Chapter 172: King of Hell on Earth

15 minutes ago, in front of Lancelot’s home.

In the quietness of the hall, Lancelot stood in front of the gate, looking at his daughter Christine, no expression on his face. Christine’s wound had not yet healed. Perhaps someone intended this so that Christine would be so weak that she could hardly get on her own feet. The wound on her thigh burst open and was bleeding.

“Please let me go, father.” Staring at Lancelot, Christine asked in a low voice, “This is the last time I ask you.”

“It’s too late, Christine.” Shaking his head, Lancelot said coldly, “You cannot change anything even if you get there now.”

“Is it so?” Christine lowered his eyes in disappointment. “I see.” Then, with a clicking sound of steel, she drew her sword and positioned it on her left arm which was raised up, taking aim at Lancelot. The move had been practiced so many times that it was perfect.

There was still no sign of emotion on Lancelot’s face. He drew his sword at his daughter. “You are my daughter. I should forgive you for your mistake, but as a knight, what you did was intended provocation. I shall not ignore that. I’ll ask you once more. Christine, do you know what you are doing now?”

Christine laughed. “Dear father, the life of a knight is with his sword and armor. You taught me that, didn’t you? It was not your Christine in front of you…” She paused, then she severed her kinship with her father. “Now, you call me Galahad!” Her words were as cold as her sword.

Silence fell upon them again.

Lancelot laughed gently as if gratified by Christine’s words. “You have grown up, Christine.” Nodding his head, he said, “It was me that made the wrong judgment. You are better suited to be a Lancelot. Maybe now it is time for me to give up my position to you?” Then, he took the beautifully decorated ceremonial sword from the wall. Caressing the thin blade with his fingers to feel the blunt cutting edge of it, he nodded gently again.

“Very good of you. But before that, let me see if you are qualified to draw your sword at me.”

The next moment, the sword pierced through the air with a flash of light. In a split second, the sound of steel striking steel was heard, and the two passed by each other at an incredible speed. The next moment, Lancelot was standing at his original position, empty-handed.

Christine had dashed to the gate, only one step away from the gate. One step that would never be taken. Lowering her head, she saw her weapon, of which the blade had been cut off. And she saw the ceremonial sword, piercing through her chest. A bitter smile appeared on her face. In the dripping sound of her blood falling on the floor, she kneeled on the ground and gradually lost her sight to the darkness before her eyes.

In her last moment, she only heard a sigh of sorrow from her father.

“You are not qualified, then,” Lancelot said.

…

“My flesh is the real food; my blood is the real drink.” It was as if someone whispering in a hoarse voice, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood shall live inside me, and I inside him… Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood shall be immortal. I shall resurrect him on doomsday.”

The voice went on and on. There seemed to be some secret in it, but as she listened, it went far away from her. It was addictive to listen to the voice, and nothing seemed to matter except for the voice. She gradually sank into the deepest part of the gentle darkness, feeling enveloped by water.

Slowly, slowly… In the solemn melody, Mary carried the pearl in her hands, as if out of her senses. Without noticing it, she held the pearl tighter, and her fingers were cut by the diamonds embedded on the pearl, her blood spreading gradually over her hands.

Guided by the Marshal, she climbed the stairs, dumb as a wooden chicken, and slowly went to her throne in the solemn melody. Off the stage, the ministers in the front row frowned, confused by the dumbness and stiffness of the queen. They sensed that something was not right, but they could not tell what it was. Pretty soon, their mind was overcome by the grand and magnificent rhythm. A feeling of awe took over them, and their eyes became void and empty.

The solemn rhythm gradually changed. It began to show some gruesomeness, with faint noise spreading out from the instruments of the musicians, like the whining of some sad creatures.

It was Pomp and Circumstance March No.1.

In the ghastly and heavy rhythm, numerous mirages emerged until, at last, the grand illusional image was formed in the air—King Arthur sitting on his huge throne, being crowned to be king in the name of God. Yet, falling upon the earth from the sky was not the light of heaven, but the darkness of the abyss.

Surrounded by the thin, dark mist, the king on the throne was ghastly like a demon, and on his head, he was wearing the crown of the abyss. From the Crown, numerous music theories flew out onto Mary’s body and emerged with the dragon blood, weaving a huge halo behind her. In the dark-purple halo, countless iron-like thorns covered the sabers and knives which, rubbing against each other, produced a grating, heavy noise. Fresh blood dripped from it, and the blood smelt so sweet.

Bless the King in the name of God. Yet what God brought was not light but the original sin of the abyss.

Among the musicians who were playing the music, someone raised his blood-red eye to look at Mary, who appeared to be struggling against something. A mocking smile appeared on his lips as he said, “The transformation has not finished yet?”

“She cannot fight it for long.” The conductor muttered, “She has taken the blood of Leviathan and blended the original sin into the dragon blood. The darkness in her blood is no longer a shadow but is of true consciousness of its own. The more she struggles, the more violent she will be when the dragon blood takes control.”

At that time, with the aether movements of the huge number of dark musicians, Pomp and Circumstance came to its climax. The gifts from the abyss fell upon the physical world and took root. Following the willpower of the Dark Sovereign, the power of kingship of the abyss fell upon the earth, cruising the world as if it was wandering in water and light.

The birth of the son of God, the perfect incarnation of the King on Earth!

