Under demon supervision, the gods swiftly withdrew from Yelu City back to the god realm, per the truce. Demon armies erupted in cheers, celebrating their defensive victory. Yelu's demon civilians joined, chanting, "Long live the Demon King!" His actual age far exceeded mortal limits, but the phrase's meaning transcended literal bounds.
The Demon King gazed at his joyful yet exhausted soldiers, malnourished civilians, and war-ravaged Yelu City. Smiling for the crowd, he sighed inwardly. This victory felt… odd. Just as demons lost their edge, some god-side blunder—indiscriminate attacks—hit their own troops hardest, tipping the scales. After millennia of peace, war skills had dulled. Of his two million-strong army, barely half remained. A hard-won triumph, indeed.
The God King led his angels back to the god realm, regret gnawing. With their best advantage in god-demon history, they hadn't pursued the demons but retreated. Yet, his instincts screamed this was wise. Beyond his truce talk with the Demon King, a chilling killing intent shadowed him, stripping away all secrets. This oppressive dread—unlike anything even the Demon King evoked—hinted at genocide if the war continued.
The more he pondered, the stronger the threat felt. In the three realms, only demons could challenge gods. Humans? Irrelevant. A secret demon unit? Unlikely—had he not proposed the truce, both armies would've bled dry. A flash of insight hit: if gods and demons obliterated each other, humans would profit most. Humans wanted them at each other's throats. But no human could wield such power… could they? Recalling the demons' crushing defeat by humans, despite near-equal strength, the God King pegged humans as the prime suspect. Signs showed humans no longer revered gods as before. If a human master existed, they had to be eliminated—such power couldn't exist outside god-demon control. Three thousand years ago, a human prodigy fell to his assassins. No guarantee another hadn't risen.
His suspicions deepened. During the war's peak, as gods gained the upper hand, sudden explosions erupted—massive, sky-falling magic with no warning. Multiple spells, yet no one sensed their magical ripples? Unthinkable. His face turned ashen, teeth clenched. "It's that guy," he growled, meaning Feitian. Without knowing Feitian, linking the god realm's past missile strike to the demon realm's was a stroke of genius. Thanks to Feitian's "memorable" impact—those impotence-inducing blasts. The God King had inspected the god realm's crater; now, recalling the demon realm's missile pits, it clicked. Cold sweat broke out. That guy's goal? Play fisherman while we fight. His proud three-realm conquest was under someone's watch, his neck in their grip. This war's true master wasn't him or the Demon King—it was that damned human. Accepting this, he nearly blacked out, reeling for minutes.
The god and demon realms faced a dire crisis, sparked by demons invading humans. Demon massacres and god indifference roused a human master from seclusion, unleashing vengeance. Appearing in both realms, freely traversing the three realms—what strength! The God King, already fearing this foe, elevated them higher. Glancing at the angels below, he felt powerless for the first time. They assumed his gloom was from the expedition's failure. He hid his theory—revealing it would crush morale further. Some things he'd handle alone, quietly. The fewer who knew, the better. Broadcasting plans risked alerting this enemy. A cunning foe wouldn't let prey prepare. To lull them, he'd act in control, moving slowly to mask his intent. Like a cat toying with a mouse, if the mouse spots the game, it blinds the cat. Realizing the prey played the predator shatters the psyche. So, the cat kills, not toys. As a millennia-old god leader, he knew how to save his billion angels.
"Ally with demons, combine our strength against this greater foe," he muttered, words flowing as if unthought. Pausing, he added, "Might work." But millennia of demon enmity gave him a headache. Teaming up against a hidden human threat was tricky—how to even contact demons? Waltzing in saying, "Gods aren't your enemy; a human is," wouldn't fly with post-war demons. If they asked for proof, "My gut says so" wouldn't cut it. It'd deepen hatred, seen as provocation. Demons viewed their human loss as shameful but scoffed at humans invading them—like men birthing babies. They'd think gods were mocking them, saying, "Demons are weak; we'll help." That'd spark another war, not unity—far from his goal.
Pacing the palace garden, he wrestled with this thorny issue. "Oof!" A soft, fragrant body crashed into him, snapping him back. Instinctively, he caught her to prevent a fall.
Laughter and chatter stopped, replaced by, "Long live Your Majesty!" His concubines were playing hide-and-seek, a timeless palace game. "Rise," he said gently. The beauty in his arms, realizing she'd bumped the God King, yanked off her blindfold. Her aura-filled eyes and flawless face dazzled. Kissing her, he recognized his youngest wife—irresistibly arousing. But those cursed blasts had left him impotent for months, stuck in limbo. As the saying goes, "Erupt in silence or perish in it." He chose eruption. Pent-up desire, fueled by recent woes, demanded release—for health, of course.
Carrying his stunning concubine to the bedchamber, his hands worked fast, stripping her to a radiant, shy "white lamb." Her divine form sent his brain into overdrive. He crushed her to him, ravenous, his lips devouring hers.
After fervent groping, no action followed. She opened her eyes, seeing him anxiously pawing her, his "lower half" as limp as months ago. Majesty's overworked, she thought. Good thing she'd planned ahead, or that first night's bliss would stay out of reach. Standing, she puzzled him. Winking—a move she'd practiced for months—she electrified him. From a bedside drawer, she pulled a jade vial.
"What's that?" he asked, curious.
"Majesty, it's a treasure—'Indian God Oil,' studied from human realm spies' purchases. They say it restores a man's vigor. I secretly had maids grab a bottle," she said, blushing.
"Does it work?" he asked, thrilled.
"I wasn't sure, but I tested it. A male thunder-dog ate a bit, and its 'thing' sprang up, going wild on a female, who howled. No side effects," she said. "Seems legit. A little drug can't hurt me," he said, taking the vial and swallowing a few drops. "Look, it works!" he shouted, giddy as a kid with a toy. Her body went soft watching him.
"Baby, come here!" He scooped her onto the bed. Long-absent moans echoed through the palace,羞耻 yet relentless. Concubines, meat-starved for months, collapsed at the sound, thinking, Majesty's still got it. Could I last that long? Post-Indian God Oil, the God King was a tiger unleashed, raging nearly four hours, venting his frustrations. His concubine, boneless and panting in his arms, bore witness to the battle's ferocity. "This oil's divine," he said, cradling her.
"Majesty, you nearly killed me. Use less next time—I can't keep up," she teased, shyly. "Alright, my beauty," he said, kissing her tenderly. She'd restored his life's sunshine and manly pride. But a thought hit: the oil was human-made. Crossing realms for it burned energy. "How many bottles did they get?" he asked.
"Three, I think. Costly—thirty gold coins each," she said.
He'd snag the other two discreetly—no worries then. Imagining nights surpassing past glories, the oil's lingering effects stirred his "little soldier" again. His concubine, sensing it, blushed. "Please, Majesty, I'm spent." In high spirits, he didn't mind. "Rest, darling. I'll visit your sisters to settle this," he soothed. She nodded, drifting into exhausted sleep. With invincible zeal, he stormed the other concubines' rooms. Seeing their half-undressed, leg-baring forms, his ambition soared. The palace rang with pleas for mercy. His valor spread across the god realm overnight.
Reader's Corner: Yo, readers, the God King's back in action, and Feitian's pulling strings! Will his Indian God Oil-fueled rampage spark a god-demon alliance, or is Feitian's human shadow too big? And what's Meilina plotting? Drop your spicy theories in the comments—let's unravel this divine soap opera!