Chapter 284: The Truth of the Dark-Blooded King

West of the capital city, Qing Song Hospital.

This place is less a hospital than a high‑end warehouse where the rich store "troubles."

All around are three‑meter‑high electric fence walls, with more cameras than leaves.

Most of the residents are senile tycoon heads or privileged heirs in a vegetative state. Quiet, expensive, and reeking of despair.

A black silhouette clumsily climbed over the fence.

When Liang Wen hit the ground, he didn't steady himself, staggered two steps, and almost fell headfirst into the flowerbed.

He clutched his chest, the excruciating pain like being cut with a blunt knife making his teeth grind.

The price of Rewind can't be repaid by a night's sleep; now he is so depleted that even scaling a wall feels like running a marathon.

"Tsk, the body's functions have deteriorated badly."

Liang Wen leaned against the wall, caught his breath, and smoothed his slightly wrinkled windcoat. He skillfully avoided the gaze of several patrolling guards, like an old cat returning to its nest, and deftly made his way to the drainage pipe behind the Inpatient Department.

Third floor, special care zone.

For a former ace operative, this security is merely a formality. Even though his body is now largely broken, his muscle memory remains.

Two minutes later, he appeared on the balcony of Ward 306.

The window was unlocked. He had already arranged with the attending nurse that every Friday afternoon the window must be left ajar.

Liang Wen pushed the window open and, like a guilty thief, slipped in quietly.

Inside, the temperature was a constant twenty‑four degrees, the air filled with a faint disinfectant scent mixed with the sweet, fishy odor of expensive nutrient solution. The curtains were half drawn, and the dim yellow sunlight fell on the floor, illuminating the dust clearly.

A little girl lay on the hospital bed.

She looked about eleven or twelve, so thin she seemed to have lost her shape. If the green line on the ECG monitor weren't stubbornly fluctuating, she would look like a finely crafted but soulless wax figure.

Her body was riddled with tubes—nasal cannula, IV line, catheter... —these plastic pieces formed a massive spiderweb that trapped her tightly in a cocoon called "alive."

Liang Ting.

Liang Wen's daughter.

The car accident three years ago took his wife and turned his once lively daughter into this current state.

What was Liang Wen doing back then?

He was on the other side of the Earth carrying out a so‑called "top‑secret mission," risking his life with a bunch of lunatics for the Federation's benefit.

When he finally rushed back, all he saw were two notices: one a cremation certificate for his wife, the other a critical condition notice for his daughter.

Liang Wen stood at the bedside and did not sit down immediately.

He turned, faced the half‑body mirror, and tidied his collar. He brushed his disheveled hair back, fully exposing his face. Then he put on the iconic Fingerless Gloves, smoothing every wrinkle.

Inhale.

Lift the chest.

The weary man who had just struggled over the wall vanished.

In his place stood the arrogant, overbearing Dark-Blooded King.

"My princess!"

Liang Wen suddenly assumed an extremely humiliating pose—right hand covering his left eye, body leaning back, fingers splayed toward the ceiling, his voice low and resonant like a baritone in an opera house.

"The seal is broken, Hell's Hellfire reignites! Your loyal knight has beheaded the demon king, crossed the endless River of Time, and returns today!"

His voice echoed through the quiet ward.

No applause.

No cheers.

No little girl with a ponytail leapt up, hugging his thigh and shouting "Dad is so cool."

Only the monitor emitted a monotonous "beep—da—" sound, cold as an emotionless judge.

Liang Wen held that pose for a full minute.

Until his arm began to ache, until the chest pain struck again.

He slowly lowered his hand.

The aura of the Dark-Blooded King deflated like a punctured balloon, and he reverted to the weary‑eyed man.

"This move 'Abyss Descent'—I've practiced it for ages."

Liang Wen pulled a chair over and sat at the bedside. The chair legs scraped the floor, producing a harsh screech. He fidgeted, then cautiously slipped his hand under the blanket, grasping his daughter's icy, slightly stiff little hand.

Too thin.

The wrist was as thin as a dead twig, breaking with a slight pressure.

Liang Wen's gaze fell on the nightstand, where an aged comic book—'Dark Lord of the Abyss'—lay.

