Chapter 51: The Demon King’s Disguise
Misha felt that something like a curse should carry a sense of punishment, rather than turning him into such cute little animals.
The meaning of a curse implies that the final result must be disgusting or terrifying; only then could it be effective as a curse. Look at the things Ashby came up with—rabbits and kittens? Who would be afraid of turning into those?
Misha spoke up solemnly, “A snake seems like a good idea.”
Zebrun, who was just about to swing the heavy ancient book to thrash Ashby, paused his movements and turned to look at Misha with some confusion.
Arlo couldn’t help but add, “Growing scales might be a bit ugly.”
Misha: “Hmm…”
He actually didn’t think snakes were ugly.
Perhaps he had stayed in the Demon King’s Castle for too long and seen too many demonic beasts with haphazard appearances, so he felt that snakes were actually quite delicate and refined.
However, Arlo did remind him. Although he didn’t think snakes were ugly, a snake wasn’t the most terrifying curse. The most terrifying curse should be one that turned him directly into a monster!
Think about it: the evil Demon King casts a curse on a Divine Envoy by the Hero’s side, causing the envoy to gradually fall into darkness and transform into a loathsome monster. With a script like this, what Hero wouldn’t be enraged?
If he were the Hero, he would want to grab his sword and charge into the Demon King’s Castle this very day to avenge the Divine Envoy.
Misha nodded vigorously.
“A snake isn’t good enough,” Misha said. “Let’s make it a Black Dragon!”
Upon hearing the words “Black Dragon,” Zebrun imperceptibly shrank back, then opened the heavy ancient book in his hands and held it up to cover his face.
Arlo was slightly stunned, then nodded. “That is actually a good idea.”
“A Black Dragon?” Ashby stroked his chin. “I’ve heard that a Black Dragon’s vigor and stamina are several times that of a human.”
Zebrun kept his mouth shut.
Misha nodded solemnly again and said, “Black Dragons aren’t cute at all.”
Not only were they not cute, but a Black Dragon’s tail was covered in scales. It had nothing to do with fluffy, adorable tails. Instead, it gave off a cold, terrifying feeling. The outer shell was hard to the touch; the Hero would definitely not want to lay a hand on it.
That meant he could boldly reveal a dragon tail without fearing the Hero’s touch.
But Arlo was shocked.
He confirmed once more that Misha wanted to add the dragon tail setting and asked hesitantly, “Are you sure?”
Misha nodded confidently.
He had thought it through carefully. To become like a Black Dragon without fully turning into one meant the physical changes would be nothing more than growing dragon horns, having more scales, and growing a tail. But he didn’t like scales; having those things on his face or hands would feel strange.
And if he only grew horns—many creatures could grow horns… He felt it would be hard for others to even judge that he was transforming into a Black Dragon specifically.
“It doesn’t matter,” Misha said. “A dragon tail is different from my tail.”
Normal people wouldn’t want to touch something covered in scales, right?
Arlo: “…Think it over carefully first.”
Ashby couldn’t help but sigh with emotion. “A dragon tail? Covered in scales? Isn’t that even better?”
Misha: “?”
Even Zebrun, hiding half his face behind the open ancient book, whispered softly, “I suggest you’d better not…”
Misha: “It’ll be fine!”
Even if the Hero’s tastes were beyond his expectations, the Hero would definitely not pinch his tail in front of so many people.
He was confident, and he felt capable.
This plan was flawless; there would be absolutely no problem.
Lance and the Bishop waited in the Sanctuary for a long time.
The Bishop was restless, wondering what exactly Divine Envoy Arlo was doing to Divine Envoy Misha and why they hadn’t come out after so long. At the same time, he couldn’t help but think—that evil Demon King had finally left his castle. If even a formidable Divine Envoy could be hit by his curse, didn’t that mean ordinary people like them were living in danger at every moment?
Naturally, he felt a bit afraid.
He wanted to confide his fears to the Hero, but when he turned around, he found Lance leaning against the back of the pew… asleep?
The Bishop was astonished.
He thought, This is probably the gap between me and the savior Hero chosen by the Gods.
Even when such earth-shattering events were occurring, the Hero could maintain such calm.
This composure was truly something ordinary people like them could hardly achieve.
The Bishop turned back and saw Divine Envoy Arlo finally emerging from the back of the Sanctuary.
He hurriedly stood up, impatient to greet him, and asked, “Divine Envoy Arlo, how is Divine Envoy Misha?”
