July 8, deep beneath the Capital.
Allen’s gaze fell upon a symbol painted in blue pigment on the stone wall.
The symbol resembled a coiled snake, yet it also looked like a cluster of twisting, flickering flames, exuding a sense of eerie unease.
Allen’s brow furrowed slightly.
‘This symbol… it looks familiar, as if I’ve seen it in a dream.’
But no matter how hard he tried to focus, the memories associated with that dream were like fine sand slipping through his fingers — impossible to grasp or hold.
It seemed as if some invisible force was interfering with his cognition of certain specific symbols and concepts.
Something felt off.
“It is confirmed,” Victor’s voice pulled Allen back from his thoughts.
“This stronghold was wiped out by Livia von Stern alone. The deceased were members of the ‘Red Crown’ faction within the Cult, all of whom were prominent Nobles.”
Victor paused, then added, “According to our interrogation of Marquis Fugger, he was also a sleeper believer of the ‘Red Crown’.”
“…How many does that make?” Allen asked calmly.
“The sixth one,” Victor answered.
Allen looked around.
Not far away, members of the Inquisition were working in a silent, efficient manner.
They were gathering the bizarre and wretched corpses, preparing to incinerate them on-site to eliminate any lingering corruption.
Anna was cheerfully telling Sophia the Nun about the deliciousness of curry, completely unaffected by the tragic scene around them.
Sophia the Nun wore a gentle but slightly helpless smile, maintaining her vigilance while listening patiently.
On the other side, members of the Security Department of the “Dawn’s Children” were rummaging through the ruins, attempting to gather intelligence the Cult had not yet managed to destroy.
They were the military force directly under the “Guardian,” tasked with the heavy responsibility of defending the “Dawn’s Children” headquarters, “Heaven’s Haven.”
Currently, the Security Department was conducting a joint operation with the Inquisition to clear potential Cult strongholds within the crisscrossing Underground World of the Capital.
The leader of this team was the formerly one-armed Knight, John Camille.
Of course, he could no longer be called the one-armed Knight.
The Inquisition had fitted him with a prosthetic limb that gleamed with a cold metallic light.
The limb was forged from an unknown alloy, lightweight yet incredibly sturdy.
Someone had previously tried to strike it with a longsword, only to produce a shower of sparks without leaving so much as a scratch.
This advanced prosthetic had significantly enhanced his combat capabilities.
Not long ago, Allen had witnessed him use this prosthetic hand to crush the throat of a mutated hound bred by the Cult with his bare hands — the movement had been clean and decisive.
As a former elite of the Kingdom, he had adapted to his new position as naturally as a fish to water.
Under John’s strict training and leadership, the young men who joined the Security Department and the employees of the “Lily Guard” had rapidly grown into disciplined, loyal, and brave defenders.
To perform well in front of Leader Allen was a tremendous honor.
The moment they spotted an enemy, they charged forward as if injected with adrenaline, howling as they rushed for fear that someone else might steal their kill.
Naturally, the members of the Inquisition were not to be outdone.
After all, how could they allow themselves to be outperformed by a group of “mortals” in the presence of the Divine Emissary?
Under this strange yet healthy competition, they had cleared five hidden Cult strongholds in just two days.
The only downside was that, aside from the corpses covering the floors, not a single living Heretic remained in these strongholds.
The greatest resistance they encountered consisted of nothing more than mutated creatures corrupted by the power of the Evil God, lurking in the shadows.
Looking at those grotesquely shaped, clearly unnaturally born Outsiders, Allen roughly understood where the mysteriously missing vagrants and commoners of the Capital had gone.
They had likely been captured by the cultists to serve as “materials” for evil experiments or as food for these monsters.
In short, before Allen could lead his team to “raid the place,” a certain Feng Aotian upholding “Justiciar” ideals had already beaten him to the punch, clearing out the cultists.
She was like a whirlwind; wherever she passed, only traces of death remained, while she herself was nowhere to be found.
Allen had originally planned to clear out the Cult strongholds in the Capital, but Livia’s movements were even faster than his.
Both retained memories of past cycles of Reincarnation and possessed thorough knowledge of the enemy’s intelligence.
It felt as though an invisible speedrun competition for the original script of “Starshine Love Song” had broken out between the two of them.
Allen closed his eyes, and he could even clearly construct the scene of Livia’s battle in his mind —
Livia breaks into a stronghold and is ambushed by cultists who had predicted her arrival. Various eerie spells created by Pseudo-Marks surge from all directions.
But she simply stands still. The light of the Star Emblem flows, and all attacks strangely warp and redirect in front of her, returning to strike their masters at an even greater speed.
In an instant, screams erupt one after another. Someone is hit by their own Arrow of Transformation, their body instantly undergoing a nauseating mutation and collapse; another is consumed by ethereal blue flames, leaving not even ashes behind.
