In the end, Langmuir entered the meditation room.
He walked past the elder prophet, whose face was ashen. This was the elder he had admired for fifteen years, who once held him in his arms and pinned a white flower in his golden hair.
But at this moment, the youth and the elder passed by each other.
The Son of God closed his eyes, and all that was left in his heart was a bone-chilling cold.
He might indeed be naive, but he was certainly not so naive as to not distinguish between goodwill and malice.
But even though he could distinguish, he was still stabbed by the sharp malice until he was bleeding.
The meditation room was the quietest place in the temple, its structure somewhat like a better environment prison cell, used for priests who had violated the holy teachings to repent and reflect.
Langmuir was alone in there, meditating for seven days.
He meditated, prayed, recited the holy teachings, but the confusion and pain in his heart could not be relieved.
The wisdom of the Son of God made him see through the hypocrisy of the elder, but being in the Brett Temple, all his questions were destined not to be answered.
Even if he left the temple, in this kingdom that hated the demon race, there was no one who could answer his questions.
Langmuir realized that he was trapped in a huge cage.
With no way out, Langmuir could only torment himself inwardly.
Severe contemplation and the guilt of “escaping” repeatedly tormented his heart. He lost his appetite, suffered from insomnia night after night, and even if he fell asleep from exhaustion, he was entangled by nightmares and woke up in shock.
He became more and more haggard day by day.
As the Son of God stayed in the meditation room for longer and longer, the rulers of the temple became restless.
The elder prophet and the elder of offerings visited many times, first persuading with kind words, and then resorting to both soft and hard tactics, trying to force the Son of God to obey.
When all these efforts were declared a failure, they invited Langmuir’s biological parents.
When the old Holy Monarch and the old Holy Queen hurriedly arrived, they saw Langmuir, pale and thin, with dim eyes in the meditation room. They couldn’t help but feel sorrowful–they completely believed what the elder had said, “The Son of God has been tainted in the abyss and bewitched by demons,” and they couldn’t help but wash their faces with tears while holding their child.
Langmuir was in unspeakable pain.
Just like the prophet had threatened, even though he suspected that there was an unknown darkness behind the demon race, he had no evidence to speak to people.
He could only say in a low voice, “Father, mother, please don’t worry, I’m fine.”
In front of his parents’ tears and pleas, Langmuir had no choice but to leave the meditation room.
The Holy Queen broke into a smile, quickly took out freshly made flower cakes and sweet fruit tea from her arms.
Langmuir actually had no appetite at all, but seeing his mother’s red eyes and his father’s cautious hopeful expression, he still forced himself to eat these foods.
By the time he realized something was wrong, it was already too late.
A moment later, the blond boy fell into a deep sleep.
The old Holy Monarch held his son anxiously and handed him to the white-robed elder in front of him.
“Elder, Langmuir is a child blessed by the Goddess, he will get better, right?”
“Of course.”
The elder of offerings came to take the person. The old man took Langmuir with a smile, holding him in his arms as if he loved him very much. “As long as he goes through a little simple purification, the Son of God will immediately get better.”
“The prophet said that letting the Son of God go to the abyss, the consequences are unpredictable. We didn’t believe it, it was a mistake.”
In the depths of the temple’s sanctuary, four elders stood quietly.
Langmuir, who was asleep, was placed on the bed, with the elders of offerings surrounding him, like four white pillars.
The elder of offerings slowly traced Langmuir’s haggard eyebrows with his fingers.
The old man’s expression was complex and gloomy. “The Son of God… alas, the elder prophet taught him too purely. Letting a flower raised in a greenhouse suffer from wind and snow will only result in a dead wreck.”
“We ruined such a good child.”
“He will come back.” Another elder of offerings said indifferently, his palm was brewing a spell.
“Even if he comes back, the Son of God is no longer the Son of God he once was.”
“Maybe, but does that matter?”
“…..”
Of course it doesn’t matter.
These hundred-year-old elders soon proved this answer with their actions.
