The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 623 Butterflies and Dreams

4:17 PM, Royal Library, Roland City.

The slanting rays of the setting sun pierced through the third large stained-glass window from the left, casting long shadows on the wrought-iron grilles.

Sitting at a tea table not far away, Ophia, pretending to be flipping through a collection of poems, frowned slightly, her gaze fixed on the mahogany bookshelf pointed to by the third grille.

There was a row of dusty books.

However, to her surprise, Earl Sean's last words were not there, nor were there any notes that did not belong to this library.

She seems to be...

Been tricked?

Ophia took a deep breath, put down the poetry collection in her hand, and walked forward as if she were exchanging books. She raised her index finger and gently pried a book off the shelf.

The book was beautifully bound, and the gold-embossed artistic lettering on the spine spelled out a romantic and evocative title—

"Butterflies and Dreams".

No matter how you look at it, this is just an ordinary novel.

Ophia opened the book and glanced at it, further confirming her judgment. It was just an ordinary book that was popular on the market, and there were no secret letters or codes hidden inside.

Don't even mention code words—

There wasn't even a trace of it being turned over.

Judging from the thickness of the dust, this book has been on the bookshelf for a long time.

Is this what you call the truth?

Ophia's lips curled into a strange smile. She then took out her pocket watch and glanced at it. The hands had moved from "17" to "19".

In any case, this is the only clue she has at the moment.

Moreover, her intuition told her that the eerie voice had gone to great lengths to lure her here, and it certainly wasn't just to play a silly joke.

Filled with questions, Ophelia finally went to the front desk to borrow the book and then left the library with it.

Back in the guest room.

She locked the door from the inside, leaned against the soft couch by the window, and opened the beautifully bound novel, starting to read from the preface.

The story begins unremarkable, recounting the life of a young and naive maid.

Her name is Ivy.

While sketching during her travels, she unexpectedly rescued a handsome and wealthy baron and quickly fell in love with him, eventually moving into the magnificent Butterfly Estate.

At first, Ophia thought it was just an ordinary love story, and a cliché one at that, one that would make her sleepy.

However, as she turned the pages, she gradually found herself unable to look away.

I don't know from which chapter it started, but the atmosphere between the lines of that beautiful, poetic fairy tale suddenly became oppressive and eerie.

The shadow of the male protagonist's ex-wife, Lady Belladonna, looms over every part of Butterfly Manor.

Whether it's the undisguised adoration expressed by the butler and maids, or the protagonist's rigid and stubborn lifestyle, traces of the former mistress can be seen everywhere.

It's as if the female protagonist is merely a decoration in the manor, while the deceased baroness is the true protagonist of the book.

This made Ophia feel a tightness in her chest.

Because of her preconceived notions, she immediately identified with the first female protagonist who appeared. However, as the story progressed, she felt that she had been excluded from the story by the author.

Are the people of Ryan really that repressed?
They actually created a novel that's purely for the sake of repression.

Ophia couldn't help but complain in her heart.

Although she knew that the work and the author were two different things, Ophia couldn't help but be curious about the author's mental state.

With this worry in mind, she turned another page of the novel in her hand.

Then another page...

Madame Belladonna's spiritual legacy is like a ghost wandering the manor's corridors, ruling the world of the living with silent authority, firmly controlling every character in the book, and almost destroying the precarious present of the male and female protagonists.

Even though she started reading the novel with a negative mindset, Ophia couldn't help but be drawn in by the depressing words, and even forgot about dinner.

It doesn't really matter.

She had afternoon tea but didn't feel hungry. There were still some unfinished pastries in her spatial ring that wouldn't spoil no matter how long they were stored.

With such a relaxed feeling, she finally reached the twelfth chapter.

As the novel's plot progresses into its second half, a sunken ship is salvaged, the buried truth is revealed, and the oppressive plot finally takes a chilling turn.

The lingering sound of waves, the mysterious whispers in the thick fog, another body and another maritime disaster, and the unexpected grounding of a passenger ship—

All the foreshadowing came together at the last moment.

