The Elf Journey In The Western Fantasy World-Chapter 87: Meeting the Demon King

After all, every time the little elves from the Elven Forest went to see the Elf King and the High Priest, they acted exactly like that. Of course—excluding himself.

He knew all too well the true private selves of the Elf King and High Priest. Once you knew too much, no matter how thick the rose-tinted filter was, it would still shatter.

Who could possibly revere someone who spent all day secretly reading hot blooded fantasy novels—or someone obsessed with ridiculously melodramatic romance fiction filled with lightning and thunder?

Emotionally speaking he was tired.

The tangled ones stayed tangled all the way to the Demon King’s palace, the disdainful ones stayed disdainful all the way to the Demon King’s palace, and the spectators kept watching all the way to the Demon King’s palace.

In short, their little troupe perfectly embodied the phrase: each with their own motives.

The journey to the Demon King’s palace was unusually smooth, and even entering the palace went without a hitch. freewebnøvel.com

It all seemed so surreal to Illiya.

It gave him the illusion that coming and going from the Demon King’s palace was a casual affair. Fortunately, his rationality reminded him that this was the residence of the Demon King—there was no way it wasn’t heavily guarded.

Ke’Oth, having spent the entire trip in a state of high anxiety, slowly came to realize that this particular elf didn’t seem to have any intent to retaliate. But that didn’t mean revenge wouldn’t come later.

Torn between possibilities, Ke’Oth simply gave up.

Fine, fine—if there’s retaliation, so be it. What His Majesty the Demon King said was really true: sometimes, one shouldn’t speak so bluntly.

With this new mindset, Ke’Oth gradually relaxed. He began conscientiously introducing the layout of the Demon King’s palace.

"Don’t let the ease with which we’ve entered fool you. Every move we make is under close observation. If even the slightest anomaly is detected, then..."

Ke’Oth’s voice grew darker, clearly trying to create a sinister mood. "Then it’ll be just like..."

"Just like a watermelon being smashed hard into the ground—boom!—scattered into pieces."

The voice that said that was clearly not Ke’Oth’s, and the group was startled. They instinctively turned their heads to look around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Stop looking everywhere else. Is it because I’m not standing high enough? Is it because I’m not standing high enough that none of you can see me?" The voice this time carried a far more aggrieved tone.

Startled by the sudden voice, Ke’Oth and N’zalle quickly came to their senses.

That familiar voice, that familiar tone—it was hard for them not to recognize who the speaker was.

Once they realized who was speaking, Ke’Oth and N’zalle no longer cared about anything else. They immediately bent down and saluted solemnly in the direction ahead.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty the Demon King!"

Upon hearing Ke’Oth and N’zalle’s greeting, Illiya and the others also responded and began saluting in the same direction.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty the Demon King."

Even the willow sapling being held by the demon respectfully bent its leaves in greeting.

The Demon King stepped forward two paces, the sound of his footsteps echoing in everyone’s ears.

At the same time, his voice rang out. "Stop saluting me. No matter how many times I see it, I just can’t get used to it. It still feels like you’re not greeting me but holding a funeral service or something. It’s really weird, okay?"

Everyone present: "..."

That was... indeed a very strange thing to say. But why did it somehow make a bit of sense?

Once he stood upright again, Illiya was finally able to clearly see the Demon King standing in front of them.

Black hair, with two demonic horns on his head. He appeared to be around 1.75 meters tall and wore an outfit similar to that of a church priest. On his back were the typical folded wings of the demon race.

However, the Demon King looked much younger than Illiya had imagined.

Was it because his strength was so great that it kept his body youthful?

The elf wondered uncertainly.

On the main continent, the appearance of top-tier experts tended to freeze at their prime. The Demon King should be no exception, right?

As if sensing the elf’s thoughts, the Demon King suddenly said in a voice filled with resignation, "I am very young. Don’t assume I’m old, okay? I’m actually very young—I’m only eighteen years old!!"

Illiya: "...That’s still very young. Maybe not even of legal age yet?"

The moment the Demon King heard the words "not of legal age," he became completely defensive, his tone bristling. "I’m eighteen! That is adulthood! Not like you guys—each of you are several hundred years old!"

Of all the people present, only two humans were under one hundred years old.

Seoryun blinked his eyes and chimed in innocently, "According to human standards, His Majesty the Demon King is indeed of age. But yeah, several hundred years? That’s really old."

The corners of Seoryun’s lips curled into a smile. Worried the chaos wasn’t enough, he even dragged the Demon King into it. "Wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty the Demon King?"

Even the Demon King hadn’t expected the fire to spread to him.

Help. This human looked so kind and approachable—so why did every word he say feel like a trap? Had he been away from human society so long that he’d lost touch with how people spoke?

The Demon King honestly couldn’t understand.

Just as he was starting to worry, a thought suddenly hit him.

Wait a second—he was the Demon King of the demon realm! What was he afraid of? He wasn’t some regular person. Why should he fear falling into a trap? He could totally just not play along with the human’s nonsense.

Having come to this realization, the Demon King immediately perked up. The joy on his face was so radiant that everyone else found it impossible to ignore.