Langmuir Brett, this is their carefully carved idol. A beautiful and gentle boy, naturally more likely to gather the fanatical worship of the people than a group of rigid and indifferent old men.
Moreover, Langmuir, as the eldest son of the royal family, will inevitably ascend to the throne in the future. By then, the royal power will completely bow down under the divine power.
How can they let go of such a touching idol?
Since impurities have been mixed in and it no longer fits their intentions, they might as well smash it and recast it, destroy it and put it together again. They would rather cruelly take away that noble soul and leave a beautiful shell to be worshiped forever.
So, the inhumane torture began.
They took advantage of Langmuir’s deep sleep, applied a truth-telling spell to him, woke up the son of god, and interrogated him about everything he saw in the abyss, especially the situation of the Demon King.
Langmuir always resisted desperately. But human will always has its limits, how can it withstand one mind spell after another?
The interrogation lasted for a whole day, the time was so long that it was despairing.
In the evening, the setting sun was as red as swollen eyes. The elders of offerings finally heard about the miserable condition of the Broken Horn Demon King as they wished.
A heavy stone fell from their hearts, and they looked at each other and laughed.
The elders concluded with satisfaction:
“In such a situation, the Demon King has no way to survive!”
Not far away, the blond boy was soaked in cold sweat, his eyes lost.
He was hanging crookedly on the cold iron chair, convulsing under the side effects of the truth-telling spell. His bound hands and feet were covered with blue and purple marks, hitting the hard chair legs one after another, making a clanging sound.
The elders of offerings were still laughing and talking, no one cared about him. The creepy “clang” sound echoed in the sanctuary, lingering for a long time.
Squeak…
The door of the sanctuary was opened, and the elder prophet walked in with his staff.
He saw Langmuir’s miserable condition, frowned, and sighed, “You’ve gone too far.”
One of the elders of offerings said, “This is not our intention, but the Son of God resisted fiercely.”
The elder prophet walked over and untied the bindings on Langmuir.
The blond boy fell forward without a sound, falling into the prophet’s arms.
The prophet performed a spell to heal mental trauma, and Langmuir breathed as if he was hanging by a thread, and the terrifying convulsions gradually stopped.
“Langmuir… Langmuir?”
The elder prophet called the son of god’s name in a low voice, “Good boy, it doesn’t hurt anymore, it doesn’t hurt…Don’t be afraid, grandpa elder is holding you, it’s all over.”
“You have been tainted by the filth of the abyss, the purification ceremony has just ended. Everything is a nightmare, forget it.”
Langmuir opened his mouth, but couldn’t make a sound.
The prophet poured some honey water to feed him, and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, as if he was really caring for a sick child.
“Langmuir,” the old man patted him kindly, “You’re too tired, go to sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you will completely forget the nightmare.”
“…I know.” Langmuir suddenly hoarsely said.
“I am both the son of god and the prince.” He hung his head and laughed weakly, “You dare not kill me, you can only try to destroy me like this.”
The faces of the prophet and the elders of offerings changed.
They became resentful and could hardly hide their fear.
They did not expect that this greenhouse flower-like boy, a soft soul that had not experienced any hardship since childhood, could be so unyielding.
The next moment, the light of Mana rose in Langmuir’s hand, the elder prophet dodged sharply, but that Mana still scraped off a strand of his hair and half of his eyebrows like a long sword.
The four elders of offerings surrounded him, the son of god was already too weak to stand, and was soon suppressed on the cold ground again.
“It seems that the intensity of the purification is not enough.” The elder prophet said gloomily.
He pressed a palm on Langmuir’s head, and the light of the spell emerged again.
Langmuir started to convulse again, tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, and a helpless groan came from his throat. He struggled to shake his head, but the mind spell still stabbed into his brain like a sharp knife, stirring up a soft bloody mess.
The prophet asked, “Son of God, were you wrong?”
“I’m not… uh, not…”
“Disobedient child. You made a big mistake, you were bewitched by demons, you let go of the evil Demon King, you betrayed your people, you defiled the devout faith!”