The seemingly perfect Lady Belladonna is not a flawless goddess; in fact, she is a woman with strong desires, hypocrisy, and debauchery.

After learning that she had an incurable disease, she could not accept the punishment that Saint Sith had brought upon her, so she meticulously planned her death and arranged everything to make it seem as if her incompetent husband had murdered her.

In this most vicious way, she transformed herself into an eternal nightmare in the hearts of the living. Just like the flower language behind the name Belladonna—she was like a beautiful yet deadly belladonna.

As for Ivy, just like the metaphor in her name, she is like a tender ivy that needs to climb a castle or a big tree to survive in its early stages.

However, as time goes by, she will eventually replace the withered tree and demonstrate amazing vitality and resilience.

In the end, facing a police investigation, the couple overcomes their difficulties together. The desperate butler sets fire to Butterfly Manor. In the flames, the protagonists bury their past and finally escape the nightmare of Mrs. Belladonna.

If Orphea were to summarize the entire book in one sentence, it would be: "This is the story of a young second wife who, in a hostile manor, overcomes her psychological trauma and saves her marriage by uncovering the true nature of her perfect ex-wife."

Of course, there is another, more conspiracy-themed interpretation of this story—

This is a story of a cuckoo taking over someone else's nest.

After reading the last chapter, Ophia exclaimed how satisfying it was, and she couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction for a long time.

The magic of this book is that, even though she only read the story once, she felt like she had read it twice.

So much so that those lingering details still haunted her mind, making her want to read them again.

By the time she closed the book, it was already completely dark outside the window, and dinner time had long passed.

"What a dramatic story... I never imagined that such an outstanding work could be born in this oppressive ancient kingdom."

Clearly, this book was not written during the National Assembly period, but rather during the old dynasty, when the Devallo family was at the height of its power.

From the perspective of a noble of the Holy Light, Ophia really wanted to complain: would a baron in reality be willing to marry a maid?

At least within the upper echelons of the Holy City's social circles, she had never seen anything like it.

However, this twisted story is quite interesting; at least she didn't expect the plot twist to unfold in this way.

Moreover, the story's central theme offers much food for thought.

This includes the enormous irony that appearances are so far removed from the truth.

Ghostly control of the present by the past.

And jealousy and psychological suggestion—the destructive power to shatter reason.

Its plausibility is less important; after all, it's just a popular novel. Its greatest value lies in making readers feel that their reading was worthwhile.

When Ophia realized this while rubbing her sore neck, she noticed that the sky outside the window had completely darkened, and her lips twitched slightly.

Saint Sis above—

She actually sat by the window reading a novel all night, wasting her precious time in this insignificant place.

Even Miss Castellón is so lazy... How can she possibly criticize Prince Colin for being inactive and shirking his duties?

Ophia was once again consumed by self-blame.

Actually, there were several familiar knocks on the door in the evening.

Just two hours earlier, His Highness Colin had come by to ask her if she was feeling unwell and if she needed to see a doctor.

However, Ophia herself didn't know why, but a nameless anger suddenly welled up in her chest, causing her to stubbornly ignore the prince standing outside the door.

Last night, she had made up her mind in the bathroom that she absolutely had to apologize to that man today...

Perhaps the novel was just too good.

I wonder if His Highness Colin can accept this reason.

At this moment, Ophia felt both ashamed for failing to fulfill her apology and a strange, faint sense of relief.

Although she herself couldn't explain where that sense of relief came from.

Was it because that usually confident and capable mentor was turned away at the door today?
Or was it because she had finally, in some sense, broken free from his gentle yet irresistible control?
He's been acting strangely lately, just like her father. And what frustrates her most is that he's started treating her like a child again.

They've even started using the term "rebellious phase"—it's infuriating!

"That won't do, Ophia. You should be more mature."

"If you're still like before, taking your time to think about a single sentence, you'll truly become a child in Prince Colin's eyes..."

Ophia muttered something to herself under her breath, then shook her head vigorously to banish the strange thought from her mind.

