Dusk.
Allen’s hopes for the future flickered and vanished.
The fleeting relief of having survived a disaster burst like a soap bubble under the heavy pressure of survival.
Allen de Laval was destined to die as the villain; he had no chance to catch his breath.
He abruptly raised his head and looked up at the sky.
At some point, vast stretches of lead-gray clouds had swallowed the sunlight, weighing heavily over the city, cloaking the noon sky in suffocating gloom, thick with moisture.
A storm was brewing.
Did the Inquisition really grant him freedom?
No.
This was merely a cat-and-mouse game, a deeper form of probing.
He had been dumped by the Inquisition in the City Hall Square of the Lower City—that said everything.
The Upper City and Lower City were colloquial terms shaped by the urban planning of Capital Lucien.
At the heart of the Upper City was the Royal Palace, where the royal nobles and their servants lived.
The Lower City centered around Saint Elliott Cathedral, where migrant laborers, townsfolk, and merchants—the non-privileged classes—gathered.
The two districts were sharply divided; an invisible chasm split the Capital into two distinct worlds.
The Church held absolute control over the Lower City.
Even the officials at the City Hall there mostly had Church backgrounds.
Allen being left at the City Hall Square, a stronghold of Church power, was a clear warning—
See, brat, even if you wear the skin of nobility, don’t think you can slip out of the Inquisition’s grasp!
Allen glanced around; every passerby, every hawker, even a gray pigeon pecking between the cobblestones—all looked suspicious.
Clothing.
“Marianne,” Allen suddenly spoke, deliberately forcing a relaxed tone, “let’s play a game.”
“Huh?”
Marianne snapped out of her thoughts, looking at him somewhat bewildered.
Allen casually raised his hand, pointing around them.
“Guess how many of these ‘friendly citizens’ are Inquisition spies?”
Marianne froze for a moment, then seriously began observing.
Years of scraping by at the lower levels had sharpened her instincts to spot inconsistencies quickly.
The ordinary citizens of the Capital lived slightly better than those in the countryside but always bore tired, worried faces from struggling to survive, dressed in faded old clothes.
Among the crowd, a few figures stood out: their clothes were too fine, the fabric pristine, their movements deliberate, eyes constantly drifting toward them with a strange “performative” vibe that clashed with their surroundings.
“Master,” Marianne whispered, discreetly pointing at a man pretending to pick fruit at a stall, “that man’s clothes are so new they look like a costume made for a show. And that one leaning against the pillar, his eyes keep darting toward us.”
Allen nodded approvingly.
“Good eye, Marianne. But actually, there’s a simpler and more direct way to spot them.”
He paused, locking his gaze on a ‘bystander’ pretending to wait farther off, then broke into a dazzling, almost mocking smile.
He even raised his hand and vigorously waved toward that direction, silently mouthing, “Thanks for your hard work, brother!”
The ‘bystander’ stiffened visibly, his expression instantly turning into a mix of embarrassment and dread—too awkward to leave but too embarrassed to stay.
Allen retracted his hand with a smirk.
“See? That simple.”
“How did you figure that out?”
Marianne asked, puzzled.
“The answer’s simple—they’re too clean!”
Allen’s smile turned cold.
“The kingdom has been ravaged by plague these past few years, and some ‘genius’ doctor came up with nonsense saying hot baths open pores and let in ‘toxic gases,’ and that leaving a layer of dirt on your body prevents illness! Utterly ridiculous!”
The original Starshine Serenade story included a plague outbreak in the Capital, so Allen knew exactly the kingdom’s state.
“That sounds utterly unreliable.”
“Exactly. After you became my maid, you at least got some education, but most commoners truly believe these absurd claims. The result? Every public bathhouse in the Lower City—one after another—shut down. Now there are hardly any left. Such a pity…”
Allen’s regretful expression made Marianne’s heart sink.
Public bathhouses?
That kind of place…she definitely knew.
Many desperate girls took work there as Bath Maids; it had a poor reputation.
The Church had repeatedly condemned the mixed bathing as “immoral.”
Master…why would he suddenly bring this up?
And sound so regretful?
Could it be that he…had such needs?
A strange bitterness and a fierce possessiveness surged through her heart.
She was his personal maid! In noble circles, that meant something everyone tacitly understood!
With her by his side, how could he…how could he even think about going to such a messy place?!
“Master, do you…really want to visit a public bathhouse?”
