The dim room was thick with the smell of blood mixed with the acrid stench of scorched flesh, enough to make anyone nauseous.
On the wooden chair, the man known as the spy was no longer recognizable as human.
Sweat, blood, and filth mingled together, soaking his tattered clothes. His eyes had completely lost focus, leaving only a beast-like terror.
Allen expressionlessly picked up a bucket of cold water and poured it over the man’s head.
The icy shock made the broken body convulse violently, and a meaningless groan was squeezed from his throat.
“What was your mission in the Capital?!”
Allen’s roar pierced the spy’s eardrums like an ice pick.
“I’ll talk… I’ll tell you everything! Please, I beg you…”
Just as the spy’s cracked lips parted, a red-hot branding iron was pressed against his thigh once more.
“Gyaaaaaah—!”
A piercing scream tore through the deathly silence of the secret room.
A plume of foul, scorched white smoke rose, carrying the nauseating smell of burnt protein, lingering in the cramped space.
Finn’s face was pale, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he wanted to say something, but Luca beside him firmly pressed down on his shoulder.
Luca shook his head at him, his eyes signaling him to stay silent.
Even Johann, accustomed to life and death on the battlefield, felt his stomach churn violently.
Death on the battlefield was mostly a quick affair of blades and spears.
But the scene before him was different.
This was a cruelty of utmost calmness, like a meticulous surgeon peeling away a person’s flesh layer by layer, dismantling his spirit.
‘Leader, he said he’d talk… Why did you still do that? Are you addicted to torture?’ Johann couldn’t help but grumble internally.
In their eyes, Allen at this moment didn’t seem like a strategic leader, but more like a craftsman immersed in his creation.
He used pain as a chisel and fear as a hammer, patiently carving his “masterpiece” until he broke open the hardest bones and reached the trembling soul.
Finally, after another round of unimaginable torment, the spy completely broke down.
He wept and wailed, his mind shattered, pouring out everything he knew as if it were the only way to escape this hell on earth.
The Guilds would launch a full-scale surprise attack on the Mutual Aid Association’s various strongholds in the Capital, especially the Continental Hotel, on July 17th.
During the operation, a group of Crestbearers with no identity records would be mixed in.
They were mostly younger sons of nobles with thin bloodlines, illegitimate children who couldn’t be seen in the light, and… heretics of the Crimson Oath Cult.
That’s right. The Cult’s main force was the Pseudo-Mark Knights, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t develop true Crestbearers as their wings.
The Church and the Judgement Court found it difficult to directly move against these heretics with noble status.
Mishandling it could provoke a collective backlash from the noble class, violating the ancient Holy Covenant.
Because of this, even in the Capital, where the Kingdom Church’s headquarters was located, heresy was like a festering sore, hard to eradicate.
Allen listened quietly, his face showing no fluctuation.
He certainly wasn’t enjoying the torture.
Ever since the “divine” power within him had grown stronger due to faith, Allen, like Anna, had gained a keen perception of evil.
The reason he was so resolute in using severe torture was because he sensed from this spy that faint, yet crystal-clear, aura belonging to the Evil Gods of the Highest Heaven.
Against these fanatics, thoroughly brainwashed by the whispers of evil gods, conventional interrogation was meaningless.
If their mental world wasn’t completely shattered into pieces, every word they uttered could be a carefully woven lie and trap.
When the spy uttered his last word, completely slumping in the chair with only weak gasps remaining, a faint, almost satisfied expression finally appeared on Allen’s face.
He casually tossed the blood-stained branding iron into a nearby water basin with a clang.
“Well done.”
He even stepped forward and patted the spy’s bloody, mangled shoulder, his tone so amiable it was as if the demon who had just inflicted the torture was merely an illusion.
Finn and the other two shivered in unison, their gazes towards Allen filled with even deeper reverence.
The Sword-Bearing Nobles were actually colluding with heretics?
Allen’s brows furrowed slightly.
These parasites of the old era had even greater guts than he thought.
Not only were they openly defying the King’s authority, but now they were planning to completely tear off the Church’s face as well?
The Kingdom Church’s critical stance towards Crests naturally meant the Sword-Bearing Nobles held an innate aversion to the Church.
But to make enemies of both the King and the Church, two major powers… where did they get their confidence?
Unless… they too had found an unexpected “ally.”
Was it the Empire stirring on the border? Was it a deeper promise from the Evil Gods? Or… some other faction hidden beneath the surface?
Allen suddenly realized the waters of the Kingdom were much murkier than he had imagined.
The reform he was leading might just be a fuse.