The embers in the fireplace dimmed slightly, and the orange glow made one drowsy.

Ophelia yawned, put the novel she was holding aside, picked up the silver candlestick, and went to the washroom.

Warm light shone into the washroom.

She placed the candlestick on the lamp stand, went to the cold white porcelain washbasin, turned on the brass faucet, intending to wash away her fatigue with cold water, and then tuck herself into bed for a good night's sleep.

As for yesterday's riddle, we can leave it for tomorrow.

However, when she raised her head and looked at the bathroom mirror with its slightly mottled edges, that chilling whisper once again crept into her mind.

And like a slug in a sewer, it began to wriggle stickily deep within her consciousness.

"Long time no see, Miss Ophia. I wonder if you've found the truth yet?"

A cool sensation ran down Ophia's spine.

Before the cold water scooped up in her palms splashed onto her face, she was jolted awake by the whispered words from the depths of her being.

"It's you again."

"Are you surprised?"

"of course."

Ophia reached out and turned off the faucet, straightened up, looked at herself in the mirror, and mocked herself with a hint of sarcasm.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

The voice spoke with a hint of curiosity.

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

“Because I thought you would at least feel ashamed, but maybe I overestimated your sense of shame.” Ophia shrugged lightly and said in a flat tone, “Just because of your pretentious tricks, I spent an entire afternoon reading a novel. If this is your so-called unspeakable truth… I can only say that you are nothing special.”

An unseen being emitted a chilling chuckle.

It looked like it was floating out of a brass pipe, as if thousands of rats were hiding there, huddled together grinding their teeth.

"Haha, that's an interesting review. Is that book any good?"

"It's alright, but that's not what I'm concerned about."

"Of course, I know what you care about, and in fact, that is the key to unlocking the truth." The voice from the darkness paused, then continued, "Didn't I say that I can't reveal to you what you don't yet know? I can only offer limited guidance... to help you discover it yourself."

Ophia smiled faintly at the empty bathroom, her face, though forced to remain calm, still bearing the arrogance characteristic of a noble of holy light.

Actually, Miss Castellion was extremely nervous.

After all, if you search through the Castellion family genealogy, you could count on one hand the number of people who had ever met Novell, and yet she was dealing with a tiger for its skin.

Fortunately, she was confident.

According to the Castellion family's archives, the corruption of chaos is unrelated to strength; in fact, the weaker one's extraordinary power, the easier it is to resist it.

Because most of the time, supernatural power is directly proportional to the corruption one suffers, Chaos will not invest too much in "insignificant pieces".

This is why there are quite a few precedents of successfully controlling corruption. As for failures, there are no records.

"...I will no longer play along with your game. It seems that all you can do is play riddles, and nothing else."

"is it?"

The soft voice lingered in her ears, as if invisible tendrils brushed against her temples, its tone tinged with exaggerated regret.

"That's such a shame. You were so close to the truth. I even had the key in your hand; all that was left was to turn the lock..."

Ophia's eyebrows twitched.

"What do you mean?"

The whisper in the darkness sighed softly, as if it were helpless at her dullness, or perhaps it was just being deliberately mysterious.

"...Bring that novel to the bathroom, and I'll tell you how to read it from the right perspective."

Ophia frowned slightly, staring intently at herself in the mirror, unsure of what tricks the eerie creature lurking in the shadows was planning.

Although she only had time to read the novel once, with her intelligence and keen intuition, she had no doubt that she had grasped every clue.

If that book truly contained the cause of Earl Sean's death, or any clues he left behind, she could never have missed it!
Curiosity about the unknown ultimately outweighed the fear of the abyss.

After a brief hesitation, Ophelia finally took the beautifully bound novel into the bathroom and placed it on the dry brass bar stool.

"and then?"

"Draw all the curtains to shut out all the starlight and moonlight." The voice was slow and seductive, like a cold wind blowing from the abyss. "Then, light all the candles in the room to make this dim room bright... I mean, every room in the entire suite."

