Chapter 28: The Demon King’s Burden and a Curious Embrace

Life, it seemed, was perpetually bustling. A truth that held for the Demon King as much as it did for the White Knight.

As the Demon King, Lamia Talia was constantly embroiled in the political affairs of the Demon King City. She was pursued relentlessly by the Grand General and his subordinates, forced to handle an endless stream of tasks.

What, then, was rest?

She simply did not know, for as long as their magical energy remained abundant, demons had no need for sleep.

Feeling weary merely meant replenishing a bit of magical energy, a simple act of linking her power to the Demon King City’s leyline tower. It was akin to an eternally charging light bulb, one that would never flicker out.

No one could discern if her spirit ever truly felt weariness. They only knew that whenever the Grand General inquired about her fatigue, she, perpetually brimming with power, would respond: “Thanks to your invaluable assistance, Grand General, my spirits remain more than sufficient.”

What, exactly, was she thanking him for? Was it for the individual who ensured her work would never cease?

Ha, who could say?

Wasn’t the very essence of a Demon King’s duty to toil ceaselessly for the Demon King City?

To give everything, to sacrifice everything—no matter the cost. Even if it meant tearing every last ounce of herself from her very being, she had to dedicate herself wholly to the Demon King City.

Such was the solemn responsibility of a Demon King.

To become the sovereign universally trusted and revered by all.

“…”

Lamia Talia sat before the dining table, her consciousness seeming to drift far away, lost in thought.

Still, the Grand General’s words echoed in her ears—those pronouncements of responsibility, of dedication, of sacrifice.

“Yes… indeed. A Demon King must be this way; it was for this very purpose that I was born from the tower.”

“Even forsaking her identity as the Demon King to become the White Knight’s wife was a necessary form of dedication to the entire demon race.”

“Resolving a significant issue for the Demon King City, at the mere cost of a few decades of her life, was an undeniably shrewd bargain.”

—From the moment Lamia Talia had awakened as the Demon King, these were the very words that had shaped her existence.

For countless years, it had remained precisely so.

As a Demon King embodying these principles, she had never once faced opposition. Consequently, she had always acted in this manner, believing it would solidify her place as the revered monarch in everyone’s hearts.

To become a Demon King worthy of immense pride.

The previous Demon Kings, all mentored by the Grand General, had conducted themselves similarly. Therefore, she resolved that she, too, could not fall short of their esteemed example.

Crunch, crunch.

Lamia Talia chewed a mouthful of fresh green salad. Due to her distinct demonic palate, utterly different from human aesthetics, she found these supposed delicacies as bland and tasteless as chewing wax.

‘If only a touch of magical energy could be infused as seasoning,’ she mused. ‘Could the White Knight perhaps spare some of his own power to flavor these meals? Anything to make eating a more palatable experience.’

Upon returning home, Wade Nairt had feigned intimacy with Lamia Talia at the door. However, the moment he stepped through the main entrance, he cast a subtle glance at her from the corner of his eye, then tugged at the belt of his knight uniform, which had constricted him for the better part of the day. Turning to a nearby servant, he requested a hot bath.

At the mention of a bath, the surrounding servants’ eyes immediately brightened with anticipation. They eagerly turned their gaze between Wade and Lamia, excitedly inquiring if bathrobes should be prepared for both of them.

Realizing his request had been misconstrued as an invitation for a shared bath, Wade Nairt was startled. Before Lamia Talia could even entertain the thought, he quickly waved his hand, attempting to clarify the misunderstanding.

“Hm? No, I wish to rest,”

But at that moment, Lamia Talia, quite unexpectedly, declined.

A bath? A shared bath?

Lamia Talia, of course, did not grasp the underlying implication. Nor did she possess any inclination to dwell on it.

She simply wished to rest.

She truly, profoundly desired rest.

Away from the Demon King City, her ‘charging’ efficiency was significantly diminished. While not yet reduced to the fragile state of a human who required several hours of sleep daily to survive, she certainly couldn’t maintain her former ability to thrive on a single rest every six months.

Coupled with Wade Nairt’s earlier directive to ‘rest well,’ her desire for repose became absolute.

‘To selfishly abandon a day’s duties as Demon King and simply rest—even if only to eat a quiet meal or lie still for an hour—felt like an indulgent necessity.’

‘After all, Wade said so, didn’t he? My husband explicitly told me to rest.’ ‘For the sake of my role, I must be obedient and take my rest.’ ‘Only then can I be a sensible, perfect wife~🎶’

As she watched Wade Nairt, his face etched with confusion at her peculiar humming, being led away to the bathhouse by a servant, Lamia Talia offered a sweet, obedient wave. She then turned to her own maid, inquiring if there was anything immediately available to eat.

Items requiring marination, such as certain meats, would naturally take time to prepare. Thus, at Lamia Talia’s request, the maid returned with cake and a vegetable salad—though, as anticipated, these offerings proved utterly devoid of flavor for a Demon King like her.