Marianne’s voice involuntarily turned cold.
“Well, actually…”
Allen was still lamenting the regression of hygiene habits and instinctively replied, “I’m pretty curious about the bathing culture of this era…Ow! Ouch, ouch, ouch! Marianne, why are you pinching me?!”
He yanked his hand back sharply, revealing several clear fingernail marks on his wrist, pain contorting his face.
“Idiot master!”
Marianne turned away, cheeks flushed, but her gaze cut him like a knife, silently conveying “If you dare, I’ll kill you.”
Allen rubbed his wrist, confused and aggrieved.
What’s gotten into her?
Why such a big reaction all of a sudden?
Does she have such a strong possessiveness?
Wait…possessiveness?
If he could redirect her possessiveness toward Livia, wouldn’t that be a perfect advantage in courting Livia?!
Allen’s eyes lit up; he immediately forgot the pain, convinced he’d just discovered a new continent.
If the yandere clings to her tightly, Livia won’t have time to bother him!
As expected of him—his plan was perfect, considering even this!
Allen plotted and schemed, thinking everything was under control.
Yet the only thing he failed to realize was: the one who would end up tangled with a true yandere wouldn’t be Livia, but himself.
“Ahem, anyway, citizens are afraid of the plague now, so they rarely bathe.”
He hastily changed the subject, afraid of being pinched again.
“Church people are different. They have ‘God’s Guidance’ and know hygiene is important, so they bathe regularly. That’s the proper way to prevent illness.”
“…Do you need me to help you bathe in the future?”
Marianne suddenly blurted out, her eyes quietly gleaming.
Allen: “???”
How did this topic circle back again?!
He quickly waved his hand.
“Enough! Let’s get back on topic!”
Using Allen’s method, Marianne accurately identified several more spies.
Allen was very satisfied.
“See? Details matter. Marianne, you’d better learn this well. Someday you might even have to learn disguise.”
His intention was to warn Marianne that when approaching a spotlight-stealing lead like Livia, she had to be low-key and stealthy to avoid trouble from insignificant villains like him.
However, to Marianne’s ears, the words took on a completely different meaning.
Disguise?
Did she need to pretend to be someone else?
In noble circles, the line between servant and spy was often blurred.
Many spies disguised themselves as servants to get close to nobles, and servants sometimes moonlighted as spies for extra income.
Was Master hinting she needed to do some secretive tasks for him?
He needed her skills, her loyalty!
Being needed by Master…entrusted with great responsibility…
A surge of immense happiness flooded Marianne, coloring her cheeks with a rosy blush.
Allen smiled brightly at Marianne’s sudden blush.
So you understand!
Disguise is crucial to winning over Livia!
Though the two were clearly on different wavelengths, they shared a tacit understanding and smiled knowingly together.
One had to admit, this world had an excellent matchmaking system.
Allen and Marianne were fundamentally alike.
When Allen first realized the Inquisition was watching him, a heavy weight lingered in his heart.
But the more dangerous and desperate his situation became, the brighter the flame in Allen’s heart burned.
After enduring the last cycle of death, Allen finally understood that no matter how he fled, this world would never spare him.
Since he was destined to be a villain doomed to die, he might as well play the villain role to the end.
The madness he had buried deep inside surged again after learning the world was on the brink of destruction.
Allen knew that if he let his madness run wild, he would destroy himself before the world did.
But so what?
Fight ghosts with ghost swords, strike down Buddhas with Buddha’s own hands.
Such is the way of the villain.
If God refuses to let him live, then Allen would kill God with his own hands!
“Marianne, we were never truly free,” Allen’s villainous smile grew even more brilliant.
“We’ve only been thrown from one narrow cage into a wider, more desperate prison. In this prison, not even death is an escape.”
His gaze swept across the square, piercing like a blade through the eyes—both overt and hidden.
“There are always fools who think they’re the jailers, trying to control us prisoners.”
Allen’s voice suddenly rose, carrying long-suppressed rage bordering on madness and defiance.
“But I will make them understand—it’s not me, Allen de Laval, who is forced to be locked up with them! It’s them! Forced to be locked up with me! In the same hell!”
He spread his arms wide as if embracing the suffocating sky or declaring war on invisible enemies, his voice filled with desperate madness: “This world should fear me!”
His utterly chūnibyo declaration struck Marianne like a thunderbolt straight to her heart!