“No…”
“Don’t be stubborn anymore. You are a sinner, only repentance can free you, has the Son of God even forgotten the holy teachings?”
“Ugh…”
“Son of God, answer me, were you wrong?”
“…”
This kind of questioning lasted for a long time, Langmuir’s beautiful eyes gradually rolled up, until only the whites of his eyes, full of bloodshot, were left in his eye sockets.
The prophet intensified the spell again. “Son of God, do you know you were wrong?”
“I…ugh…wrong uh…”
“It was the evil Demon King who bewitched you, tempted you to make a mistake, the Demon King also cruelly cursed you, causing you to become mentally unstable after returning to the human world, do you remember, Son of God?”
“No…”
The four elders of offerings looked at each other and also began to cast spells. The prophet said, “Demons deserve to die, do you remember, Son of God?”
Langmuir suddenly cried out in misery, his body stiffened, “God…Goddess!..Save… Ah…”
“Demons deserve to die, do you remember, Son of God?”
“No, no…”
Whether it was the twelfth or thirteenth round of questioning, Langmuir suddenly exhaled a long breath, tilted his head and didn’t move, his thin chest deeply sunken, and he didn’t take another breath for a long time.
The elders woke up in shock. They were angry at the boy’s desperate resistance, and they had long forgotten the severity of their actions. Now that the son of god was really not going to make it, they were scared.
They panicked and shot several healing spells into Langmuir’s body, rescuing him in a hurry.
“Langmuir, Langmuir! Don’t scare grandpa, good boy, breathe quickly…”
“Good boy, be strong, right, breathe…”
The prophet’s wrinkled palm rubbed the young man’s chest, until he heard Langmuir cough twice, and started breathing hard again, then he wiped off the big cold sweat.
“Send the Son of God back to his bedroom.” The prophet said in a deep voice, “I think, the Son of God should have repented.”
…….
In this way, Langmuir was sent back to his bedroom, unconscious for days.
No one had any doubts, whether it was the old Holy Monarch and Queen, or the son of god’s knight Gilbert, they all believed that Langmuir was harmed by the demons.
Who would doubt the respectable temple elders? Over the years, how carefully the elder has loved and taught the son of god, everyone has seen it.
Langmuir slept for five days before waking up.
The day he woke up was a clear morning. The son of god slowly sat up from the bed, his eyes were blank, and he touched his temples in a daze, saying, “I seem to have had a very strange dream.”
Gilbert, who was guarding by the bed, joyfully served the son of god to get up, Langmuir changed his clothes and went down to the ground, washed and closed his eyes to pray. His expression was calm and devout, just like every morning in the previous fifteen years.
During breakfast, the blond boy slowly chewed his food, frowning as he gently tapped the silver plate with his knife and fork, saying, “I seem to have forgotten something important.”
Gilbert, remembering the elder prophet’s instructions, quickly said, “Don’t think, Lord Son of God, don’t think.”
The elder said that the son of god must have experienced something very cruel in the abyss, remembering it would only add to the pain, and he might fall into the curse of the demon again.
Langmuir obediently nodded, “Hmm, I won’t think.”
Gilbert went to open the curtains, the weather was very good today, he wanted the son of god, who had been bedridden for many days, to bask in the sun.
When the printed curtain was pulled open, the knight couldn’t help but raise his arm to block it. It was the brilliant sunlight that came in through the glass window, so bright that it was a bit dazzling.
Gilbert turned around, about to speak with a smile, but paused.
Langmuir, sitting at the dining table, was completely enveloped by the sunlight, his deep golden hair shining like a sunset cloud.
The son of god’s eyes were smiling, but inexplicably looked sad, his gaze emptily fell on the distant outside the window, not knowing where he was looking.
“…Gilbert.”
Langmuir’s voice was low, quiet and ethereal, as if he was singing, “Let me tell you a secret, I had a very strange dream.”
“I dreamed that I went to the abyss and met a demon there.”
“He cursed me…”
“From now on, every time I see sunlight or flowers, my soul will be in unbearable pain.”