Arlo: “Misha is…”
Arlo paused slightly, then shifted his gaze behind the Bishop.
Arlo frowned. “What’s wrong with the Hero?”
Lance, who hadn’t slept all night, was forced to wake up once again.
Bearing the Bishop’s admiring gaze and Arlo’s look of obvious indignation, he tried hard to focus and listen to Arlo’s explanation of Misha’s condition.
“It’s a bit bad.” Arlo glared at Lance angrily. “The curse on Misha seems to have worsened.”
He didn’t understand. Things had reached this point, yet how could the human Hero still wear such a calm expression, looking as if he wasn’t worried about Misha at all?
Not only that, but this detestable Hero had actually fallen asleep just now.
In this situation, how could anyone sleep?!
The Bishop was filled with worry and hurriedly asked, “Worsened?”
Arlo nodded and explained, “The curse has made his body become even stranger. I think… it’s better not to let more people see what he looks like right now.”
Arlo looked worriedly at the clergy gathered in the Sanctuary, hinting at what the Bishop should do next.
The Bishop understood almost immediately. He found an excuse to dismiss the clergy gathered there. Once only the three of them remained, he looked back at Arlo nervously and asked, “Then… what should we do now?”
Arlo sighed. “Bring a set of new clothes first.”
Lance: “…Hmm? New clothes?”
Lance seemed to have only just woken up from his drowsiness and was slightly confused by Arlo’s words. But his lazy reaction was enough to make Arlo roll his eyes several times; his favorability toward the Hero dropped to rock bottom once again.
His own Divine Envoy was cursed, yet the Hero didn’t seem worried in the slightest.
Hmph, a Hero like this.
How is he worthy of my cute Demon King colleague’s efforts!
Arlo ignored Lance. He whispered a few words to the Bishop, who revealed a look of disbelief and shock before nodding and turning to leave the Sanctuary.
Lance remained standing where he was. He didn’t say a word, showing no intention of asking further questions, which actually made Arlo a bit anxious.
They stood there for a while longer. The Bishop still hadn’t returned, and Arlo finally couldn’t resist asking Lance, “Are you not worried at all?”
Lance snapped out of his daze and subconsciously asked, “Worried about what?”
Arlo: “…”
Great. Now I want to punch the Hero in the face too.
“He was just hit by a Demon King’s curse.” Lance yawned sleepily again. “That’s not a big problem.”
Arlo: “That is a Demon King’s curse!”
“I don’t understand magic.” Lance lowered his eyes slightly, clasping his hands and gently playing with his fingers. “But for something like a curse, as long as the person who cast it dies, the curse will naturally be lifted, right?”
Arlo: “…”
Arlo subconsciously looked at Lance.
There was no smile on the Hero’s face. He spoke as if asking Arlo what to eat for dinner tonight—simply stating an incredibly ordinary fact in an understated manner.
But Arlo couldn’t see through the emotions behind those eyes as deep and blue as lake water. He simply couldn’t suppress a chill rising from the bottom of his heart and couldn’t help emphasizing, “That is the Demon King’s curse.”
Lance replied, “He is nearby, isn’t he?”
Arlo shuddered and suddenly understood the Hero’s meaning.
Even a Demon King wouldn’t have the ability to curse someone remotely.
He was nearby, or his clone was nearby. There was something worthy of a good beating to let the Hero vent his anger over the Divine Envoy being cursed.
This should have been good news.
The Hero had finally ignited hostility toward the Demon King. Perhaps he would soon head to the Demon King’s Castle. As a Divine Envoy, Arlo should have felt happy.
But this… was certainly not good news.
The Demon King was Misha.
Misha had “cursed” himself, and the Hero wanted to beat up Misha!
If one day the Hero learned the truth…
Arlo took a breath, afraid to think any further.
The relationship between the Hero and the Demon King in this world—if it wasn’t hatred after knowing the truth, it would be resentment born of betrayal after some sentiment had blossomed.
In short…
Arlo looked at the calm Lance and sighed softly.
The Hero and the Demon King would likely have a hard time finding a normal ending.
The Bishop brought a set of clean robes for Misha.
It was the white robe commonly worn by the church clergy, with wide hems that almost dragged on the ground, embroidered with the church’s holy emblem.
Arlo sent the robe into the room, then came out to continue waiting with Lance and the Bishop. After quite a while, they heard the door open. Misha, clutching his head, cautiously poked his head out from behind the door.
