Survival Guide After Accidentally Kissing a Demon - Chapter 83

Chapter 83

The chaotic, distorted Maze was completely shrouded in thick, grayish-white fog.

Rain fell in a rhythmic patter, sounding like a soft wail.

The rain dampened the gray mist permeating the air, making every breath feel like a simultaneous surge of burning heat and damp cold in the nostrils.

After breathing it in for a long time, these two conflicting sensations gradually blended, leaving a stinging pain in the respiratory tract like the scratching of fine needles.

It was unbearable.

Kneeling on the glowing Magic Carpet, Cyril’s expression was rigid. His lowered purple eyes stared unblinkingly at the rapidly swirling water below.

His ears were filled with the constant pitter-patter of the rain.

He couldn’t use magic.

Magic power would only fuel the devouring capability of this pool.

He couldn’t jump into the water, either.

Such a reckless act was not something the sole heir of Sainthos, Cyril Elvis, could do. After all, he carried the future and hope of the kingdom on his shoulders.

He should give up decisively.

Just as he had given up on Quinna, he should give up on Bartholomew without hesitation.

Giving up-how easy that would be.

He only needed to relegate Bartholomew to the category of the insignificant and expendable in his heart, then use the Teleportation Magic beneath his feet to leave cleanly.

But he stayed.

He stayed, yet he could do nothing.

He could only wait quietly.

He could only wait quietly for a miracle to happen.

Just like when Bartholomew had gone missing as a child, only to reappear before his eyes.

“Just a little longer…”

Dark light swirled in his purple eyes. Cyril spoke to himself like a sleepwalker, his iron-hard expression gradually fracturing.

In his panicked purple pupils, an irrepressible look of despair grew.

“Just a little longer…”

Rainwater flowed along his soft black hair to the corners of his eyes and slid down.

It dripped into his collar, icy and piercing.

As if trapped in a nightmare, Cyril trembled all over.

His face was pale, and he couldn’t help but gasp for air, letting out a series of violent coughs.

…

“Just a little longer.”

His Majesty the King of Sainthos said with a smile, “Don’t be anxious, Cyril. You need to calm your heart.”

The Royal Hunt.

An ordinary afternoon.

Heavy gray clouds drifted across the sky on the outskirts of the Sainthos capital.

A boy had been brought into a Greenhouse filled with greenery and flowers, sitting on a high white chair.

The tips of his shoes dangled in the air.

The boy had exquisite, angel-like features. His long eyelashes were straight and thick, and his face had the tender, rounded contour of a smooth egg.

He wore a simple white shirt and black suspenders. His buttons were made of extravagant, magnificent sapphires that reflected brilliant glints of light with his every movement.

“Yes, Father.”

Hearing the King’s words, the boy nodded obediently.

“What an obedient child,” His Majesty the King of Sainthos remarked, nodding slightly with satisfaction.

After waiting for a short while.

A fine layer of sweat began to break out on the boy’s forehead and neck.

The sweat dampened his short black hair, causing it to clump into strands that stuck to his clean white forehead.

Although it was a temporary glass Greenhouse, the air temperature here was no less than that of the palace’s flower rooms; it was like a steamer, both humid and sweltering.

A servant approached respectfully and knelt beside the boy, taking out a clean white cloth to gently wipe away his sweat.

Long accustomed to such meticulous service, the boy kept his round purple eyes open, quietly allowing the servant to wipe his face.

Deep within those purple eyes, there was an irrepressible sense of urgency.
His gaze was constantly fixed on the glass of the Greenhouse.

The makeshift conservatory, erected in the middle of the mountain forest, was pieced together from countless shards of stained glass.

Looking out from within, the entire world was sliced into a multitude of vibrant, colorful squares.

It looked like a fractured, fantastical watercolor painting.

His round purple eyes darted from blue to red, his eyelashes trembling slightly with anxiety.

“Father… how much longer must I wait?”

The boy couldn’t help but ask again, feeling as though every second were an eternity, like sitting on a bed of needles.

Though pestering His Majesty the King in such a manner was incredibly impolite, he decided to cast the rules aside for now. There was a little girl waiting for him in the woods, her heart full of anticipation.

These past few days marked the grand festival of the Royal Hunt.

Nearly all the Nobles had come.

Accompanied by their families, they had followed the royal carriages in a grand procession to the mountain forests on the outskirts of the city.

They had lit bonfires and pitched tents on a relatively flat stretch of meadow within the woods.

During a break while the tents were being set up…

A servant had pointed to the girl from the Constance Family and smiled at Cyril. “Your Highness, that is your future Princess Consort, if all goes as planned.”

Cyril followed the servant’s finger, looking toward the girl with silver-gray hair and red pupils standing amidst the crowd.

“Hmm, she looks a bit better than the last time I saw her. At least she looks like a person now,” the boy said, his voice still youthful and high.

The last time Cyril had seen the girl from the Constance Family, she was still in swaddling clothes.

Wrapped in a soft baby blanket.

Upon hearing the King announce that she was to be his Princess Consort, Cyril had stood on his tiptoes with faint anticipation to steal a glance.

Her tiny face had been red and wrinkled, like a monkey stripped of its fur…

In short, she hadn’t been very pretty.

On the first day of the Royal Hunt, they had seen each other from a distance a few times, their gazes meeting briefly.

On the second day, under the intentional matchmaking of the elders from both sides, Prince Cyril and the girl from the Constance Family had spoken and gradually become acquainted.

Today was the third day-the final day of the Royal Hunt.

They had been playing hide-and-seek in the woods.

Cyril had just finished his countdown and was about to start searching when he was summoned before His Majesty the King.

Pitter-patter…

Large droplets of rain, like faded pearls, fell onto the glass-covered arched roof of the Greenhouse, creating a dense, rhythmic drumming.

The rain grew from a drizzle to a downpour, cascading down in sheets.

“Cyril, you are always so playful.”

His Majesty the King looked up from his stones and carving knife, smiling as he raised a hand.

A servant moved Prince Cyril to the King’s side.

“Look, it’s raining so hard outside. If you were to fall into a ravine because you were too busy playing, that would be quite a problem.”

The King smiled.

“But…”

Cyril managed only two words. He wanted to say more, but the hand holding the carving knife moved gently to his lips.

“Shh-!”

The King’s expression shifted from a smile to one of gravity.

“Cyril, you are being far too disobedient. From now on, be silent.”

Outside the glass walls of the Greenhouse, the rain intensified.

It lashed against the glass panes, sending up sprays of water.

The pitter-patter sound only served to make his heart more restless.

Cyril pursed his lips, the anxiety in his eyes nearly overflowing, yet he could only remain rooted to the spot.

Waiting in silence.

His Majesty the King smiled once more, his carving knife repeatedly cutting and sculpting the white stone in his hand.

As his fingers moved, stone dust and powder continuously fell from between his wrinkled joints.

The rain gradually began to let up.

Finally, the white stone took on the silhouette of a butterfly.