The Demon King Seems to Conquer the World

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The Crown Prince of the Kuruluan Dragon Empire, Adil, was currently a captive.

On the day he departed for the front, his mother, Midia, had said this.

“You don’t need to do anything. Just think of it as a trip and be careful.” (Midia)

She smiled at him, as she always did, but then turned to the familiar faces of the close attendants, who always served as his personal guard, and sternly repeated her instructions to them. After that, Adil couldn’t see her anymore, as he had already boarded the palanquin. The last thing he saw of his mother was her sharp, serious profile.

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He sailed north, arrived in Galilianin, where he spent a few days sightseeing with familiar companions before setting out for the battlefield. From then on, it was a nightmare.

Adil could ride a horse. Among the arts he had been taught, he considered himself quite competent at it. Although he might not match the people who shot arrows at rabbits or wolves while on horseback, he could ride and maneuver a horse without much difficulty. However, that was under normal circumstances which was just a few hours of practice. He had never spent most of the day in the saddle. For long journeys, he had always used a palanquin or carriage.

When they left Galilianin, Adil had to ride a horse. By the end of the first day, the skin on his buttocks became sore. The court physician applied ointment, and that night, he slept on his stomach. However, the next morning, when he mounted the saddle again, the pain was so intense he nearly fell off.

He had said before they departed that he couldn’t ride the horse, but when this message reached General Ilham, the response was an order to ride no matter what. The general explained that riding a horse made him look more like a commander, and they hadn’t prepared a palanquin for royalty. Moreover, no emperor had ever gone to war in a palanquin. Eventually, the skin would thicken, and he would get used to it. This was how cavalry soldiers managed, and the tone of the message was almost scolding.

Adil endured the torturous march, and by the time they reached camp, the skin on his backside had peeled completely. Just like the first day, he slept on his stomach. On the morning of the third day, his undergarments were soaked with oozing fluid, hardened as if he had wet himself. He couldn’t bear it anymore and begged to be allowed to ride in a wagon, saying he didn’t need a palanquin, but that request was also denied.

Adil was a compliant boy. He lacked the strong desires to impose his will even if it meant inconveniencing others. When he was in pain, he would simply tell his mother, Midia, and she would usually take care of things for him. A life of just obeying wasn’t painful.

Whenever Adil started crying or getting hurt, he naturally moved away from those environments. He no longer had a tutor who would scold him harshly, and his martial arts training was tailored to prevent him from getting hurt. That was how Aadil grew up in a pain-free environment. When his mother looked troubled by his selfishness, he put up with it as much as he could. That was how Adil came to terms with the world. He wasn’t lazy, but he wasn’t enthusiastic either. He simply carried out the duties that were given to him. That was the world to Aadil. And so, he was said to be a fine crown prince.

Thus, he never learned how to change his surroundings without his mother’s intervention. When even extreme pain brought no relief and his environment demanded he persist, he felt only fear. He had no thought of taking control to change things. He could only obey.

By lifting himself off the saddle using the strength in his legs, Adil could somewhat escape the pain. But holding this half-standing position quickly tired his legs. His body trembled with the effort, but he kept his buttocks off the saddle, desperate to avoid the agony. Soon, however, the skin on his inner thighs became inflamed, and large blisters formed there instead. By the fourth day, his entire body was wracked with pain from the exhaustion and muscle soreness in his legs.

Finally, they reached the battlefield. To Adil, it felt like arriving in paradise after the torment he had endured. Numb with fatigue, he attended the war council but spent most of the day lying on his stomach in his tent, recuperating.

And then, the battle began.

In this war, Adil’s role wasn’t that of a commander. He was more like a living battle standard, a symbol. His job was to be present, to display the nation’s emblem on his uniform and look regal on his horse. A battle standard that was torn, dirty, or broken wouldn’t serve any army. So, all Adil had to do was wear his immaculate uniform, sat on his horse, and maintained a dignified posture beside General Ilham.

But they lost the war.

As they fled in retreat, something fell from the sky. When it hit the ground, flames suddenly burst up in front of the galloping horses.

Adil’s horse, startled by the sudden flames, bolted in a direction that Adil could not control. His lower body was a mass of pain, and all he could do was cling tightly to the horse’s mane, gripping the reins as best he could. He prayed for his mother’s help, and then for divine intervention, but neither came. Eventually, Adil was captured.

—

Adil was gestured at, seemingly being told to write a letter. Following the prompt, he wrote a simple message, stating that he was unharmed and requesting arrangements for his quick return. A ring, a protective charm from his mother, was enclosed with the letter. Afterward, Adil was led to a tent, likely meant for high-ranking individuals, where he could sense the presence of soldiers surrounding him.

Unable to communicate verbally, he remained silent and stood still. When attending military councils, he had been told to maintain a dignified posture despite the pain, so he did not sit. It was easier to remain standing than to endure the agony of sitting down.

As time passed without him sitting or lying down, a woman eventually appeared, carrying a basin of hot water, likely for a bath. She undressed him, removing his outer garments, and when she reached his undergarments, she noticed they were soaked in blood. Her expression turned to panic, and she quickly left the tent.

