"Look, I had no bad intentions. If I did, I'd have used my hand in the forest, not a stick," I explained, seeing her reaction wasn't too intense. "You're still talking about it! Who knows what you were doing with that grass hat over your face? Besides, I was in a rush and didn't look closely," Little Kitty said, face flushed with embarrassment. Swinging her tail while taking a dump—now that's unique, I thought slyly.
"By the way, what're you doing on Dragon Island?" she asked, curious.
"Who comes here for fun? I'm here to find dragons, talk about teaming up to drive out the demons," I said.
"What do demons look like? I've never seen one my whole life," she said. I nearly fainted—big boobs, no brain. At least say, "They must be scary!"
"Not too scary, but way better-looking than beastmen," I said reluctantly, feeding her curiosity.
"Hmph, I don't believe they're prettier than me. I'm the hottest in the village!" she huffed. Great, a narcissist.
"I meant overall, not individuals. Like, you'd be a total knockout among demons," I said.
"Really?" She lit up. Women, no matter the galaxy, love hearing they're gorgeous. They might react differently, but deep down, they eat it up.
"Know where the dragons live?" I switched topics fast, or we'd be at it all night.
"Not really. I heard the village elder mention they're somewhere on Dragon Island," she said. I was done—useless info. Seeing my disappointment, she tried to cheer me up. "Don't worry, you'll find them if you're on the island!" I'm sold—you're a genius. I know that, but I'm racing against time here.
"Forget it, we'll deal tomorrow. Your chase wore me out. I'm sleeping," I said, flopping onto the bed.
"What about me?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" I said, confused.
"Where do I sleep?"
"On the bed, obviously," I said, pulling her into my arms and onto the bed before she could overthink.
"How can you do this?" she asked, blushing.
"What's the big deal? Sleeping together doesn't mean anything. But your tail's kinda cute," I said, stroking it. I didn't notice her body heating up. "Mmm, mmm," she murmured, eyes half-closed, gazing at me dreamily, arms wrapping tight, body rubbing against mine. Oh crap, she's turned on. That tail's her sensitive spot.
I quickly cycled true energy to cool her desire. Still flushed and panting, she nestled in my arms. Staring at her gorgeous face, I kissed her tender lips. "Mmm." The innocent girl melted again.
"Brother Tian, can I come with you to find the dragons tomorrow?" she cooed, snuggling. Who am I to say no after taking her "sixteen-year-cherished red sail"? Seeing her satisfied look, I was the one enchanted. After a wild quake, the world calmed. "Sure, but we gotta do this at least ten times a day—for health," I said, chuckling.
Little Kitty eyed my weird grin, sensing something off but agreeing anyway. Last night's "exercise" (my excuse for getting frisky) happened four times, plus once just now—five total. Except for the initial pain, it felt amazing, and she didn't want to get up after. Ten times daily? She'd die of bliss. (Fainted—another sex-ed dummy. Whatever, she's already been "cooked" by yours truly. Let it roll.)
We packed and left before dawn to avoid getting caught. "Brother Tian, gimme some iced tea—too spicy!" she gasped, mouth open. "Told you not to eat so much spicy stuff. Now you know," I said. Ever since she found the Hunan spicy fish in my storage ring, she's been eating it nonstop, three days straight. Good thing I've got hundreds of packs—meant for me, now shared. Even during sex, she's munching fish, ruining my chance to taste her lips. Should've known—cat tribe, cat habits, fish obsession. Lucky she's with me. Anyone else, she'd eat them broke.
"Brother Tian, what're you doing?" she asked, watching me fiddle with my phone atop a tree. "Nothing, just contacting someone." I try to reach Cohen at every high point. "Beep, beep."
"Hello, Your Majesty, is that really you?" Cohen's excited voice came through.
"It's me. Been trying for days—finally got through. How's the situation?"
"Same old. Weirdly, the demons have quieted down. That's all I know—I don't pay much attention to this stuff."
"Good. Tell Mei'er and the others to stay sharp. It's calmest before danger strikes. Oh, I found this thing. No idea what it is, but eating it boosted my abilities big time, no side effects. Have the lab analyze it. If you're short on staff, get Dark Dragon to kidnap some biomedical experts from Earth." I pulled out the white, heart-shaped fruit.
"Can we teleport it? I thought this place blocked teleportation," I said.
"Should work where there's signal. I'll check the spatial channel. Can't send people, but objects are fine," Cohen said.
"Alright, do it." A flash of white light, and the fruit vanished.
"Brother, you're the human emperor? Why didn't you tell me?" Little Kitty pouted. I slid my arm around her waist, kissing her chili-oiled lips lightly. "You didn't ask, so I didn't say. Emperor or not, doesn't change how I love you, right, babe?"
"What was that thing where you saw someone inside?" she asked, dropping the emperor bit and pointing at my phone.
"It's a phone, for talking like we did, even far apart. You see each other like face-to-face. I'll give you one later."
