The curtain of rain was torn apart completely.
Over a dozen crimson figures, wrapped in boiling steam and mad killing intent, lunged from all directions toward that pure white figure in the rain.
These drugged Pseudo-Mark Knights had fully embraced the power of the Evil God and could no longer be called human.
One Knight’s lower body twisted into a slippery snake tail, gliding at high speed across the waterlogged ground, flinging up splashes several meters high as it lunged toward Livia’s rear flank with an eerie trajectory.
On the other side, a berserker whose body had swollen to nearly twice its size wielded twin giant axes and let out a Beast-like roar.
His eyes held only destruction, and even companions who tried to pass before him became targets of his cleaving; with one axe swing, he unleashed an indiscriminate attack.
Some were even worse, opening torn mouths as ominous blue light glowed deep in their throats.
In the next instant, scorching blue flames spewed forth, instantly evaporating the rain along the way and forming a searing white mist that blocked Livia’s retreat.
They carried the “gifts” of different masters, yet in this moment they cooperated flawlessly, their offensive like a raging storm, one wave barely subsiding before another rose.
Even Livia felt pressure under such a reckless, cost-ignoring siege.
She no longer held her ground, suddenly becoming a white afterimage that darted at high speed through the gaps between blade lights, axe shadows, and lethal breath attacks.
The Rapier seemed to come alive in her hand, Stellar Power attached to it as the blade shone with a faint radiance.
Clang!
She precisely parried a warhammer that came cleaving down, used the force to spin around, her white dress fluttering in the rain of blood as if she were dancing a gorgeous and deadly waltz of death.
She had long discarded the honor and restraints of a Knight’s Duel, and her use of Stellar Power grew ever more proficient.
With a thought from Livia, dozens of rice-grain-sized starlights condensed out of thin air, orbiting her like floating artillery pieces.
An Assassin hiding in a blind spot with a concealment Pseudo-Mark had just raised his Dagger when a beam of starlight whistled over and precisely pierced through his brow.
Blue flames attacked again, and Livia did not even turn her head; a semi-transparent shield woven from starlight instantly formed behind her, blocking all the flames.
With every flash of sword light, a Pseudo-Mark Knight fell with unwillingness.
But these madmen’s death throes were also ferocious: self-destruction, curses, poisoned blades… all kinds of insidious moves emerged endlessly.
Yet their attacks always fell short at the final moment, unable to leave even a trace of stain on that holy white dress.
“Sculptor” did not join the battle; he stood far away, as if appreciating a wonderful opera.
His subordinates died one after another amid wails, yet he remained indifferent, his eyes instead revealing a sick satisfaction.
Before becoming a Heretic, he was the Empire’s most famous artist, spending his life pursuing “the eternal beauty of an instant.”
Countless nobles and royalty threw money at him just to obtain one of his sculptures.
Until that day, a young woman about to be married found him; she shyly requested that he preserve forever her most beautiful appearance in that moment.
He readily agreed.
That was the most perfect work of his life, and the raw material was none other than that young woman full of longing for the future.
This astonishing and twisted artwork deeply shocked everyone and also made him a wanted murderer.
To this day he did not believe he had done wrong; he had merely fulfilled her wish.
Was that eternal smile frozen on her face not more valuable than a fleeting life?
From then on, his art became unstoppable, and in the end, he heard the call of the Pleasure Prince and became a Blood Priest of the Cult.
This platinum-haired young woman before him—how beautiful she was!
Tenacious, powerful, brave, and with a trace of tenderness hidden beneath the ice.
Her entire being was filled with artistry and drama.
What perfect material!
He would turn this moment of her into eternity.
Her fiancé would surely be immensely grateful for this perfect artwork he offered.
Just as Livia pierced the heart of the last Pseudo-Mark Knight with her sword, she suddenly felt a strong dizziness.
The blood-colored battlefield before her eyes instantly faded, replaced by a familiar garden and a meadow spread with blooming flowers.
Warm Sunshine fell upon her, Marianne lay beside her, giving her a sweet smile.
Allen sat on the other side, gazing at them tenderly.
Everything was so beautiful, so real that she almost wanted to drown in it.
This was the Happiness she had dreamed of.
