Allen’s consciousness drifted through an endless sea of stars.
The night sky, free from light pollution, was so pure it stirred his heart.
Step.
Against a deep blue, velvet-like backdrop, billions of stars sparkled like a diamond box carelessly knocked over by the gods—shining with cold and eternal light.
Allen floated, or rather, lay on some faintly cool, nearly intangible “grass,” gazing up at this utterly unfamiliar firmament.
No Big Dipper, no Orion, no constellation pattern familiar from his past life.
A strange serenity wrapped around him, filled with a sense of eternal loneliness.
His soul seemed to dissolve and scatter in this vastness, breathing in unison with the cosmos.
Is this the afterlife?
It seemed…surprisingly beautiful.
After countless cycles of death and rebirth, this quiet world belonging solely to Allen was nothing less than a dreamlike resting place for him.
At that moment, a figure silently appeared beside him.
A slender form wrapped in a pure black long dress, so otherworldly it hardly seemed human.
Her long black hair almost merged with the night, only a pair of deep violet eyes, like imprisoned nebulae, shimmered under the starlight with an inhuman icy glow.
She spoke to Allen, her voice ethereal like cosmic background radiation—unclear yet like tiny hooks gently plucking a secret, forgotten string deep in his soul.
A source of light.
That stirring was faint and distant, as if coming from billions of light-years away…
A sudden, bone-chilling cold swept in, freezing the faint starlight and Allen’s thoughts alike.
“Go back…your mission…is not yet complete…”
Only then did he clearly hear her words.
Mission?
What mission?
Who are you?!
Could this black-haired beauty be the legendary Saint?
Before he could voice the question, a powerful force yanked him violently away from the starry sea!
Allen snapped open his eyes, panting heavily in the silence.
The sharp smell of disinfectant replaced the cold of space.
His gaze fixed on a metallic ceiling glowing with cold light, a single soft shadowless lamp the only illumination.
He was wearing a blue-and-white striped patient gown.
Beside him stood an IV stand holding a half-empty bag of dark red liquid, a transparent tube connected to his arm.
Dimensional shift!
Blood transfusion?!
Allen’s mind cleared sharply.
This scene didn’t fit at all!
Metal walls, shadowless lamps, IV bags…this was nothing like the candle-lit, herb-scented, flea-infested medieval clinics.
Could it be…he had finally died and returned to his earthly hometown?!
“Yo…Young Master?”
A weary yet relieved voice came from the bedside.
Allen turned his stiff neck.
The familiar black-haired maid with a lace headband and bloodshot, tear-streaked red eyes—
Marianne.
She was leaning by the bed, obviously awakened by him, her cheek still pressed against the folds of her sleeve.
Oh, they were still on the Starshine Serenade set, the filming hadn’t wrapped yet.
But this scene…this was way out of line.
“How long have I been lying here? Where is this place? Has Livia come to see me?”
Allen’s throat was as dry as sandpaper.
Marianne sat up, rubbing her swollen eyes sluggishly but locking her gaze tightly on Allen, as if afraid he’d close his eyes again any moment.
“You’ve been asleep for three days.”
Her voice was flat but with a faint tremble at the end.
“I thought…you might never wake up. This is the medical ward of the Order of Heretic Inquisition. As for Miss Livia…”
She paused, her eyes flickering away for a moment.
“She wanted to visit after hearing you were attacked but was ‘politely’ stopped by the Inquisitors.”
Well.
“Nice work!”
Allen nearly blurted out but forced the corner of his mouth down.
No wonder the Order of Heretic Inquisition could make Phoenix Overlord run all over the map. This was huge good news!
No need to face Livia’s deathly stare for now.
The heavy burden from his strange dream instantly lifted.
“So, we’re under the Inquisition’s ‘protective custody’?”
Allen’s eyes questioned Marianne—
You didn’t give me away, right?
She barely nodded.
“The Inquisitors said they need to question you once you’re fully awake. During this period, you cannot contact outsiders.”
She hesitated, then added, “I…requested to stay here as I was the last to have contact with you and can provide clues and testimony.”
Allen raised an eyebrow.
Honestly, Marianne’s decision surprised him, even moved him a little.
Logically, Marianne could have stayed clear of this mess.
She was far less suspicious than Allen.
Staying here would only make her a key investigation target.
Her past as a member of the Crimson Spiral Cult meant many cultists might know her.
If the Inquisition extracted information from captured cultists, Marianne would be in grave danger.
But Allen knew those lunatics.
They saw the world as a prison and death as liberation.
They wouldn’t give the Inquisition a live cultist if they could help it.
They stayed in the human world only to “free” more people from that prison, enduring suffering for the sake of “liberating” all humanity.
This twisted “killing out of love” attitude could only come from these cult madmen who didn’t value human life.
The Crimson Spiral Cult’s doctrine easily attracted those with deep inner wounds and self-destructive tendencies.