She stared at Allen’s figure, fragile yet upright beneath the leaden sky, at the madness burning in his eyes as if it could burn the entire world down.
A profound and unprecedented resonance stirred within her.
“If you intend to stand against the world…”
Marianne’s voice was unusually firm, her crimson eyes shining with the same twisted obsession, “I am willing to stand with you, to be your companion.”
Hearing this, Allen’s heart warmed, nearly moved to tears.
What a comrade!
What a loyal ally!
He patted Marianne’s shoulder warmly.
“Well said! But you don’t have to be enemies with the world yet. Wait until you and Livia fly side by side, a powerful alliance. Then the world will have to avoid us!”
Marianne looked at Allen’s satisfied expression—like a man content to be the supporting actor for their happiness—and her doubts grew like vines in her heart.
Why was Master so determined to match her with Livia?
He had never even met Livia but knew so much about her?
He even knew Livia would be detrimental to him!
Yet, both Master and Livia were fundamentally kind people—why were they destined to be enemies?
There had to be a deeper meaning behind it.
Recalling Allen’s drastic change after awakening, his prophetic knowledge of the Church’s attack, and his current “make the world fear me” declaration…
A bold, almost absurd thought flashed through Marianne’s confused mind like dawn’s first light.
Divine Revelation!
Master had truly received Divine Revelation!
The once debauched, indulgent noble youth was dead.
Now standing before her was a messenger burdened with a holy mission, descended from the divine kingdom.
The fire burning in his heart was not mindless madness but an overwhelming rage toward the fallen humanity.
He would whip this decayed world awake with fear!
And Marianne Durand, a sinner who had abandoned God but was forgiven and allowed to serve beside this messenger, basking in his glory…
What an incredible grace!
What an honor!
Master’s hope for her and Livia to be together was actually a hint—
He knew Livia was a righteous soul worth saving, only deceived by this fallen world and destined to oppose him in the end.
For that reason, he needed Marianne to assist Livia, to help her see through the world’s lies!
Only then could Livia truly become Master’s ally!
Livia…you too can find such happiness…
So envious…yet so happy.
“Master,” Marianne’s voice carried the zeal and devotion of a pilgrim, her eyes burning with a feverish glow as she deeply gazed at Allen, “I will fulfill your grand wish and help you save Livia.”
Marianne’s sudden fervor left Allen a bit at a loss.
Why did she seem more and more unhinged?
Well, as long as she was happy…
Allen shook his head, pushing aside unease.
As long as Marianne worked hard to court Livia, that was a good thing!
“All right, full of spirit!”
Allen perked up, flashing his trademark villainous confident smile again.
“Let’s work hard together and grow stronger! We have to make Livia bow at your feet!”
This time, the stone he lifted seemed not to have fallen on his own foot.
But little did he know, that very stone was hurtling toward the faraway, utterly oblivious phoenix-protagonist heroine.
Meanwhile, in the Upper City of the Capital, at the Border Count’s Mansion private training ground.
Livia von Stern had just finished a set of fierce sword exercises.
Sweat dampened the platinum strands of hair clinging to her smooth forehead, accentuating her snow-white skin.
She panted slightly, her full chest rising and falling with each breath.
Her slender but powerful arms gripped the training longsword, the blade’s tip pointing diagonally toward the ground.
Suddenly, without warning, her whole body shuddered.
A mysterious chill climbed up her spine, causing her to sneeze involuntarily.
“…Marianne?”
She murmured the name under her breath, clear blue eyes flashing with confusion and an indescribable flutter.
As if an invisible thread crossed space, tightly linking her heart to someone far away.
She furrowed her delicate brows and looked up at the sky.
Above the training ground, thick lead-gray clouds hung heavily, suffocating the air.
The clouds rolled like a storm brewing deep beneath the sea.
“Allen de Laval…”
Livia whispered the name softly, her gaze sharpening and turning icy cold.
She slowly raised her longsword, the blade reflecting a cold gleam in the dim light.
In the next moment, the sword slashed down like a bolt!
“Crack!”
A crisp sound rang out as the sturdy wooden training dummy shattered cleanly.
Livia sheathed her sword and stood calm, her breathing steady.
Only in the depths of her azure eyes churned a cold, resolute determination.
“…We’ll meet soon.”
A flicker of frost glimmered in her eyes.
The countdown to Allen de Laval’s death seemed to hasten quietly at that moment.