"Including the spare candles in the cabinet?"

“That’s right… but don’t light it up in the cabinet, I’m worried you’ll set yourself on fire.”

"Hehe, that's a really funny lame joke."

"Thank you for the compliment."

Ophia's brow twitched slightly.

Is this guy imitating his mentor?

It's infuriating that it knows so much about that prince.

However, the thought that its perception depended on her own observations suddenly made Ophia feel relieved.

Perhaps, it is merely playing the role of the person in one's own heart.

The candles were quickly prepared.

She took out all the spare candles from the cabinet and, following some unseen guidance, arranged them one by one on the tray, and then laid them out on the carpet.

Strange—

It was as if she had awakened a strange "spiritual awareness," her perception becoming sharper than ever before, able to spot the flaws in the carpet pattern with just a glance.

And those candles.

She seemed to know how to arrange them so that their light would just dispel every inch of darkness in the room.

After doing all this, Ophia drew the velvet curtains tightly to every window, carefully blocking out every inch of moonlight and starlight.

Then, she took out a match, struck it, and, barefoot on the soft carpet, lit dozens of white candles one by one.

The flickering candlelight illuminated the entire suite as if it were daytime, and a slight smile appeared on her lips as she felt a strange sense of accomplishment.

Confusingly, the flickering, dim light did not bring warmth to the room; instead, it obscured the firelight from the fireplace and stretched the shadows on the walls into a bizarre and absurd pattern.

The legs of the bar stool cast distorted shadows on the wall, as if some indescribable darkness was growing in that hidden corner.

"Turn on the brass faucet and let the water fill the washbasin and overflow from it."

As Ophia returned to the bathroom, the cold, damp whispers continued to issue absurd commands.

Even more absurdly, Castellón's detective did just that.

Cold groundwater gushed from the brass pipe, quickly filling the white porcelain sink, then flowing down the marble countertop and gradually soaking those white feet.

To Ophia's surprise, she didn't feel cold at all. Instead, she felt a moist warmth from the cold water, as if she were standing on a piece of seaweed that had been heated by the sun.

The clear water reflected a cold, eerie light under the candlelight.

strangeness--

Why should I do this?

As Ophia watched the water gradually overflowing the bathroom floor tiles, a hint of confusion welled up in her usually cool eyes.

She could vaguely sense that all of this was utterly absurd, whether it was the voice from the shadows or her own obedience to it.

However, the thought that the truth, enough to overturn all conspiracies, was right before her eyes, and that she would soon be able to grasp that unseen hand and save the people of the Holy Light from the boundless fog, made her hands move involuntarily.

It's almost done!

Her limbs seemed to no longer obey the control of reason, but were drawn by some higher-dimensional will, and she stood on an empty stage.

After all, it's not a difficult thing.

If all it takes to pay these trivial absurdities is to obtain the answer behind the fog, then this deal is incredibly worthwhile.

Moreover, she had already put in so much effort.

Because of this damned mystery, she even neglected Prince Colin, who had always been by her side, leaving him outside the door.

Do not--

Actually, it was even earlier.

She lied to Miss Elfit and her father, who was far away in the Holy City, and secretly boarded a train to Gravit.

Wouldn't it be a shame to give up now?

At the very least, she didn't know how to apologize to those who cared about her or explain the mistake she had made in a moment of recklessness.

Faced with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, as deep as an abyss, the fear of the unknown is often the first thing to be discarded.

The whispers from the heavens grew increasingly sticky and carried a chilling anticipation.

"The final step," the voice whispered in her ear, "place the Book of Truth in the washbasin and let the holy water soak into it."

The Book of Truth?

Ophia was bewildered; she had no recollection of possessing such a thing, nor had she ever even heard the word.

However, her arm seemed to know where it was, and reached straight for the book "Butterflies and Dreams" that she had placed on the brass bar stool.

A bizarre and unexpected change quietly occurred at this moment.

She clearly remembered that it was a novel bound with cardboard, but the moment her fingertips touched it, she felt a soft yet rough leather texture.