Allen had once been such a person.
In one timeline, consumed by revenge, he rocketed up the ranks to become an Abyss Walker in the cult.
Even so, he was defeated by Livia.
Sobered from madness, he found the cult’s leader—a Listener of the Stars—planned to sacrifice the entire Capital Lucien to gain power to defeat Livia.
Allen’s remaining humanity overcame his thirst for revenge.
He betrayed the leader, slaughtered the cult, and ultimately achieved a satisfying death ending.
Since then, Allen refused any ties with the cult.
He’d rather face death as a mortal than survive by slaughtering innocents.
He was a villain, not a lunatic.
How bad could the worst small fry be?
Allen and Marianne’s relationship hadn’t reached the point of sacrificing their lives for each other.
Her willingness to risk herself for him only showed the self-destructive urge still buried within her.
Escaping one’s past shadows was never easy.
Allen understood Marianne but understanding didn’t mean acceptance.
“Marianne,” Allen looked at the tired yet focused eyes of the black-haired maid, his tone gentle beyond measure, “thank you for staying here. I know how hard it is for you to be beside someone like me.”
“But following me means endless despair and darkness. I want to shoulder the darkness for you, so you have a chance to return to the sunlight—to find Livia, to live the happy life you deserve.”
“So please, leave me. The Inquisitors won’t trouble you. Just leave this place to me alone.”
Cut ties!
She must leave immediately!
Let Marianne go find Livia, reunite, and elope—give him a way out!
However—
“No!”
Marianne’s reaction far exceeded Allen’s expectations.
She suddenly lunged at the bedside, clutching the sleeve of his patient gown tightly.
Looking up, her red eyes swirled with fierce emotions Allen had never seen before—
Not hatred, not disgust, but a whirlpool of fear, despair, and twisted attachment.
“You promised!”
She looked broken yet was held together by a desperate resolve, almost begging, “You said we’re doomed to be entangled till death! You have to keep your word!”
Marianne’s trembling fingers nearly dug into Allen’s arm like a lifeline.
“All the pain, all the suffering—you won’t bear it alone! Don’t leave me! Don’t you dare die! If you dare…”
She leaned close to his ear.
Her warm breath brushed his skin, but her words were ice-cold.
“I’ll die with you! Promise kept!”
Allen: “???”
Sweat poured instantly—literally drenched!
What’s going on?!
Wrong script?
Weren’t they supposed to hate and use each other?
Where did this overbearing yandere vibe come from?!
Is this the legendary Stockholm Syndrome?
Did my previous mental blow fry her CPU?
This is over! If the players see the canon childhood friend declaring “die together,” the game rating will surely plummet!
This isn’t just a trigger—it’s a genre shift!
Pure romance turning into NTR—who could accept that?
With such a scam, the Starshine Serenade production team would be forever branded with shame!
This is pure malice of the universe!
Marianne isn’t just yandere; she’s dragging him down with her!
If Livia saw her white moon like this…
Allen could already imagine himself getting blasted by Livia to dust, his save files erased in the aftermath.
Calm down! Allen de Laval!
The initial negative one-thousand affection gap objectively exists!
Marianne having positive feelings for me?
Absolutely zero chance!
This is just a trauma-induced stress reaction, an illusion!
Yes, that’s it!
Priority: Matchmake her with Livia!
Allen forced down the turbulent emotions, plastered on a bright sunny smile, even raised a thumb, voice loud and slightly exaggerated:
“Don’t worry! Until I personally witness you and Livia finally tie the knot and get your perfect ending, I’m staying alive for sure! I’m the guardian of your love!”
Marianne didn’t respond to his bold words, quietly releasing her grip and sitting back in the chair.
She lowered her head, fine black hair covering her eyes, expression unreadable.
But Allen could feel the intense emotions inside her hadn’t vanished—just settled into something thicker and heavier that filled the space between them.
Allen didn’t know that during his three-day coma, Marianne had actually met Livia—
A fleeting encounter at the heavily guarded gates of the Order of Heretic Inquisition.
The blonde, blue-eyed girl was even more dazzling than Marianne remembered.
Dressed in luxurious gowns, exuding noble confidence, she was a far cry from the rural girl Marianne recalled standing beside her on the border grasslands fighting off thugs.
She was stopped by the Inquisitors and could only speak to Marianne from the shadows just beyond the sunny gate.
“Are you Allen de Laval’s maid?”
Livia’s voice was gentle and polite, tinged with just the right distance.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Livia von Stern. Thank you for taking care of my fiancé.”
First time meeting?
At that moment, Marianne’s heart felt as if gripped by an icy hand, pain nearly taking her breath away.
She…didn’t recognize me?
Or had she already forgotten me?
Allen’s words echoed in Marianne’s mind: “She might pretend not to know you. Please don’t expose her. She has her reasons.”
