68: Chapter 68 The Hero Draws His Sword

The ranks stretched from the Demon Kings Castle all the way to the horizon, a grey-white tide of bones churning under the moonlight. Wherever they passed, even the chirping of insects vanished, leaving only the echoing clatter of bones.

The Kingdom of Del was a small nation at the northernmost edge of the Northern Continent. Twenty years ago, facing the mighty Demon Kings Army, the country offered no resistance; the king took his nobles and his army and fled south.

Upon learning the news that the Devil King had been eliminated by the hero, the king returned to this land and continued to rule over his subjects.

Today, a soldier of the Kingdom of Del was yawning as usual. He had heard that the commoners in the country were stirring up some kind of revolution, but that had nothing to do with him; he only needed to keep watch over the endless frozen tundra to the far north.

"It is another boring day; the Devil King has been dead for over ten years."

The soldier rested his spear on his shoulder, squinting at the vast white mist over the tundra.

Suddenly, the entire ground began to tremble.

Something was approaching. He rubbed his eyes, and on the endless frozen tundra, a vast expanse of white skeletons suddenly appeared.

The soldier swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he gripped his spear.

The King of Del soon received the news.

"The Demon Kings Army has revived. A new Devil King has been born."

"The Queen! Where is the Queen!" He could not care about anything else.

Now, the king had only one thought in his mind: run, run south, and take the gold and jewels with him.

As for the commoners of the country, they were nothing but lowly scum. If they could buy their king time to escape, they should feel immensely honored!

But this time, he suddenly felt that something was different.

"Wait a moment, are you all rebelling?"

No one answered him.

A crowd of commoners smashed open the palace gates and dragged him out.

"I am the King, you lowly scum!" the king shrieked.

The king struggled, his fat body like a pig being dragged to the slaughterhouse, kicking and screaming, his fingernails clawing into the stone steps until they broke off in the crevices.

"What are you doing?" the king's voice trembled. "You cannot kill me! I am the King! I am—"

The king was pushed onto a high platform. The platform had been built overnight; the planks were rough, nails were exposed, and it creaked when stepped upon. A blade stood on the platform—it was a guillotine.

The king's head was secured in the guillotine, and the silver-white blade hung above his neck.

A man stood there.

The king recognized him; he was the leader of these revolting commoners.

"Brothers, twenty years ago, facing the Demon Kings Army, this thing calling itself a king took his gold and treasures, his wife and children, and his dog, and was the first to run!"

"And what happened later? The Devil King died, and the hero killed the Devil King. This thing calling itself a king came back. He brazenly sat back on that broken chair."

"But now! The Demon Kings Army has come again! This thing calling itself a king is going to run away again! Brothers, do you agree to this?"

The man looked at the crowd below and pointed at the king, shouting.

"We do not agree!"

"We do not agree!"

...

"Then what do you want?" the man shouted.

"Kill him!"

"Kill him!"

The people below raised their hoes, sickles, and iron swords, their voices merging into a torrent that pierced the clouds.

The man took one look at the king and cut the rope. The silver-white blade plummeted from the top, the wind whistling sharply as it crashed down.

Blood gushed out, and the head rolled away.

The king's eyes were still open.

A year passed.

You sat high on the throne of the Demon Kings Castle; it had taken a year for the skeleton army to breach this small country called the Kingdom of Del.

But it did not matter. As long as there was slaughter, that was enough to provide energy for your magic array.

You could use your Martial God cultivation to go on a killing spree directly, but that was not enough.

The energy required for the teleportation array was too great—so great that sacrificing the entire Northern Continent would not be enough, so great that sacrificing the entire Purple Yellow Star would not be enough.

"Then I will raise them slowly."

You spoke, your voice very soft, echoing around the great hall several times before gradually fading away. Raise them fat, then kill them. After killing them, raise more. One generation is not enough, then two; two generations are not enough, then three.

You could wait, anyway.

But could your daughter and wife on Earth afford to wait?

You thought again that you were merely a simulation; the most important thing in this simulation was to live well and accumulate talent points for your original self.

"But I really want to go back." You looked at the empty hall: "Original Self, are you saying I am really just a simulation?"

"You are not a simulation." Lin Heng looked at the simulation: "I am the one who is simulated!"

He did not understand Prisoner 5's behavior.

But there were many behaviors he did not understand: why Prisoner 3 would go to find Mu Xue (Chapter 11) even knowing he would surely die, why Prisoner 4 could sacrifice his Martial God Golden Core for the sake of all people in the world (Chapter 39).

These people were all Lin Heng, only they had experienced different things, and thus had different thoughts.

Now, he also did not understand Prisoner 5.

Just as someone who has not become a father can never understand the feeling of having a child.

Three more years passed. You had been on this planet for fifteen years, and this year you were fifty-nine.

Your daughter must be thirty years old now; she might have married some Prince Charming, or perhaps she already had children.

You might even be a grandfather now.

But you could not see it.

The magic array in the great hall had still only condensed less than one percent of the energy.

You felt your heart growing colder and colder, and that heart was beating slower and slower.

The skeleton army had only reached the middle of the Northern Continent.

Led by the Falun Republic, the Northern Continent formed a federal army, stretching a long battle line across the middle of the Northern Continent.

At the same time, the Magic Federation of the Central Continent and the Empire of the Southern Continent also dispatched troops to provide support this time.

Your skeleton army was blocked and could not advance an inch.

But it did not matter; this was fine as well. Let the slaughter happen on this battle line; the more people who died, the better.

Meanwhile, in the Falun Republic of the Northern Continent, in the Village of Heroes.

This village was famous for a long sword stuck in the ground at the village entrance.

It was said that this sword was the one used by the previous generation's hero to kill the Devil King, and only a true hero could pull it out.

"Is this the Sword of the Hero?" a man wearing armor asked, looking at the sword stuck in the ground.

The man was a hero from the Empire of the Southern Continent, sent by His Majesty the Emperor to crusade against the Devil King.

After receiving confirmation from the village chief, the man nodded, took off his gloves and threw them to his attendant, then grasped the hilt with his bare hands.

The village chief sat to the side with a cigarette in his mouth. He saw this scene countless times every year; countless youths claimed to be heroes and came to pull the sword, but not one had succeeded.

After failing, some of these heroes would curse, calling the sword a fake, while others would resign themselves to the fact that they were not heroes.

The village chief loved to watch these self-important youths have their Dao Heart shattered.

"Another youth's heart is about to die." The village chief shook his head, cigarette in mouth, as he watched the young man.

He thought this time would be the same as before.

But the man just grasped the hilt and gave a gentle tug, and the long sword was pulled out.

"It's that simple?" the man said, holding the long sword.

The village chief's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and his cigarette fell to the ground: "Hero! Hero!"

The man ignored the village chief and just gently stroked the long sword: "It is indeed a good sword."

He looked at the blade and saw the name of the sword engraved on it.

pure white.

The man raised the sword above his head and praised it.

"This sword is named pure white!"