Comparing his face to before, there was indeed no difference. The Bishop couldn’t help but sigh in relief, thinking that fortunately, the curse hadn’t reached a severe and irreversible stage. He said, “Divine Envoy Misha, it is good that you are alright.”
But Misha stayed behind the door, maintaining that strange posture. He looked first at Lance, then mumbled softly, “Lord Lance… things might be… a little bad.”
He put on such a pitiful appearance that even Lance couldn’t help but pause slightly, asking softly, “What’s wrong?”
Misha lowered his voice even more. “I seem to be turning into a Black Dragon.”
After saying this, he let go of his hands, revealing the top of his head that he had been trying to cover.
Two small dragon horns emerged from his brown hair. As Misha slowly shuffled out from behind the door, a slightly curled tail was revealed from beneath the white church robe.
Lance: “…”
The Bishop was shocked: “?!”
The Bishop was flushed with panic and nervousness. “What do we do? How did it change so fast? Divine Envoy Arlo, do you really have no other way?”
Arlo: “Ah… er… maybe the Goddess will…”
He couldn’t help but turn his head to look at Lance.
Lance stood motionless, frowning as he looked at Misha in front of him.
Arlo still couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Then, in the next moment, he saw the Hero raise his hand as if he couldn’t control himself and gently pat Misha’s head.
Arlo: “…”
No, wait. There are so many people here. What is the Hero doing!
Misha was also shocked.
No way, he can bring himself to touch this too?!
Lance’s fingers passed through the brown hair and touched the dragon horns on Misha’s head.
Of course, they weren’t decorations like the ones Ashby wore. These dragon horns were connected to flesh and blood, formed by Misha using his own horns. He had applied a top-tier illusion to them, guaranteeing that whether looking or touching, they wouldn’t differ much from dragon horns. However, since Misha had only ever touched the horns of underage whelps… he could only simulate the form of a young dragon’s horns.
Lance even couldn’t resist actively touching Misha’s horns.
They hadn’t fully grown the rough, cold, hard shell of an adult Black Dragon. They weren’t very hard to the touch and seemed to carry a bit of body warmth. Lance couldn’t help but touch Misha’s horns earnestly again, startling Misha into jumping back several steps and crashing into the door panel behind him with a bang.
The Bishop panicked even more. “Divine Envoy Misha, do you feel dizzy? Is this also a side effect of the curse?”
Arlo: “…”
Tsk. Can you two not flirt so directly?
Misha noticed Lance’s gaze again—it was moving from the horns on his head to the tail extending from under his robe.
That familiar terror from that night filled Misha’s heart once more.
With a swish, he retracted his tail, hiding it strictly under the large robe. Then he swallowed nervously, pretending nothing had happened, and said seriously, “We… we’d better think of a solution.”
The Bishop was nervous and uneasy. “Maybe we should contact the Grand Church in the Royal Capital and ask them to send a few professional exorcists.”
Lance spoke slowly, “This is a Demon King’s curse.”
Bishop: “Then we can’t delay any longer!”
He couldn’t wait to leave the Sanctuary and report this matter to the Royal Capital, hoping to invite the High Priest personally to handle this terrible affair.
Lance asked in return, “Can they really remove a Demon King’s curse?”
Bishop: “This…”
If they really had that ability, there would be no need for a god-chosen Hero.
Seeing everyone fall silent, Misha puffed out his chest confidently, intending to offer guidance to the lost Hero in his capacity as a “Divine Envoy.”
Yes, guidance.
The method of exorcism that the three demons and one god had just hastily discussed in the dark room.
It involved a spell “accidentally” discovered by Zebrun in an ancient book, requiring the Hero to spend some time collecting raw materials, conveniently killing a few monsters along the way, delaying the Hero’s journey to the Royal Capital. Then the curse would be logically lifted, and Misha would easily return to normal.
He was just about to speak when he heard the Hero say something slowly.
Lance: “Why don’t we go beat up the Demon King right now?”
Misha: “?”
Eh? What?
The Hero finally wants to go to the Demon King’s Castle?!
No, wait.
But I’m right here beside the Hero… I can’t produce a second Demon King!
Misha’s smile froze on his lips.
Crap.
The Hero is finally willing to go to the Demon King’s Castle, but I don’t feel happy at all. I only feel panic.
My identity… is definitely going to be exposed, right?
Recommended Reads