As for those lucky enough to escape that fate, they are met with a streak of silver lightning.
Livia’s Rapier pierces their hearts with clean precision, giving them no chance to counterattack.
Through this profiling, Allen could almost imagine Livia’s current state.
She was likely wearing those traveling robes she hadn’t washed in several days, stained with black, congealed blood and emitting a heavy stench of gore.
The image of this originally radiant and beautiful girl was likely quite disheveled now.
Her scent might even be so strong that it would be difficult for anyone to associate her with the protagonist of an otome game.
Most importantly, that face of hers, which usually maintained a cold and aloof expression, was likely now filled with nothing but a deathly, numb apathy.
To her, killing had perhaps already become as instinctive as breathing.
However, judging by her actions of covering the faces of the corpses with whatever was available, the small part of her that remained “human” had not been completely extinguished.
This was likely a temporary weariness born from having killed too many.
With the duel approaching, her pride would never allow her to reveal such a bedraggled appearance in public.
She would probably find an underground river to wash her body and clothes, then use the power of the Star Emblem to dry them.
As a side villain in the original work, Allen naturally did not receive the “lucky lecher” treatment of always bumping into the protagonist while she was bathing.
And since the original work was an all-ages game, there were no suggestive CGs of Livia bathing.
Allen did not find this regrettable.
He was a gentleman with style, ambition, and a love for pure Yuri.
To fantasize about the body of a Yuri protagonist who perfectly matched his aesthetic would be nothing less than a desecration of the sacred Lily! It was a sin!
However…
Allen watched the corpses gradually turn to ash in the fire, a complex emotion rising in his heart.
Livia was spiraling out of control. Just like a certain yandere Maid, she had, to some extent, become “Protagonist Disqualified.”
Allen had to accept a reality: the Livia from the past cycles, who was cold on the outside but warm on the inside, kind and just, might no longer exist.
The current Livia was more like an evil spirit driven to the brink of madness by the memories of the cycles and the whispers of the Evil God.
She had severed ties with her Family, leaving herself no way back; she had abandoned her academy exams, no longer considering the future.
At this moment, her eyes likely held only two goals: to eliminate as many evil forces in the Capital as possible before her total collapse and to complete her duel with Allen.
Regardless of whether the duel ended in victory or defeat, it would likely be a “victory” for someone already walking the path of self-destruction.
In past cycles, Allen had once gone even deeper into madness than Livia, so he knew very well what terrible consequences this self-destructive tendency could bring.
He had to save her.
No, that was the wrong word.
It wasn’t saving; it was “control.”
Since Livia was a key piece on the Evil God’s chessboard, Allen had to find a way to temporarily remove her from the board and place her under his own control.
At this moment, Allen, as a small-fry villain of the original work, finally overcame his almost physiological aversion to the protagonist, Livia.
He made a decision that would completely rewrite the Script.
He was going to put a collar on this radiant Feng Aotian, this protagonist who belonged to no one, and tether her firmly to his side.
If he couldn’t do it… he would have to kill her in the duel.
Now he understood why the “Star Listener” had made such a request.
The mysterious “sacred” power within him had already proven capable of isolating the Evil God’s influence and stabilizing Livia’s mental state.
And the appearance of this power was likely also within the expectations of those Evil Gods.
Therefore, Livia falling in love with Allen was an inevitable scene in the script.
What a pity, though…
The corners of Allen’s mouth curled up, revealing his signature villainous smile.
‘Livia, your love is destined to be in vain.’
‘Because I only love Yuri.’
For those high-and-mighty Evil Gods to dare write him, Allen, into their script without understanding his character settings was utterly ridiculous.
In the Evil God’s script, Allen’s 1,000th cycle was likely intended to be a plot development where a girl in love kills her beloved with her own hands.
What a delicious tragedy! The Evil Gods were probably already salivating in anticipation.
Unfortunately, Allen was determined to make Livia fall for Marianne.
For him, the villainous male caught between the lilies, to be personally killed by the two righteous protagonists — that was the perfect ending that best fit the Yuri aesthetic.
A world where no one gets hurt except for the Evil Gods had been achieved.
Allen had even already thought of his own epitaph —
‘Come, my one thousandth sweet death!’
Inquisitor Victor looked at the ever-changing expressions on Allen’s face — at times solemn, at others even carrying a trace of an eerie smile — and felt a deep sense of respect welling up in his heart.
This “God’s Messenger” was likely currently engaged in a fierce mental confrontation with those unspeakable Evil Gods in his own spiritual world, a battle beyond the imagination of mortals.
He had already seen through the Evil God’s conspiracy.
That duel was not some petty dispute between Nobles; it was a holy war concerning the survival of Humanity.
‘May the Lord bless you, Messenger.’
‘You will surely shatter the Evil God’s schemes!’