The corruption and ambition of the Sword-Bearing Nobles had likely taken root and seeped into their marrow long before.
He began rapidly recalling the plot of the original Starlit Romance, trying to find clues from those details he had overlooked.
Soon, a huge question surfaced in his mind—the fate of Crown Prince Charles.
In the Crown Prince route, this leader of the Sword-Bearing Nobles, a Machiavellian ruler who knew when to bend and when to stand firm, ultimately died in defeat.
This in itself was suspicious. As a top-tier Crested Noble, how could he not have strong protectors by his side? And how could he be so foolish as to not even have a chance to escape?
What if… his death was simply a conspiracy among the Sword-Bearing Nobles themselves?
With the Crown Prince dead and without an heir; Princess Charlotte married off to the Empire. The throne of House Durand would be instantly vacant.
Then, the Sword-Bearing Nobles, who had completely seized military power, could rightfully take the entire nation into their hands?
Especially in that game route, the anti-Crest Church forces were also largely purged by the heroine Livia’s machinations, which practically paved the way for their victory.
Viewed this way, the Crown Prince, despised by players as a tyrant, was actually a tragic figure who tried to break the noble shackles and maintain the Kingdom’s unity, only to fail in the end.
No wonder in that route’s ending, the “Observer” would still bring down destruction.
Because the complete victory of the Sword-Bearing Nobles meant the Evil Gods had thoroughly completed their infiltration and control of humanity’s upper echelons.
Humanity would have no future.
Allen’s gaze grew much deeper.
If the script of Starlit Romance was a symphony composed by the Evil Gods…
Then he, the only transmigrator who could potentially make the symphony go off-key, would naturally be cast as a stepping-stone villain, doomed to suffer tragic deaths again and again to highlight the protagonist’s brilliance.
Hah… hahahahaha!
Allen let out a silent, maniacal laugh in his heart.
Villain?
That’s right. I am the villain.
This world, manipulated by the Evil Gods’ script, should fear me! And you, the lofty Evil Gods, should fear me even more!
It was you who personally shattered the prison named “Allen de Laval,” releasing a true monster, one… who will become a God-Slaying God’s Messenger.
That momentary flash in his eyes—cold, brutal, yet with a hint of mockery—shattered the spy’s courage completely.
He no longer felt he was facing a youth, but an ancient beast that had broken free from eons of shackles. His very soul trembled uncontrollably.
“Kill me! I told you everything! Don’t torture me anymore, I beg you!” He wailed with his last ounce of strength, snot and tears smearing his face.
The coldness on Allen’s face instantly vanished, replaced once more by that warm, spring-like smile.
“What’s the hurry? Didn’t I say I’d invite you for tea?”
He picked up a waterskin from the side and pulled out the wooden stopper.
The spy looked at the waterskin Allen offered, his eyes filled only with extreme fear of death: “Is… is it poison?”
“Too many questions.”
Allen couldn’t be bothered to explain. He pried the man’s jaw open and forcefully poured the clear water from the waterskin down his throat.
“Cough… cough!”
The spy coughed violently, but was horrified to find it seemed to be just ordinary water.
No… that’s not right!
A warm current burned from his throat to his stomach, then instantly spread throughout his entire body.
He looked down in shock, seeing faint golden light seeping out from the hideous wounds covering his body.
The gaping, flesh-torn wounds didn’t scab over. Instead, as if time were reversing, they healed at a visible rate, leaving not even a single scar in the end.
He could even clearly feel his own thin, almost negligible Crestbloodline undergoing some wondrous, fundamental transformation.
An indescribable connection, carrying an absolute sense of hierarchy, quietly formed between him and the black-haired, golden-eyed youth before him.
Watching this, Allen was also inwardly amazed.
He hadn’t expected infusing his power into water could have this effect.
It was a shame he wasn’t some Goddess of the Lake, nor was he interested in making foot-washing water for those knightly lords to drink.
Otherwise, he really could mass-produce a batch of “Holy Grail Knights.”
“Congratulations,” Allen leaned down and whispered in his ear, “you’ve been infected with my Gu.”
“Gu?” The spy looked at him fearfully; this term was beyond his understanding.
“A mysterious witchcraft from the distant East,” Allen began, speaking complete nonsense with a straight face.
“A little bug that obeys my commands now lives inside your body. With just a thought from me, it will slowly eat through your internal organs from the inside out. The process is slow, taking about three days and three nights. You’ll be conscious of all of it.”
The heretic’s mind, already scrambled by the Evil Gods’ whispers, was actually the easiest to fool.
Allen planned to rewire his brain a bit before sending him back.
He would personally drive this nail into the enemy’s heart.
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