Just as Livia’s heart wavered, a cold, vicious will sounded in her mind.
“Do you see, Livia von Stern? This is the illusion you can never obtain.”
“Give up, sink into it. Your only destination is darkness.”
Livia turned her head and saw “Sculptor” standing not far away, watching her with a playful look.
There was no panic on her face; instead, she walked to the false Allen, reached out, and smoothed his somewhat messy hair.
That “Allen” actually smiled helplessly: “Livia, this is the Villain’s hairstyle—what are you messing with it for?”
“Doesn’t this look better?”
“Pay attention to the situation! Your Enemy is still waiting to fight you!”
The scene “Sculptor” had imagined—of the target collapsing and weeping—did not appear at all; the woman before him was even flirting with an illusion in front of him, and he was completely stunned.
“What are you doing?”
“This is my Mindscape, right?” Livia asked him back.
“Uh…” “Sculptor” frowned. “It should be.”
“So next, are you going to show me my most unbearable memories, or my most shameful memories?”
“Of course.”
“Sculptor” answered instinctively; he completely failed to understand the current situation.
“Shouldn’t you be panicking, completely collapsing under my mental attack, your mind dying, leaving only a living shell?”
“Why didn’t my attack work?”
Livia looked at him, and there was actually a hint of pity in her eyes.
“Then let me tell you why.”
As soon as she spoke, Livia seemed to have seized the world’s remote control; the dominant control over the entire Mindscape instantly changed hands.
“Sculptor”‘s expression changed drastically; he wanted to cut off his Engraved Mark ability, but was horrified to discover that the one trapped in this Mindscape was not Livia, but him!
Damn it, had he really been overpowered in his own area of expertise?
“Come, sit down.”
Livia appeared behind “Sculptor” at some point, smiling as she pressed him onto a seat that appeared out of thin air.
“Since you’re so curious about my past, I just happen to want a different perspective to look at my own foolishness.”
Before the immobilized “Sculptor,” countless images began to flash.
From her wandering childhood, to her meeting and separation with Marianne, to the various pains of the Stern family…
Watching that struggling version of herself in the images, Livia actually curved her lips into a smile.
“Sculptor” felt he was going mad; this woman was simply a monster!
How could she look at her own scars as if watching someone else’s story? Why was she completely unmoved?
“The story of a Hero usually begins like this.” Livia even narrated with interest. “So, are you ready? To face that true Despair?”
“What?”
Before “Sculptor” could react, the world before his eyes abruptly changed.
In the Mindscape, time lost all meaning.
Livia had enough time for a grand playback of her life.
To her, this was also a rare opportunity to face her own heart.
Immediately afterward, Livia began playing the course of those 999 cycles of reincarnation.
Through Livia’s perspective, “Sculptor” was forced to read through the repeated lives of this “Cult nemesis.”
He saw how Livia grew from a despised noble illegitimate daughter into the Academy Top Student, shining like a star and standing alone, step by step; he also saw that war sweeping the continent, corpses strewn across the fields, blood flowing like rivers.
Battle after brutal battle, defeat after powerless defeat, watching cherished comrades lose their warmth in her arms again and again.
That Despair was too real, almost crushing “Sculptor”‘s sanity.
In the end, that tsunami-like flood of memories violently swept away “Sculptor”‘s consciousness, crudely hurling it toward the place where the first life ended.
Livia saw with her own eyes that it was exactly the end-of-days scene Humanity’s civilization had welcomed–
Stellar Sigils fell from the heavens, the earth split apart, and wails resounded through the clouds.
“Sculptor” witnessed the “Pleasure Prince” he had devoted everything to worship, this Evil God he regarded as a great existence, crush countless devout believers and prosperous cities together into crimson flesh paste with a contemptuous attitude like squashing bugs.
All struggling lives were forcibly melted and gathered into a twisted, writhing mass of flesh and blood too vast to imagine.
Countless twisted faces appeared and floated on that mass of flesh, letting out eternal, endless, yet silent screams.
This was called “art,” a terrifying creation beyond mortal comprehension that unified thought and flesh.
The individual value of life was completely erased; everything existed only to offer an eternal, undying hymn to that Evil God.
“No… impossible! This must be an illusion! Everything you fabricated is a lie!”
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