That was from before the accident, when his daughter was a crazy little book fan. She always waved a plastic sword, asking him, "Dad, are you like the Dark Lord of the Abyss, the kind of hero who protects everyone in the dark?"

At the time, Liang Wen only thought it childish.

He always said he was busy, had no time, promised next time he would play with her. He didn't understand her tastes, nor why she liked a solitary, misunderstood dark character.

Until later, when he opened that comic on a bench outside the ICU.

The protagonist in the book, the monarch despised by the world and forced to walk in shadows, faced a thousand accusations at the end and said only, "As long as there's one person waiting for me, I won't fall."

At that moment, Liang Wen wept like a stray dog.

From that day on, the Federation lost a cold‑blooded operative and gained an Abyss Walker suffering from severe adolescent delusion syndrome.

Since you want to see a hero.

Then dad will perform for you.

Even if the whole world thinks I'm insane, as long as you can catch a glimpse when you wake up… just a glimpse.

"Tingting, dad wasn't late today, right?"

Liang Wen pressed his face against his daughter's cold hand back, his stubble prickling the pale skin. His voice was very soft, afraid of waking her, yet also afraid of not waking her.

These past few days things outside have been a bit chaotic. There's an uncle named Ouyang Feng—uh, I mentioned him before, that uncle who's really capable but also quite annoying—he's gone mad and wants to turn everyone into skeletons.

Dad went to stop him.

Liang Wen kept talking to himself, not caring whether his daughter could hear.

Dad used that ability. Twice. He reversed time. Although Wei Laotou said my body was about to give out, I saved everyone—several million people, more than the other monarch in the comics saved.

As he spoke, his voice began to tremble, his throat feeling as if something were blocking it.

Wei Laotou wants me to retire, but I didn't agree.

If I retire, who'll be this hero? Jiang Yuan may be strong, but his heart's too soft—he still needs training.

Liang Wen lifted his head, his eye sockets red. He stared at his daughter's tightly closed eyes, those long lashes utterly still.

Actually, Dad doesn't want to be a hero.

Dad just wants to be that... the kind of ordinary dad who can fix pipes, make braised pork, and take you to queue at the amusement park on weekends.

But he can't.

This world is rotten to the core. Weird things spread like weeds; if you don't become a monster to fight them, ordinary people don't even have the right to survive.

To keep the equipment in this ward powered, to keep the city from being devoured by monsters, so that one day when my daughter wakes up she won't see hell...

He must be the Dark-Blooded King.

Liang Wen sniffed, forcibly suppressing that sour feeling. He pulled a box from his windcoat pocket and placed it on the bedside table.

It was a limited-edition figurine.

Dark Lord of the Abyss.

A black windcoat, a pitch-black longsword, eyes aloof and sorrowful—exactly the same as his current attire.

Liang Wen stood, bent down, and lightly kissed his daughter's icy forehead.

Sleep, my princess.

As long as Dad still has a breath, this sky won't fall. I'll guard this broken world until the day you open your eyes.

He pulled his hand from the blanket and tucked the covers back around her.

His movements were so gentle they didn't seem like those of a hand that wields a blade.

After doing all that, Liang Wen took a deep breath. He turned and strode toward the balcony; the moment his hand touched the window frame, his weariness and sorrow vanished instantly.

His spine straightened.

His gaze sharpened.

He became once more the invincible Abyss Walker.

Just as Liang Wen prepared to flip and leap off the balcony, his motion suddenly halted.

Something's off.

Just moments ago the sky was a dim yellow sunset; now it suddenly changed color.

It wasn't the normal sunset red.

But a thick, scarlet hue, like fresh blood spurting from an artery.

On the previously quiet lawn of the hospital, the strolling elders suddenly stopped, lifting their heads in unison—a synchronized movement that sent chills down the spine.

On the horizon.

That setting sun looked as if it were melting, dripping down some kind of red liquid.

Liang Wen narrowed his eyes; a sharp pain shot through his left eye—a feeling all too familiar: the omen of rules being warped, reality invaded.

Hey hey hey... what kind of joke is this.

Liang Wen gazed at the rapidly spreading blood-red sky, the corner of his mouth twitching into a helpless, mad grin.

Just saved the day, and I can't even get a hot meal?