Allen’s prediction came true, but Marianne struggled to accept it.
Livia’s gaze and tone were so unfamiliar that Marianne shivered.
Looking down, she glanced at her neat, pretty maid outfit.
This uniform represented the noble’s face and her social class, her identity.
As a child, she could only wear hand-me-down rags.
Now, she had this beautiful dress of her own.
Her once-resented, supposedly miserable maid life was actually a dream longed for by countless people struggling below the poverty line.
Why did she forget this?
Marianne had served nobles for so long, she had developed a pride that never belonged to her—
She was a maid, but also part of high society.
But in reality, she was no different from the poor little girl she once was.
A lowly servant in the eyes of nobles, ungrateful and blind to her true status, she was even more ugly than that bastard young master.
The sunlight was too dazzling; Livia’s stunning face blurred and distanced in her sight.
Marianne suddenly remembered that when she was still wearing rags, Livia never lacked decent clothes.
So even then, a tragic barrier separated them.
The long-awaited meeting brought no joy, only the numbness of a death sentence.
Self-abasement, pain, and self-doubt engulfed her like a tide.
She didn’t dare meet Livia’s eyes, instead dodging clumsily.
Livia was a hero with a strong sense of justice, intolerant of even the slightest evil.
No matter how powerful the enemy, she would step up without hesitation to save those who needed saving.
But Marianne was not worth saving.
She was a genuine former cultist, her hands stained with filth (though she never fully fell).
The future where she and Livia stood side by side, living openly and honorably, had long vanished.
She had lost the courage to walk toward the light.
This bastard young master before her, who saw through all her shame yet offered her a twisted lifeline, became the only driftwood she could clutch while drowning.
She despised him, despised their mutually tormenting relationship, despised the darkness he brought.
But ironically, it was that darkness and torment that gave her a sick sense of “security.”
Both guilty souls, Marianne didn’t need to pretend to be pure before Allen.
Because they tormented each other, one pain replaced by another.
This was exactly what Marianne needed.
In this boundless darkness, she was not alone.
She was already dependent on Allen.
Allen didn’t notice the storm of complex emotions swirling in Marianne’s eyes, nearly swallowing him whole.
Having successfully planted the “guardian of love” Flag for himself, feeling he’d dodged a bullet, his attention was soon pulled back by the unusual details of the ward.
IV bag…shadowless lamp…metal walls…sterile environment…
The dissonance crawled coldly up his spine like a snake.
No doubt he had lost too much blood and the Inquisition had saved him with a transfusion.
In this medieval society still clinging to bloodletting and dominated by old-school Western medicine, how was such modern blood transfusion possible?
Blood compatibility and blood types were discoveries of the early 20th century!
As for plastic bags, infusion tubes, sterile techniques, and electric lighting—these were things Allen knew well but had no place in this era!
The Order of Heretic Inquisition…or rather, the church behind them…was definitely hiding something!
Clearly, their scientific technology had already reached near-modern levels!
Could this be true?
Allen’s transmigrator brain raced at full speed.
If the original Starshine Serenade work’s many anachronisms reflected the creators’ lack of historical knowledge, Allen—having lived through many cycles in this game world—knew that while the world had fantasy elements like Crests, it still followed basic historical development laws.
Crests weren’t magic enough to let the tech tree leap ahead like this!
The secrets behind the church’s mysterious veil might be more shocking than he imagined.
He abruptly lifted his head, his sharp gaze piercing the polished metallic wall opposite.
Were there eyes watching him from behind it?
According to classic tropes, the answer was almost always—
Yes.
From the moment Allen alerted the Order of Heretic Inquisition, there was no turning back.
He had chosen the deadly path—staying behind to fight the cultists to the death instead of escaping.
Only by doing so could he truly draw the church’s attention.
It was a risky gamble.
Why did Allen know cult hideouts the church itself didn’t?
That alone made him suspicious, and he had no reasonable explanation.
His only option was to substantiate his claim of divine revelation.
But that made his situation even more dangerous.
Compared to the openly rebellious cultists, someone who deceived in the name of God was undoubtedly a more dangerous heretic.
His chances of leaving the Inquisition alive were minuscule.
Even so, he had to seize this slim chance.
Slim didn’t mean zero.
Being a charlatan required strong mental fortitude.
To fool others, one must first fool oneself.
Yes!
Allen’s countless cycles were God’s test!
This was a true miracle even the church couldn’t explain!
He prayed, and God granted him temporary buffs—wasn’t that proof of divine favor?
The favored grow reckless.
What right did the Order of Heretic Inquisition have to condemn someone constantly experiencing miracles and blessed by the Saint?
Allen gave up pretending.
A broad, sunny-boy smile spread across his lips.
He raised the arm without the IV, waving energetically at the empty wall as if greeting old friends.
“Hey! Dear all, thanks for your hard work! Thank you for saving my life!”
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