In the inn, the most beautiful music in the world was playing.
On the other side, Elf King Alfred staggered away, his gaunt figure casting a long shadow under the moonlight, his once neat and splendid formal attire now tattered and torn.
His skin, whiter than a woman’s, was covered in dust and gri.
The handso face, devoid of any masculine ruggedness, was sared with blood. Fresh blood gushed from his nostrils, clots ford in his ears, and from the corners of his eyes, two trails of blood were drawn, not to ntion his mouth, where half of his teeth were shattered.
The stunning face that had haunted nurous Noble Ladies’ dreams looked utterly disheveled at that mont.
His gem-like eyes were filled with an anguish so intense it seed indissoluble, and he breathed heavily, his mind reeling from the recent events.
Was that the Hero’s strength? In front of him, Alfred’s pride in his own strength seed as fragile as soap bubbles, easily crushed into fragnts.
His swift sword, quick as a gale, as lightning, felt as slow as a snail.
He couldn’t forget how that man had grabbed his head and, without a shred of resistance left in him, rcilessly smashed it into the ground.
Just recalling the feeling of utter powerlessness made Alfred’s body uncontrollably tremble.
Such power was sothing he could never contend with, perhaps not even in a lifeti.
The will of this Elf King was weaker than he had imagined, and deep inside, a tragic despair engulfed him. Stealing Silf back from such a powerful man seed clearly impossible, right?
Ha-ha, he truly was ridiculous, like a clown.
Enough, enough, just give up already.
Alfred was almost despondent, his complexion haggard, and his eyes beca sowhat hollow.
Just then, a red thread flashed suddenly in his right eye, wriggling like a tiny worm, giving Alfred’s expression an even more terrifying appearance.
The worm in the right eye quickly wriggled to the left eye, turning both eyes blood red.
His body uncontrollably started to tremble, his breathing becoming more and more rapid.
Was he to flee in such a wretched manner, like a dog?
The more he thought about it, the angrier, the more hateful he beca.
Suddenly, Alfred turned around and dashed toward the inn.
He wanted to see Silf one last ti, to ask from her own lips if she really felt nothing for him, if she had indeed forgotten him long ago.
But when Alfred reached the entrance of the inn, he could only, under the cover of night, see the silhouettes entwined in the reflection of the curtains.
That scene made the Elf King stand rooted to the spot.
Being a lifeti mber of Crystal Love, Alfred knew all too well what was happening.
The Silf he had adored was, at that very mont, intimately involved with Qin Chu, their bodies rising and falling in a torrid embrace, wrenching Alfred’s heart as though it were being torn apart.
The unbearable sharp pain caused Alfred to emit groans like a wounded wild dog, his body shivering uncontrollably, while tears of blood rolled down from the corners of his eyes.
Although he had heard it from Silf herself, seeing it with his own eyes brought a whole different level of tornt.
His heart had almost been cold, but at that mont, his chest was filled with an unbearable hatred and rage, violent murderous intentions pervading his eyes.
Both eyes flickered with a crimson glow, making the handso Elf King appear almost as ghastly as an Evil Ghost.
Hate, hate, hate! Kill, kill, kill!
This hatred and desire to kill was not just directed at Qin Chu, but also at Silf.
Betrayal.
She had betrayed him, ahhhh!
With his suppressed groans, the trembling body rapidly covered in crimson, web-like patterns, his skin seed to be layered with red scales.
Alfred stood silently under the window for two hours, until the two figures on the curtain finally lay down, and he finally left.
The Elf King knew well he was no match for Qin Chu; he needed to find Tatter, to join the Hidden Society, to seek the most dreadful Pride Witch, and even if it ant sacrificing his body, to obtain from the Witch the power needed for his revenge.
He firmly believed no woman could resist his beauty, not even the Witch.
He wanted to torture Silf in front of Qin Chu, to humiliate Qin Chu in front of Silf.
He wanted to personally decapitate the traitors.
...
On the other side.
Miluo quickly returned to the Royal Palace.
Though it was a ti his father and mother should be resting and not to be disturbed, Miluo had no choice but to dismiss the Guards near the King’s bedroom and loudly slap the door.
It wasn’t long before the door creaked open, and an old man with white hair and beard stepped out, wearing only a thin overcoat. He glanced at Miluo, towering two heads taller than himself, and exhaled a resigned sigh, knowing it had to be Miluo, for in the entire Kingdom, no one else dared disturb the King’s rest at this hour.
"My dearest daughter... If possible, I wish you had a bit more common sense. Do you know what ti it is? Three in the morning," lanted the old King with a droop in his face: "Don’t you realize old people need their rest? Otherwise, it shortens our lives."
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