In the silence, the Marshal guiding Mary had a smile on his face, through which the face of the Dark Sovereign was looming. Standing in front of the throne, he gazed at Mary. He put his hands together as if holding something invisible, and then a crystal crown appeared in his hands. Music theories representing the essence of the Dark Sovereign surrounded the crown, infusing into it the elements of the hell; the power of the king of the abyss…

Slowly and gently, the crown was put on Mary’s head. On the front facet of the crown, the pearl released red light. Numerous music theories flew into her body and merged into the surging dragon blood.

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The coronation was finished; the eternal king of Anglo, the King of Hell on Earth, was born.

“Your Majesty, the long sleep is over.” He gradually became a thin shadow while he bent over and whispered into Mary’s ears, “We here offer your majesty blood and whining. We are waiting for your descendants.”

At that moment, behind the closed eyelids, the dark pupils slowly came into life.

…

In the ward of the Central Hospital, the sound of stones breaking was heard. With the sound, Ye Qingxuan stretched his hands and peeled off the carbonized shell on his body until finally it was completely gone. He was so refreshed and felt delighted, as if waking up from a very good night of sleep.

Lancelot was right. It was a good dream.

He lowered his head and took out the bronze envelop from his pocket and the iron of decay. The green fluorescent light of the iron was almost totally gone and it was covered all over cracks.

Shi Dong was right. It was the enemy of all living things and would destroy the living things’ sub-cell structure, eliminating the premise of life, including the curse in the dragon blood. It was as anticipated by Maxwell, though a hell of a lot more painful.

Ye Qingxuan loosened his hands and let the broken iron of decay fall from his hand onto the ground and crushed into dust. He got up and looked around. There was a swollen body, which was bleeding from the nose, ears, mouth, and eyes on the ground near the bed.

No wonder Maxwell had worried about the decaying period when he used this thing, as when he entered the decaying period, everyone around him may not be able to survive.

This is really good stuff. I’ll get some more from the east later. Then he nodded to himself. Looking at his naked body, he frowned, “Where are my clothes?”

Somewhere far away, inside the sealing of darkness, numerous music theories changed and permeated through layers of seals like tiny snakes. Then, the music theories exploded, crushed the whole building into ruins. Then, they flew up into the sky, through the Avalon enchantment, and finally onto Ye Qingxuan. The darkness spread out around him and turned into a black gown and boots.

Ye Qingxuan then stretched his arm. Jiu Xiao Huan Pei, waking up from the aether world, popped up and turned into his walking stick. Looking into the water mirror for a moment, he snapped his fingers, and music theories began to move and turned into the Holy movement, which wove into a black top hat on his head.

Ye Qingxuan knocked at the ground with his walking stick. “Good, it is quite decent to meet them.” Then, he nodded satisfactorily to himself, pushed open the door, and walked out. He walked past the bodies lying on the passageway and down the stairs. In the stare of the people in astonishment, he passed the chaotic hall and left of the gate.

Dreary thunder rumbled in the dark sky far away. Raising his head, he looked up at the sky. “It’s going to rain.” Then he lowered the brim of his hat and went in the direction of the Windsor Manor. With every step he took, the music theories within his body ran fiercer and fiercer.

Suddenly, countless music notes flew out, and the Symphony of Predestination boomed in operation. Music theories flew around him, singing loudly. Then, in the sky formed a moon that was physically real.

Out of the sea rises the moon.

The coldly pale moon turned a little pale blue. The touch of blue color spread quickly and turned the moon into completely pale blue—the Indigo Moon.

The moon was shining over the quiet cities. In the moonlight, Ye Qingxuan saw the army coming from afar and more and more musicians flying into the air. The moonlight was cold, like the sharp blade of a sword.

Hearing the sound of blades drawn out of their sheaths, Ye Qingxuan could feel the killing intent and the aether fluctuations all around him. His fingers grasping the walking stick flicked, and a mocking smile emerged on his lips.

“This is good. It is better to fight than to play games. Now, I can fight you without worrying. But…” His eyes suddenly brightened with moonlight full of the killing intent. “Get out of here, you worthless scum!” Then, he drummed the ground with his stick, and Jiu Xiao Huan Pei began to play from the air. The pale blue moonlight merged into a line and pierced through the air. Taking multiple turns as if reflected by mirrors, the light went back into the moon in a slip second.

Silence fell again.

The next moment, the sounds of things breaking and the sounds of things falling to the ground sounded out continuously. In the darkness, something was flying, giving off a tiny sound like a stream. Thunder broke out from the clouds, and in the deafening boom, wind spilled cold rain upon the ground.

The rain devoured everything.

…

The rain poured down, blurring the lights of the Windsor Manor. The rhythm was near its end. At the gate, the knights wearing power armor heard steps from afar. In the storm, a thin, shadowy figure came straight to them from the direction of the end of the street, step by step. His face was hidden under the brim of his hat.

In the heavy rain, the figure was only a blur. What they could see was a mirage-like moon, which was shining brightly in the rain. Wherever the moon went, the rain was turned into fire and flew all over it.

“Stop!” The chief knight held the hilt of his sword and stared at the figure with his blood-red eyes. “Who is it?”

An emblem featuring an emblem on fire was tossed over to him. The emblem fell to the ground with a crisp click.

“The Religious Court of Inquisitors?” The usher under the gate bent down and picked up the emblem. Frowning, he said, “The Religious Court of Inquisitors was not on the list of invited guests. What are you here for?”

A mocking grin emerged on the lips of the figure. “Same as Maxwell…” He raised his stick slowly and aimed it at the knights blocking his way.

“Assassination,” he said.