It was a notebook.

Ophia's eyes widened slightly, a surge of barely suppressed joy welling up within her, yet an uncontrollable sense of panic also arose within her.

The truth is in her hands!
But how did it get here?
Who secretly replaced her book, and when?

as well as--

What am I doing?
Ophia suddenly came to her senses and realized that the water flowing between her toes was not warm, but icy cold.

However, despite being more lucid than ever before, she was also incredibly slow to react. She could clearly perceive every movement of the ghostly figures on the four walls, yet she couldn't move her index finger an inch.

It was as if a thick barrier had been erected between her body and soul.

Those whispers from the depths of her soul had completely seeped into the very core of her being, and had been there for a very, very long time.

What made Ophelia even more desperate was that the Castellion family's secret treasure had not been triggered; it seemed that some other power had seized her.

"Place the Book of Truth in the washbasin."

It repeated itself, its ethereal tone filled with barely concealed excitement, like a hunter finally finding a lost lamb.

Ophia watched as her hands lifted the leather notebook and slowly placed it into the washbasin overflowing with cold groundwater.

Then--

"Then, light it with a candle."

ignite?

This sounds utterly absurd.

How could books submerged in water possibly catch fire?
Ophia thought to herself, but she had already picked up the brass candlestick beside her.

Like a priestess before an altar, she thrust the burning candle straight into the 'heart' that lay submerged in the water as a sacrifice.

An unexpected scene unfolded.

The dim candlelight was not extinguished by the cold water; instead, it burst into a burst of eerie blue flames, as if an open flame had met fuel!
Startled by this sudden turn of events, Ophia instinctively tried to back away, but her legs wouldn't obey her commands.

The blue flames churned violently in the water, and as they rose upwards, they twisted and dissipated into a hazy and thick mist.

She was pinned to the sink, forced to watch helplessly as the cramped washroom rapidly descended into a deathly silence.

Everything around was swallowed up by the thick fog.

Even the sound of overflowing water was swallowed up by the boundless thick fog.

As far as the eye could see, only the mottled bathroom mirror in front of me remained clearly visible.

And there was her own face reflected in the mirror.

Tell me, what did you see?

The whispers from the depths continued, the eerie voice carrying a hint of languor, like enjoying dessert after a meal.

Looking at the girl in the mirror, Ophia's lips parted slightly as she answered with difficulty in a trembling voice.

"fog……"

The being lurking in the mist revealed a hint of satisfaction. And its soft voice became even more ethereal and gentle.

"Now, guess what I see?"

Ophia swallowed hard, feeling her throat dry and sore.

She slowly raised her right hand, her fingertips touching the cold mirror surface, as if she were gently stroking the terrified face reflected in the mirror through that thin glass.

and many more!

Who's in the mirror?!

Ophia's hair stood on end, and a look of terror gradually appeared on her face.

The girl standing behind the glass, however, wore a strange smile on her terrified face. She gently grasped the hand that was on her face and softly tucked it back into the mirror.

"Wait, wait a minute—" Ophia tried to shout, but to her despair, she found that she could not make a sound.

She finally realized where the dense fog came from.

That's a blind spot for "Ophia"!

Looking at the face filled with despair in the mirror, "Ophia" standing in the bathroom tilted her head slightly, and then an elegant smile appeared on her face.

She breathed softly into the mirror, wiped herself with her sleeve, and then murmured to herself as she looked in the mirror.

"Oh, Ophia, what are you talking about? Mirrors won't answer your questions."

"This suspicious look is not like you at all. Before Your Highness Colin is shocked, you'd better tidy up the room quickly."

As she said this, Ophia snapped her fingers lightly, using the power of a spell to tighten the faucet and dry the water stains on the floor.

Having done all that, she walked briskly outside.

Just as the door was about to close, she suddenly stopped, turned her head slightly, and looked at the mirror that was now damp with mist again.

Her elegant smile carried a hint of playful mischief, and she blinked gently.

Goodnight, Belladonna.

(End of this chapter)