In the end, Langmuir entered the meditation room.
He walked past the elder prophet, whose face was ashen. This was the elder he had admired for fifteen years, who once held him in his arms and pinned a white flower in his golden hair.
But at this moment, the youth and the elder passed by each other.
The Son of God closed his eyes, and all that was left in his heart was a bone-chilling cold.
He might indeed be naive, but he was certainly not so naive as to not distinguish between goodwill and malice.
But even though he could distinguish, he was still stabbed by the sharp malice until he was bleeding.
The meditation room was the quietest place in the temple, its structure somewhat like a better environment prison cell, used for priests who had violated the holy teachings to repent and reflect.
Langmuir was alone in there, meditating for seven days.
He meditated, prayed, recited the holy teachings, but the confusion and pain in his heart could not be relieved.
The wisdom of the Son of God made him see through the hypocrisy of the elder, but being in the Brett Temple, all his questions were destined not to be answered.
Even if he left the temple, in this kingdom that hated the demon race, there was no one who could answer his questions.
Langmuir realized that he was trapped in a huge cage.
With no way out, Langmuir could only torment himself inwardly.
Severe contemplation and the guilt of “escaping” repeatedly tormented his heart. He lost his appetite, suffered from insomnia night after night, and even if he fell asleep from exhaustion, he was entangled by nightmares and woke up in shock.
He became more and more haggard day by day.
As the Son of God stayed in the meditation room for longer and longer, the rulers of the temple became restless.
The elder prophet and the elder of offerings visited many times, first persuading with kind words, and then resorting to both soft and hard tactics, trying to force the Son of God to obey.
When all these efforts were declared a failure, they invited Langmuir’s biological parents.
When the old Holy Monarch and the old Holy Queen hurriedly arrived, they saw Langmuir, pale and thin, with dim eyes in the meditation room. They couldn’t help but feel sorrowful–they completely believed what the elder had said, “The Son of God has been tainted in the abyss and bewitched by demons,” and they couldn’t help but wash their faces with tears while holding their child.
Langmuir was in unspeakable pain.
Just like the prophet had threatened, even though he suspected that there was an unknown darkness behind the demon race, he had no evidence to speak to people.
He could only say in a low voice, “Father, mother, please don’t worry, I’m fine.”
In front of his parents’ tears and pleas, Langmuir had no choice but to leave the meditation room.
The Holy Queen broke into a smile, quickly took out freshly made flower cakes and sweet fruit tea from her arms.
Langmuir actually had no appetite at all, but seeing his mother’s red eyes and his father’s cautious hopeful expression, he still forced himself to eat these foods.
By the time he realized something was wrong, it was already too late.
A moment later, the blond boy fell into a deep sleep.
The old Holy Monarch held his son anxiously and handed him to the white-robed elder in front of him.
“Elder, Langmuir is a child blessed by the Goddess, he will get better, right?”
“Of course.”
The elder of offerings came to take the person. The old man took Langmuir with a smile, holding him in his arms as if he loved him very much. “As long as he goes through a little simple purification, the Son of God will immediately get better.”
“The prophet said that letting the Son of God go to the abyss, the consequences are unpredictable. We didn’t believe it, it was a mistake.”
In the depths of the temple’s sanctuary, four elders stood quietly.
Langmuir, who was asleep, was placed on the bed, with the elders of offerings surrounding him, like four white pillars.
The elder of offerings slowly traced Langmuir’s haggard eyebrows with his fingers.
The old man’s expression was complex and gloomy. “The Son of God… alas, the elder prophet taught him too purely. Letting a flower raised in a greenhouse suffer from wind and snow will only result in a dead wreck.”
“We ruined such a good child.”
“He will come back.” Another elder of offerings said indifferently, his palm was brewing a spell.
“Even if he comes back, the Son of God is no longer the Son of God he once was.”
“Maybe, but does that matter?”
“…..”
Of course it doesn’t matter.
These hundred-year-old elders soon proved this answer with their actions.
