The Demon Lord Wants a Vacation - Chapter 4: Delivering a Present

Murderous fury once again surged in Song Gui’s chest.

Telling him to polish that letter—it was nothing short of a direct insult to the Beichen Sect. He would rather die than let someone ridicule his sect in such a way.

Luo Xianyun had endured two centuries of suffering for the sake of all life under heaven. How could anyone be allowed to humiliate him?

Song Gui raised his eyes and saw Duanmu Wuqiu reclining in his seat, looking both commanding and relaxed. Even his youthful, casual expression was steeped in a kind of bloodthirsty menace.

Under Duanmu Wuqiu’s expectant—if not outright threatening—gaze, Song Gui bowed his head in humiliation and carefully asked, “My Lord, isn’t this letter missing a few words?”

He pointed at the word “wants,” hoping Duanmu Wuqiu would complete the sentence.

Was it “wants to kill Luo Xianyun,” or “wants to see Luo Xianyun”?

What Song Gui didn’t know was that Duanmu Wuqiu had agonized over that exact word himself.

He’d drafted version after version.

At first, he’d written, “Bring Luo Xianyun to see this Lord.” But considering that Luo Xianyun was the one person even the Destruction System feared, and that he was the one seeking a favor, issuing an order like that seemed a little rude.

Though Duanmu Wuqiu had never learned the etiquette of the righteous path, he could at least put himself in someone else’s shoes. If someone spoke to him that way, he wouldn’t help either.

So what about “This Lord wants to see Luo Xianyun”?

But that didn’t feel right either.

Duanmu Wuqiu didn’t just want to meet Luo Xianyun once. He needed help identifying the origin of his inner demon and undergoing treatment. And though he wasn’t well-versed in the topic, he knew it wouldn’t be solved with a single visit. This kind of thing likely required a long-term plan—maybe even two or three years’ worth of effort.

Just imagining two or three more years of work made Duanmu Wuqiu feel bleak. Still, it was a huge step up from toiling away in Skyfall Gorge for a whole decade.

He couldn’t write all that into the letter. These were things only his future doctor, Luo Xianyun, should know—certainly not for public knowledge.

In the end, after much internal struggle and countless drafts, only one sentence remained: “This Lord wants Luo Xianyun.”

Short, clear, and appropriately neutral—neither arrogant nor groveling. In Duanmu Wuqiu’s mind, it was perfect.

“There’s nothing missing,” Duanmu Wuqiu said. “This Lord has already made himself clear.”

Song Gui clenched his fists.

Forcing a smile, he asked, “My Lord, do you want him alive or dead?”

“Alive, of course,” Duanmu Wuqiu said, lightly tapping the end of the sentence. “If I wanted him dead, I would’ve written, ‘I want Luo Xianyun’s corpse.’”

Alive? What for—kidnapping, torment, humiliation, bargaining power against the Beichen Sect?

Song Gui was convinced he had seen through Duanmu Wuqiu’s true intent.

This demonic sect leader might appear reckless and arrogant, but every step he took was calculated.

He was pretending to unite the demonic sects and suppress chaos, playing the magnanimous figure looking to form an alliance with the righteous path.

He would send an ambiguous letter under the guise of polite diplomacy, thereby provoking Beichen Sect. Then he could turn around and tell the world that he had reached out in peace, only to be attacked without cause.

Beichen Sect would be seen as the aggressor, and once the righteous sects turned on one another, the demonic cultivators would have the upper hand.

Such sinister cunning—typical of the demonic path.

Song Gui, who had spent years undercover in the demonic sects, believed he’d completely “figured out” Duanmu Wuqiu’s plot.

He had no means to fight Duanmu Wuqiu directly, but he could sabotage his plan.

He respectfully handed the letter back and bowed. “My Lord, this letter will not help you meet Luo Xianyun.”

“Why?” Duanmu Wuqiu asked with genuine curiosity.

“Two hundred years ago, Luo Xianyun sustained grave injuries and has remained in seclusion atop Lingdu Peak ever since. He hasn’t emerged in two centuries. Unless the heavens collapse and the seas dry up, he won’t leave his retreat.”

Duanmu Wuqiu was stunned.

Two hundred years! Resting for two whole centuries? That was unthinkable.

A cultivator not even a hundred years old couldn’t wrap his head around that kind of time span.

And he got to rest just because he was injured? The Beichen Sect really did spoil him.

In the demonic sects, there was no such thing as resting because you were wounded.

The lessons Duanmu Wuqiu had grown up with were: If you’re badly injured, you’re as good as dead. If you’re dying, use your last breath to create value.

For a brief moment, Duanmu Wuqiu almost wanted to curse him out.

With the Beichen Sect treating its disciples this well, how dare you betray them and end up with the garbage that is the demonic path?

He thought the words, but couldn’t bring himself to say them.

Song Gui was still technically from Taoyuan Sect—even if the sect was garbage, Duanmu Wuqiu couldn’t openly admit it.

Because that would make him garbage too.

“Then how can this Lord acquire Luo Xianyun?” Duanmu Wuqiu asked, carefully avoiding the words “ask for help,” to preserve his dignity.

“By threat,” Song Gui said calmly. “Go to the Beichen Sect and ring the World-Waking Bell. Tell them that unless they hand over Luo Xianyun, Taoyuan Sect will launch an attack and force him to leave seclusion.”

