Chapter 8 — The Spirit Beast I Adopted Is the Baby Demon Lord

In the entire dungeon, I alone remained conscious. Or rather, I was held captive, pinned to the cold stone bed by an overwhelming, suffocating pressure that rendered me immobile, making even the simplest act of breathing an arduous struggle. My mind was an absolute void as I stared at the silhouette hovering amidst the swirling demonic miasma, watching those eyes—burning with violet flames—glare down at me with chilling indifference. Fear? No, I had long since transcended the threshold of mere terror. This was absolute awe, the instinctive feeling of profound insignificance that arises when a mortal life stands before a supreme, primordial existence.

Could it truly be the Demon Lord? Was this the same grey creature that once gnawed on low-grade spirit stones in my dilapidated cave dwelling? The tiny, fragile thing I had named Ink Jade? The demonic mist shifted, shimmering with life as it recoiled into the creature’s body, revealing its true form. It was now twice its original size, possessing the stature of a healthy, powerful wolf pup. Its fur was no longer a dull grey but flowed with a deep, dark violet luster reminiscent of the night sky, with each individual hair seemingly imbued with the power of annihilation. Upon its forehead, a complex, dark gold demonic sigil radiated an ancient, malevolent aura that flickered with enigmatic intent. Only those eyes remained unchanged—burning with ominous purple flames, staring coldly into my soul. It was no longer Ink Jade. It was the Demon Lord.

The creature lowered its head, drawing near to me as I lay trapped on the stone bed. A chilling, lethal breath that carried the scent of total destruction washed over my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, resigned to my fate. It was over. To be killed by the very spirit pet I had rescued—the irony was as cruel as it was final.

Yet, the agony I anticipated never arrived. Instead, a voice, frigid and deep yet laced with a complicated, indescribable emotion, resonated directly within my mind. It was no longer the soul-shaking indifference from moments before, but the distinct, familiar tone that belonged only to Ink Jade.

Why did you shield me from that foul concoction?

My eyes snapped open, disbelief washing over me as I gazed into those smoldering violet demonic eyes just inches from my own. It was questioning me? Asking why, when the Spirit-Dissolving Liquid was about to be poured upon it, I had instinctively thrown my body in the way? Fractured memories flooded my brain. Yes, in that split second, my body’s instinct had overridden my thoughts. I had simply wanted to protect it. At that moment, my mind held only one singular, desperate thought: Ink Jade must not be touched! It would hurt so much! How ludicrous! How absurd! It was the Demon Lord! Could a mere vial of Spirit-Dissolving Liquid harm even a single strand of its hair?

My lips trembled, my throat too parched to produce sound. Under the crushing pressure and the utter absurdity of the situation, I had lost the ability to speak.

Answer me.

The icy voice brooked no argument.

I... I do not know... I only... I did not want it... to hurt you...

The moment the words escaped my lips, I felt foolish beyond measure. The burning violet eyes flickered violently. Deep beneath that icy, indifferent surface, something seemed to be churning and struggling. It stared at me in silence, its gaze piercing through my skin to look directly at my shattered spirit. Time seemed to freeze. I could not tell if it had been a fleeting moment or an entire century.

Then, the crushing pressure that had threatened to grind my bones to dust vanished like a receding tide. The confinement evaporated. I could move again; air rushed into my lungs. Yet, I remained frozen on the stone bed, paralyzed by the sheer shock of it all. The violet flames in its eyes gradually dimmed until they vanished, replaced by an abyss of bottomless black. Though still terrifyingly profound, the murderous rage and the god-like detachment had been forcibly suppressed. Its form remained the same, but the suffocating aura of the Demon Lord had, miraculously, been reined in.

It looked at me with an expression of immense complexity—probing, bewildered, and tainted by an inexplicable weariness. It lowered its head and gently nudged my hand, which hung off the edge of the stone bed, stained with blood and grime. A deep, raspy voice—no longer resonating in my mind, but emerging from its very throat—echoed through the silent dungeon:

Follow... me.

I was utterly dumbfounded. Follow? Go where? The Law Enforcement dungeon had been decimated, the elders’ fates were unknown, and the entire sect would surely be in an uproar! And now, it wanted me to leave with it?

I...

I opened my mouth, yet found no words. Refuse? I had no doubt that it possessed countless ways to make me "voluntarily" depart. Stay? My fate would surely be the sect’s most severe punishment, perhaps even execution.

The sect... will not let me go...

My voice was dry as I stated the obvious. I had raised, or rather, been raised by, a Demon Lord, and had "led" to the grievous injury of the chief elder. This crime was so heavy that even leaping into the Heavenly River would not wash it away.

Ink Jade—or rather, the Demon Lord, who had recovered a fragment of its memory and power yet chose to remain in this form—lifted its head. Its obsidian eyes watched me with tranquil clarity. There were no ripples within them, only a calm that brooked no debate.

They... cannot stop me.

Its voice was low and certain, carrying the absolute indifference of one who looks down upon all living things.