Soon after, a person who seemed to be a military doctor arrived. He motioned for Adil to lie down on a bed and began wiping Adil’s torn skin with a warm, damp cloth before generously applying a soothing ointment. The pain began to subside, and the exhaustion soon overpowered him, lulling him to sleep.

The next morning, Adil awoke to breakfast served while he remained lying down. The military doctor had stayed by his side throughout the night, reapplying the ointment and changing the cloths. Later, several men entered the room, carefully lifted Adil onto a stretcher, and covered him with a large blanket, ensuring his dignity was preserved. He was carried a long distance under the blanket, during which he glimpsed the city gates. It appeared they were entering a city called Kurtos, which had surrendered after the war’s turning point.

Adil was brought into a castle and transferred from the stretcher to a proper bed in a reception room. The doctor reapplied the ointment and sat nearby, watching over him. Since they could not communicate, the doctor soon began reading a book as Adil laid clutching his pillow, focusing on recovery.

It was then that Adil noticed the profound silence around him. For the first time in days, there was no noise, no chaos of the battlefield, only peaceful quiet. The events of the past few days felt as though they had lasted a year. Relieved by the tranquility, Adil welcomed it like an old friend. The army he had traveled with had ignored his pleas of pain, but here, where he could not speak the language, they understood his suffering and treated him with care, without mocking his exposed and wounded state. They ensured he was carried with dignity.

It was a bitter irony. Adil thought about this as he once again drifted off to sleep.

—

Sometime later, the noise outside the door increased, and people entered. There had been a commotion, and while many people had gathered outside, two men eventually came into the room. One was the long-eared Shanti man who had been present when Adil was captured and made to write the letter. The other was a man of the same race as Adil. He was likely a Galilean from the style of his clothing.

The Shanti man observed Adil. The younger man approached, pulled back the blanket, and inspected Adil’s wounds. Then, he came closer, felt Adil’s forehead to check his temperature, and placed two fingers firmly on his neck, holding them there for a moment before letting go.

The Shanti man gave a single command to the Galilean, who began to speak.

“The last time we met, I didn’t even introduce myself. I am Yuri Hou, regent of the Kingdom of Shialta. You could think of me as your enemy’s commander-in-chief, and you wouldn’t be far off.” (Yuri)

A Galilean man standing nearby quickly translated Yuri’s words into Arn, the language Adil understood. Adil realized that this man, who appeared to be about his own age, was actually the leader of the opposing forces.

“I’m Adil, Crown Prince of the Dragon Empire.” (Adil)

“How are you feeling?” (Yuri)

It was an unexpected question. For a captive, finally able to communicate through a translator, it seemed like an odd first question.

“It’s not too bad.” (Adil)

“Are you in pain?” (Yuri)

“Not much.” (Adil)

“Any nausea? Do you feel sluggish or like your thoughts are clouded?” (Yuri)

“No.” (Adil)

Although in truth he was still in pain, though he had become somewhat accustomed to it. His muscles were sore enough that he didn’t feel like moving.

“I see. From what I gather, your country seems to have underestimated the severity of these kinds of wounds. Injuries like yours can lead to serious illness if infection sets in. For now, your body’s natural resistance is keeping any disease at bay, but that could change. Let us know immediately if your condition worsens.” (Yuri)

“Understood.” (Adil)

“But you kept riding even in that state. You’re more resilient than I expected. Have you been quietly enduring it all this time?” (Yuri)

“I’m not sure. I was told it was my duty to keep riding, so I did.” (Adil)

“Hmm…” (Yuri)

Yuri stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Based on the information we’ve gathered from other captives and messengers, it seems that some of your military leaders used this war as a means to toughen you up. Especially Ilham, your army’s general. He was reportedly instructed by your father, the Dragon Emperor, to be strict with you. It’s a grim thing, isn’t it? If suffering and abuse were all it took to build a leader, we could just put a slave who’s been whipped into power. It’s completely absurd.” (Yuri)

Adil remained silent. Since his time at the palace, he had often been scolded with phrases like ‘become more of a man’. He had suspected that this was the case all along, but hearing it confirmed still left him uneasy. It seemed that the man named Yuri didn’t agree with such methods. Whether it was a good or bad approach, Adil didn’t know. Could he really become a ruler worthy of the Dragon Throne just by enduring the pain of having his skin torn away? Yuri believed otherwise, but Adil wasn’t sure. He felt inadequate, as if he were missing something fundamental.

“Now, I’m sure you’re eager to return to Ashleya as soon as possible, but we haven’t begun negotiations yet. Until that’s settled, you’ll need to wait a little longer. By the time your wounds have healed, we should have an answer.” (Yuri)

“I understand.” (Adil)

As a captive, that was simply the reality.

“We don’t have a chef from the Kururuan Dragon Empire here, so you may not find the food to your taste, but even if you don’t feel like eating, you’ll have to force yourself. You need meat to heal those wounds. In the meantime, try to rest.” (Yuri)

With that, the man named Yuri left the room.

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