The World-Waking Bell was Beichen Sect’s most sacred protective artifact. It required the full cultivation of a Law Body Stage cultivator to ring.

Once sounded, it would activate a formation that gathered all the mountain’s spiritual energy into a grand protective array, breakable only by a Grand Golden Immortal.

In all the sect’s history, it had rung only twice.

The first time was seven thousand years ago, during a dark age of war and chaos. Beichen Sect had been besieged by demonic cultivators, and only the bell had saved them.

The second was two hundred years ago, when natural disaster struck. Fire burst from the mountain’s core, burning everything in its path. The bell’s activation stabilized the land and saved lives.

To most disciples, the World-Waking Bell was just a large decorative bell at the entrance of the sect—something never to be touched.

Only Beichen’s core members knew the true spell to activate it.

Song Gui was prepared to sacrifice all his cultivation to ring that bell—he would die to entrap the demonic star of destruction.

He dropped to one knee, cupped his fists, and said solemnly, “This subordinate is willing to ring the World-Waking Bell.”

But Duanmu Wuqiu merely looked at him with a troubled expression.

Here was yet another person trying to drag him into a righteous path war.

But Song Gui was no Xiao Hongzhou. Xiao Hongzhou tried to get Duanmu Wuqiu to do the dirty work while he reaped the rewards. Of course Duanmu Wuqiu had tossed him into a volcano to teach him a lesson.

Song Gui, on the other hand, was offering to do the work himself.

Even if Duanmu Wuqiu used his skull to strike the bell, the system would probably reward him rather than penalize him.

Duanmu Wuqiu had no intention of rewarding someone for giving him work.

What he really wanted was a punishment.

He rubbed his chin as he stared at Song Gui, when suddenly an idea struck him like lightning.

He tore up the prepared letter, wrote a new one in a few bold strokes, sealed it with wax, and asked Song Gui for a messaging spell.

The letter, wrapped in spiritual light, turned into a spirit bird and soared toward the Beichen Sect.

Song Gui had no clue what had just been written and asked nervously, “Does My Lord intend to try diplomacy first?”

Duanmu Wuqiu responded with an enigmatic hum.

Since he hadn’t been dismissed, Song Gui remained quietly in the room, waiting for an order.

Two hours later, Duanmu Wuqiu stood up. “The letter should’ve arrived by now.”

“Yes,” Song Gui replied.

“Then it’s time to depart,” said Duanmu Wuqiu.

He grabbed Song Gui by the neck, poured spiritual energy into his dantian, and sealed his cultivation.

Startled and panicking, Song Gui cried, “My Lord, what are you—”

Duanmu Wuqiu silenced him with a spiritual barrier, slung him over his shoulder, and shot off into the sky.

His flying speed exceeded even that of the message bird, and in under fifteen minutes, he had crossed three thousand li and landed at the gates of Beichen Sect.

In front of the towering World-Waking Bell, Duanmu Wuqiu raised his voice, booming with spiritual power, “This Lord, Duanmu Wuqiu, has arrived. Has your sect agreed to this Lord’s request?”

His voice echoed across Beichen Sect—all the way to Lingdu Peak.

Luo Xianyun, secluded for two centuries, slowly opened his eyes.

He had lost all sense of time. Gazing at the star charts overhead, he calculated silently on his fingers.

“…Two hundred years,” he murmured.

In the charts, one star radiated an ominous, blood-soaked glow—the aura of destruction unmistakable. The demonic star had been born.

Again and again, he calculated. The result never changed: calamity was fast approaching.

“No way to avert it?” he muttered, brows furrowed.

He stepped out of the cave and bowed three times toward Zuohua Peak—the resting place of past Beichen elders.

The peak, baptized in heavenly tribulations, carried a trace of primordial chaos. If any place could offer heavenly guidance, it was there.

“This disciple’s life is inconsequential. He only begs the ancestors for wisdom to avert the disaster,” Luo Xianyun prayed.

The mountain mist whirled around him once.

Suddenly, he felt something enter his body.

In his mind, he heard a soft, mechanical “Ding! Now loading”—and then nothing, as if it had been a figment of his imagination.

Had the ancestors spoken? He couldn’t tell.

To gain clarity, he summoned the Cloud Gazing Mirror—a reflective surface formed by condensed mist—to survey the sect.

Not much had changed, he observed.

Then something caught his eye.

In the reflection, Duanmu Wuqiu had bound Song Gui with his own belt, bow-style, and was presenting him to a grim-faced Beichen Sect Master.

“As this Lord stated in his letter,” Duanmu Wuqiu said, “he now delivers the traitor Song Gui to demonstrate his respect toward Beichen Sect.

“This Lord has shown his sincerity. Will the Beichen Sect now grant his wish to meet Luo Xianyun?”

Song Gui: …

Beichen Sect Master: …

No one could tell if Duanmu Wuqiu was being provocative or truly respectful.

If he hadn’t uncovered Song Gui’s identity, he was returning a deserter and offering dignity to the sect.

But if he had figured it out, this was tantamount to declaring war!

Unaware of their thoughts, Duanmu Wuqiu stood with hands clasped behind his back, quietly praising himself.

Delivering Song Gui kills two birds with one stone—it punishes a burdensome subordinate and earns favor with Beichen Sect. Now I can ask Luo Xianyun for help with my inner demon fair and square.

This Lord truly is a genius, he thought with pride.