palace Language, she was sixteen years old, and of the Celestial Demon Race.

Her mother was a Princess of the Celestial Demon Race, and her father was the Clan Leader of a Witch Race tribe. Her status was indeed noble. However, she still had to undergo the trial of the coming-of-age ceremony and receive a gift from the Divine Beings to become a Divine Giver before she could wield any real power within her clan.

Before leaving, Witch Palace Language rummaged through the corpses on the ground, searching for any spoils of war.

She found a Storage Ring, a broken Flying Sword, and a crumpled letter sealed with wax.

Witch Palace Language broke the seal and glanced at the letter.

Fortunately, she could read the script of the Human Race and understood most of it.

’But why is the content of this letter so sappy?’

It seemed to be written to a woman.

After reading it, she gazed silently at the body of the Daoist Disciple, then took the letter with her.

Shouldering her Battle Sword, she returned to the Commander’s Camp of the Witch Race detachment.

A booming, angry voice met her as she entered:

"Witch Palace Language! The squad of Witch Race warriors under your command all died in this battle, yet you are the only one to return! As their officer, you bear a great responsibility!"

The young woman looked toward the central hearth. An old man stood there, wrapped in a heavy fur coat and holding a scepter. His face was covered in a complex web of symbols, and his expression was one of clear displeasure.

This elder was the war representative sent by the Witch Race—a High Priest of the clan, a man of great power and high authority.

Within the clan, a High Priest was no different from a Prime Minister; only the Clan Leader could give him orders.