: I Will Become the Demon King

However, it didn't even get to nightfall.

Just as evening was approaching, the little painter received a message delivered by an owl.

In an era when rune communication was becoming popular, using owls as messengers to deliver messages was incredibly outdated.

The young painter had a bad feeling.

After paying the postage to the owl, the little painter received the envelope.

The cover has only one line of text—

[Imperial Security Advisor - Qiao Ye]

The young painter felt a chill run down his spine.

It's that guy again?

He quickly opened it.

The handwriting on the letter was very messy, as if it had been written hastily:

"10 a.m. tonight, abandoned church in the western suburbs."

"I came alone."

"—Qiao Ye"

The little painter's hand suddenly clenched.

There's a problem! There's definitely a problem!

Why do we have to meet tonight?

Could it be that he really discovered something? He couldn't even wait a day?

No, I can't just sit here and wait to die.

The young painter suddenly turned to look at the shadowy figure, who was also looking at him.

In an instant, he knew what he had to do.

Pulling open the drawer, it was completely empty except for a small automatic pistol.

The young painter picked up the pistol and tucked it into his pocket.

Since that's the case—

Let's settle this once and for all.

……

It's 10 p.m. in an abandoned church in the western suburbs.

Moonlight streamed through the dilapidated dome, and there was a musty, stale smell in the air.

Qiao Ye stood in front of the altar, his back to the gate.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

He turned around.

The little painter stood at the doorway, backlit by the moonlight, his expression obscured.

"You've arrived."

The young painter walked in, his footsteps echoing in the empty church.

"Why can't we say this tomorrow?"

Qiao Ye did not answer.

He walked to a row of old, abandoned benches and sat down casually.

"Please sit down."

The young painter hesitated for a moment, then sat down opposite him.

The two were separated by two rows of benches.

The moonlight shone on the ground between them, like a pale river.

"Do you know why I asked you to come here?" Qiao Ye asked.

"have no idea."

"Because it's quiet here," Qiao Ye said, "It's a good place to say things that shouldn't be heard by others."

The young painter frowned: "What do you mean?"

Qiao Ye looked at him.

"I'm a psychic detective," he said. "I can talk to the dead."

Under the moonlight, the little painter's expression froze for a moment.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I never joke."

Qiao Ye said, "Yesterday, I went to the morgue and found the professor's body."

"I asked him, 'Who killed you?' He told me."

The little painter didn't say anything.

"Not just the professor. I also questioned that thug, that drunkard, that bully—I asked them all."

Qiao Ye said, word by word, "They all told me."

The little painter's hand slowly clenched.

But his face remained calm.

"The dead can't talk."

"meeting."

Qiao Ye said, "Do you need me to show you?"

He leaned back in his chair, the moonlight illuminating half of his face.

"I heard a very interesting comment from them."

He said, "They say you can see into people's darkest weaknesses and then amplify them with words."

He stared at the little painter.

"You are a natural expert at bewitching people."

"You speak to them, incite their despair, and make them obey you—"

"I would even commit suicide if necessary."

The little painter lowered his head.

"Let's do it..."

He suddenly spoke softly, giving an order to the shadowy figure.

"Do it! Kill him!"

Qiao Ye must die, right now!

However, there was no response.

The little painter suddenly looked up at the dark figure beside him.

The shadowy figure was still there, but it didn't say a word.

She just watched him quietly.

"Why don't you do something?"

The young painter's voice held a hint of despair; he felt betrayed.

Could it be—

Has the devil completely abandoned him?

At this moment, someone spoke up and gave an answer.

It's Qiao Ye.

"So it does exist," he said. "The demon within you."

"What do you mean?"

The little painter slowly turned his head.

Under the moonlight, his expression changed.

"What do you mean, 'in my heart'—"

"Those corpses told me everything."

Qiao Ye said, "When you talk to them, you keep calling yourself the King of Demons, as if a delusional personality has completely taken over your body."

The little painter sat there, motionless.

"Now it seems that it really exists."

Qiao Ye stood up and walked towards him step by step.

The little painter's pupils contracted slightly.

"You're talking nonsense! You're talking nonsense!"

The little painter screamed in protest, "He really exists! He's right here beside me! Right there, watching me!"

"I didn't incite anyone, it was all the devil's doing! The devil killed them! I didn't do anything!"

No! No! No!!!

Seeing the young painter's hysterical state, Qiao Ye simply shook his head.

"I'm not lying."

He stopped in front of the young painter. "I can take you to ask those corpses what the truth is."

The little painter suddenly stood up, staggering backward.

It bumped into a row of benches.

His breathing became rapid, and his chest heaved violently.

"The so-called demon is yourself!"

"No!!!"

The little painter covered his ears and screamed in protest.

At that very moment, he sensed that something had changed.

He heard the voice of the devil.

But it didn't come from the ear, from the corner of the wall, or from any outside place.

It's from the inside.

From his own mind.

Don't listen to him.

The young painter's body froze.

I've always been here.

I am you.

That voice was so familiar.

I've been listening to it for over a decade, from childhood until now.

But this time, he finally heard it clearly—

That was his own voice.

"No..." He covered his head, took another step back, "No, no, no..."

Qiao Ye stood there, looking at him.

"You've figured it out, haven't you?"

The little painter did not answer.

He was bent over, holding his head in his hands, his whole body trembling violently.

Then he suddenly straightened up.

The trembling stopped.

The moonlight shone on his face.

His expression changed.

It wasn't anger, it wasn't fear, it wasn't collapse.

It is an extreme calm.

It was as calm as a mirror, as calm as a stagnant pool.

Calm as if—

Like another person.

"You're right," he said.

The voice has changed.

It's still the same timbre, but the tone, pitch, and rhythm—

Everything has changed.

It became somber, cold, and seemed to float up from the abyss.

"The shadowy figure does not exist."

The little painter—or rather, the devil—slowly raised his eyes and looked at Qiao Ye.

"But I exist."

Qiao Ye did not speak.

"He thought I was a demon, a shadow, something from outside."

He paused, then continued, "But he never considered why I was there."

He took a step forward.

That expression sent chills down your spine.

"I've been here from the very beginning."

He said, "When he was scared, I took his place; when he was lonely, I kept him company; when he wanted to kill someone but didn't dare to admit it, I did it for him."

"He thought I was someone else, but actually—"

He stretched out his hand and pointed to his chest.

"I'm here, I've always been here."

The moonlight shone quietly.

The church was so quiet you could hear the dust settling down.

The little painter reached his hand into his pocket.

Qiao Ye did not move.

The small automatic pistol was taken out.

Qiao Ye recognized the gun.

Walter PPK.

This pistol was extremely famous; more than thirty years later, the young painter ended his life with it in the bunker.

But it shouldn't have appeared in this era; it was only developed in 1931.

But it was in the hands of the little painter.

Here, right now.

The little painter slowly raised the pistol.

But the gun wasn't pointed at Qiao Ye; instead, it was pressed against his own temple.

You've been misunderstanding one thing all along.

The young painter said, "The Demon King is not a figment of imagination, but a real power."

"Although it is still weak, it does exist."

"Now, I'll show you."

He closed his eyes.

"I will become the King of Demons."

The little painter said softly.

The next second, the trigger was pulled.