Given her unique constitution, it seemed only pure magical energy could truly leave a lasting impression on her palate.

Yet, she was not a low-level demon, incapable of restraining her desire for magical energy. She merely found the human food unappetizing; her magical intake was effortlessly managed through normal respiration. Indeed, simply by existing, she could draw fundamental magical energy from the earth itself, with only the quantity varying across different regions.

Crunch, crunch.

As the final leaf of vegetable salad disappeared into her mouth, swallowed down, Lamia Talia finally experienced a measure of satiety, a feeling unique to this human body.

After all, to fully embody her role, every organ and structure of her body was a precise replica of a normal human female. Thus, experiencing a normal sense of hunger was perfectly natural, though it came with the caveat that ‘while she might feel hunger, she would never truly starve to death from lack of food.’

“Madam, would you care for anything else to eat?”

“Hm? No, this is quite sufficient, thank you.” “I intend to find a suitable place to rest for a while.”

To truly integrate into human society, she understood the necessity of extending kindness not only to the White Knight but also to those in his immediate circle. Therefore, even when addressing a mere human—one she, as a Demon King, could effortlessly reduce to dust with a flick of her finger—she maintained an unfailingly courteous demeanor.

“Madam, are you feeling terribly fatigued?”

“Hm… not entirely? No, perhaps a little,”

Fatigue?

Lamia Talia found herself unable to articulate the sensation of fatigue. Having existed for so long in a perpetual state of ‘I must work,’ her understanding of the word ‘weariness’ had become utterly blurred. She simply yearned for rest, in the most literal sense—to perform the act of ‘resting.’

‘It’s merely a small, selfish indulgence,’ she thought, a hint of mischief in her mind. ‘Under the Grand General’s constant scrutiny, I haven’t had such an opportunity in ages. Now that I’ve finally escaped, I deserve a little something for myself, don’t I?😤’

“Then… hm… let me think, Madam. Perhaps you could try this…”

Listening to her madam’s words, and recalling her master’s peculiar, hesitant demeanor just moments ago, the young maid beside Lamia Talia leaned in conspiratorially. She then whispered something secretive into her mistress’s ear.

“Oh? There’s such a method…?”

“Yes, indeed, Madam. You might try it; it often helps to replenish one’s spirit and physical strength.” “Please don’t overexert yourself, Madam.”

Lamia Talia listened intently, nodding frequently in understanding.

****

Meanwhile, Wade Nairt had merely intended to take a quick bath, hoping to calm his mind and wash away the day’s accumulated vexations. He hadn’t lingered long in the pool; by the time Lamia Talia had finished her meal, he was already done. Loosely clad in his bathrobe, he had returned to the sanctuary of his room.

A soft knock echoed.

Just as Wade Nairt was about to tidy his clothes and prepare for bed, the distinct sound of knocking resonated from his door.

The image of Lamia Talia standing at his door moments before was still vivid in his memory. This time, as he heard the knock, Wade raised an inquisitive eyebrow, a thought forming in his mind: ‘It couldn’t be her again, could it?’

…

‘Never mind,’ he decided. ‘Even if it is her, what of it? She was acting so strangely earlier; I’m rather curious to see what she’s up to now.’

“Coming,”

Thus, after a quick adjustment of his bathrobe, Wade Nairt turned and opened the door—

—?!

The very next second, a flash of purple surged past him, a figure striding swiftly into the room. Before Wade Nairt could even process the intrusion, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and a head buried itself against his chest.

“Uhh, what… what are you doing?!”

Wade Nairt’s skin was still damp from his bath, the warmth of lingering steam encircling him. His bathrobe, worn without an undershirt, was barely secured, and Lamia Talia’s sudden embrace nearly caused it to part entirely. Her small head pressed directly against his bare skin.

Lamia Talia’s warm breath, entirely unhindered, landed directly upon Wade Nairt’s chest and abdomen. The warmth of her nose and the soft sweep of her hair against his skin sent a sudden tickle through his stomach, causing him to instinctively contract twice.

“Me? I’m simply replenishing my energy,”

Lamia Talia remained clinging to Wade Nairt, her head still buried, as if intent on absorbing every ounce of his warmth. With each word she uttered, her breath caused a subtle tremor to ripple through his abdomen.

Of course, it wasn’t just her nose and breath that were pressed close. Vaguely, he also felt a subtle granular sensation against his abdomen. Looking down, he saw that Lamia Talia’s softness had indeed shifted shape due to the pressure against his lower stomach.

“Your maid said… if one is tired, one should simply hug their beloved and bury their head in their chest— *Sigh*… is this the scent of your bath soap?”

“—What nonsense is she spouting?!”

Meanwhile, downstairs, the maid and the others listening in: 😋 ‘I’m certain I’ve done the master a great service today!’