Langmuir Brett, this is their carefully carved idol. A beautiful and gentle boy, naturally more likely to gather the fanatical worship of the people than a group of rigid and indifferent old men.
Moreover, Langmuir, as the eldest son of the royal family, will inevitably ascend to the throne in the future. By then, the royal power will completely bow down under the divine power.
How can they let go of such a touching idol?
Since impurities have been mixed in and it no longer fits their intentions, they might as well smash it and recast it, destroy it and put it together again. They would rather cruelly take away that noble soul and leave a beautiful shell to be worshiped forever.
So, the inhumane torture began.
They took advantage of Langmuir’s deep sleep, applied a truth-telling spell to him, woke up the son of god, and interrogated him about everything he saw in the abyss, especially the situation of the Demon King.
Langmuir always resisted desperately. But human will always has its limits, how can it withstand one mind spell after another?
The interrogation lasted for a whole day, the time was so long that it was despairing.
In the evening, the setting sun was as red as swollen eyes. The elders of offerings finally heard about the miserable condition of the Broken Horn Demon King as they wished.
A heavy stone fell from their hearts, and they looked at each other and laughed.
The elders concluded with satisfaction:
“In such a situation, the Demon King has no way to survive!”
Not far away, the blond boy was soaked in cold sweat, his eyes lost.
He was hanging crookedly on the cold iron chair, convulsing under the side effects of the truth-telling spell. His bound hands and feet were covered with blue and purple marks, hitting the hard chair legs one after another, making a clanging sound.
The elders of offerings were still laughing and talking, no one cared about him. The creepy “clang” sound echoed in the sanctuary, lingering for a long time.
Squeak…
The door of the sanctuary was opened, and the elder prophet walked in with his staff.
He saw Langmuir’s miserable condition, frowned, and sighed, “You’ve gone too far.”
One of the elders of offerings said, “This is not our intention, but the Son of God resisted fiercely.”
The elder prophet walked over and untied the bindings on Langmuir.
The blond boy fell forward without a sound, falling into the prophet’s arms.
The prophet performed a spell to heal mental trauma, and Langmuir breathed as if he was hanging by a thread, and the terrifying convulsions gradually stopped.
“Langmuir… Langmuir?”
The elder prophet called the son of god’s name in a low voice, “Good boy, it doesn’t hurt anymore, it doesn’t hurt…Don’t be afraid, grandpa elder is holding you, it’s all over.”
“You have been tainted by the filth of the abyss, the purification ceremony has just ended. Everything is a nightmare, forget it.”
Langmuir opened his mouth, but couldn’t make a sound.
The prophet poured some honey water to feed him, and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, as if he was really caring for a sick child.
“Langmuir,” the old man patted him kindly, “You’re too tired, go to sleep. When you wake up tomorrow, you will completely forget the nightmare.”
“…I know.” Langmuir suddenly hoarsely said.
“I am both the son of god and the prince.” He hung his head and laughed weakly, “You dare not kill me, you can only try to destroy me like this.”
The faces of the prophet and the elders of offerings changed.
They became resentful and could hardly hide their fear.
They did not expect that this greenhouse flower-like boy, a soft soul that had not experienced any hardship since childhood, could be so unyielding.
The next moment, the light of Mana rose in Langmuir’s hand, the elder prophet dodged sharply, but that Mana still scraped off a strand of his hair and half of his eyebrows like a long sword.
The four elders of offerings surrounded him, the son of god was already too weak to stand, and was soon suppressed on the cold ground again.
“It seems that the intensity of the purification is not enough.” The elder prophet said gloomily.
He pressed a palm on Langmuir’s head, and the light of the spell emerged again.
Langmuir started to convulse again, tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, and a helpless groan came from his throat. He struggled to shake his head, but the mind spell still stabbed into his brain like a sharp knife, stirring up a soft bloody mess.
The prophet asked, “Son of God, were you wrong?”
“I’m not… uh, not…”
“Disobedient child. You made a big mistake, you were bewitched by demons, you let go of the evil Demon King, you betrayed your people, you defiled the devout faith!”