"Yay!" She bounced on the treetop, thrilled. After mastering Dragon's Traceless Step, paired with her cat tribe agility, she moved like the wind.
With that settled, we hopped down and resumed the grueling hunt for dragons.
Demon Realm Palace
Demon King Sartre sat on his throne, glaring at the ministers below. "How's the war with the humans?" Silence. No one dared speak. The king was pissed—two years of war with no progress. The humans, who could've been wiped out, somehow slipped past the demon army to the Eastern Continent.
"Trank, you're the commander. Explain," Sartre demanded, singling out a silent minister.
"Your Majesty, three years ago, we exploited human chaos and a loosened seal to invade. We crushed their three kingdoms' rulers, splitting and surrounding them. Victory seemed near, poised to unite both realms under your eternal rule," Trank said, pausing. Sartre smirked, picturing his grand triumph. Trank continued, "But two years ago, our two hundred thousand bull troops fell at Wudu. Since then, we've lost ground, even retreating from the Eastern Continent to face them in a standoff."
"Our observations show the enemy's combat power is ten times stronger than before. Their martial skills rival our demon generals. Not many, but nearly a hundred thousand, likely growing." The ministers gasped. A hundred thousand demon general-level fighters (demons rank as soldiers, fighters, generals, god-generals, kings, great gods)—not counting their strongest, who could match great gods? Trank sneered at their shock. "Their weapons are odd. Low attack power—fighters can resist—but they fire so densely, draining our battle qi. Early on, we ignored this, taking heavy losses. When we avoided direct clashes and kept distance, the weapons became useless. Then they pulled out these pointed, cylindrical things. One hit to our camp, and everyone within five li is dead or injured. Their power's like a forbidden spell. They've got tons, firing four or five daily, sometimes more. We've lost over three hundred thousand."
Sartre clenched his fists tight.
"We rallied our four thousand demon generals for a surprise attack when they were lax, dealing some damage, but not much. We started firing forbidden spells at their camps—effective for a few months. But then they deployed absolute defense, seemingly always active. We can't break through. We take daily losses, but we outnumber them. They're not acting, likely developing some killer weapon. If they do, our losses will skyrocket, and we could lose," Trank said, head aching from the humans' endless weird weapons.
"Why say that, General? We can't attack, but humans fear us. With so many general-level soldiers, why don't they attack? A long-term conspiracy seems unlikely," a minister asked.
"You haven't been to the front. They don't fear us—they're minimizing losses, avoiding direct fights. Their real threat isn't their martial prowess but their constant new weapons. Those forbidden spell-level cylinders? Like hundreds of archmages attacking. That absolute defense isn't human-cast—no one can sustain it for over a year without rest. This is tougher than our war with the gods. If humans weren't short-lived, their ingenuity, survival, and breeding would make them unmatched in this universe," Trank said helplessly.
"Is it that bad?" another minister asked cautiously.
"Not just bad—we're at a crisis point. I feel they'll invade our Demon Realm," Trank said, shaking off the thought, but a voice seemed to whisper, Surrender. You're doomed.
"No way," Sartre thought. Ten thousand years of storms, and he never blinked. Humans at their peak didn't faze him—now, at their weakest, he'd unite both realms and crush the gods. Why this mess now? He'd never guess we're from another planet, speaking the same language, or he'd have sniffed us out.
"Trank, you scared? Spouting nonsense to dodge punishment for losing over half a million troops due to your crap leadership?" Yuri, another of the four demon god-generals, sneered. Always at odds, he wouldn't miss a chance to jab.
"Try it yourself, see if you do better," Trank shot back. Normally, he'd argue, but facts stung. He'd underestimated the humans. If he'd rallied a full assault after the bull tribe's wipeout, not giving humans recovery time, he wouldn't face Yuri's smug taunts. He'd be in his palace, banging a hot dark tribe chick, sipping Sartre's fine wine, hailed as a demon hero. All gone.
"Enough bickering!" Sartre snapped. Their squabbles used to amuse him in his long life, but now they were just annoying noise.
"We're here to plan human conquest, not waste time arguing. Think, all of you. By tomorrow, everyone better have a plan, or I'll send your wives to the barracks!" Sartre glared at the stone-faced ministers. Had endless years numbed them? Or had the ceasefire with the gods dulled the demons' warlike blood?
"Your Majesty, we got word from the human realm. Something, maybe a dragon, maybe not, was spotted flying from Dragon Island toward Wudu," a dark scout from the eagle tribe reported. Their sharp eyes caught the dragon-shaped warship in the atmosphere.
"If they ally with dragons, we're screwed. Dragons are few but stronger than us. We can't ignore this. Lalan, go to Dragon Island. Be thorough," Sartre ordered the only female among the four god-generals.
"Yes, sir."
"Meeting adjourned. Useless trash, you piss me off just looking at you," Sartre waved, storming to his inner chambers. A human beauty he'd captured awaited. In a foul mood, she'd be his outlet. He quickened his pace.