“No…”
“Don’t be stubborn anymore. You are a sinner, only repentance can free you, has the Son of God even forgotten the holy teachings?”
“Ugh…”
“Son of God, answer me, were you wrong?”
“…”
This kind of questioning lasted for a long time, Langmuir’s beautiful eyes gradually rolled up, until only the whites of his eyes, full of bloodshot, were left in his eye sockets.
The prophet intensified the spell again. “Son of God, do you know you were wrong?”
“I…ugh…wrong uh…”
“It was the evil Demon King who bewitched you, tempted you to make a mistake, the Demon King also cruelly cursed you, causing you to become mentally unstable after returning to the human world, do you remember, Son of God?”
“No…”
The four elders of offerings looked at each other and also began to cast spells. The prophet said, “Demons deserve to die, do you remember, Son of God?”
Langmuir suddenly cried out in misery, his body stiffened, “God…Goddess!..Save… Ah…”
“Demons deserve to die, do you remember, Son of God?”
“No, no…”
Whether it was the twelfth or thirteenth round of questioning, Langmuir suddenly exhaled a long breath, tilted his head and didn’t move, his thin chest deeply sunken, and he didn’t take another breath for a long time.
The elders woke up in shock. They were angry at the boy’s desperate resistance, and they had long forgotten the severity of their actions. Now that the son of god was really not going to make it, they were scared.
They panicked and shot several healing spells into Langmuir’s body, rescuing him in a hurry.
“Langmuir, Langmuir! Don’t scare grandpa, good boy, breathe quickly…”
“Good boy, be strong, right, breathe…”
The prophet’s wrinkled palm rubbed the young man’s chest, until he heard Langmuir cough twice, and started breathing hard again, then he wiped off the big cold sweat.
“Send the Son of God back to his bedroom.” The prophet said in a deep voice, “I think, the Son of God should have repented.”
…….
In this way, Langmuir was sent back to his bedroom, unconscious for days.
No one had any doubts, whether it was the old Holy Monarch and Queen, or the son of god’s knight Gilbert, they all believed that Langmuir was harmed by the demons.
Who would doubt the respectable temple elders? Over the years, how carefully the elder has loved and taught the son of god, everyone has seen it.
Langmuir slept for five days before waking up.
The day he woke up was a clear morning. The son of god slowly sat up from the bed, his eyes were blank, and he touched his temples in a daze, saying, “I seem to have had a very strange dream.”
Gilbert, who was guarding by the bed, joyfully served the son of god to get up, Langmuir changed his clothes and went down to the ground, washed and closed his eyes to pray. His expression was calm and devout, just like every morning in the previous fifteen years.
During breakfast, the blond boy slowly chewed his food, frowning as he gently tapped the silver plate with his knife and fork, saying, “I seem to have forgotten something important.”
Gilbert, remembering the elder prophet’s instructions, quickly said, “Don’t think, Lord Son of God, don’t think.”
The elder said that the son of god must have experienced something very cruel in the abyss, remembering it would only add to the pain, and he might fall into the curse of the demon again.
Langmuir obediently nodded, “Hmm, I won’t think.”
Gilbert went to open the curtains, the weather was very good today, he wanted the son of god, who had been bedridden for many days, to bask in the sun.
When the printed curtain was pulled open, the knight couldn’t help but raise his arm to block it. It was the brilliant sunlight that came in through the glass window, so bright that it was a bit dazzling.
Gilbert turned around, about to speak with a smile, but paused.
Langmuir, sitting at the dining table, was completely enveloped by the sunlight, his deep golden hair shining like a sunset cloud.
The son of god’s eyes were smiling, but inexplicably looked sad, his gaze emptily fell on the distant outside the window, not knowing where he was looking.
“…Gilbert.”
Langmuir’s voice was low, quiet and ethereal, as if he was singing, “Let me tell you a secret, I had a very strange dream.”
“I dreamed that I went to the abyss and met a demon there.”
“He cursed me…”
“From now on, every time I see sunlight or flowers, my soul will be in unbearable pain.”
