Midnight had passed, and the Viscount’s Manor sank into deep silence.
The garden, which barely maintained its semblance of dignity by day, shed its forced refinement under the moonlight, revealing a wild kind of romance.
The gravel path gleamed cold white, winding into the deeper shadows.
A shadow moved silently, scaling the garden wall and slipping into the unguarded grounds.
He was a Dustfallen, the lowest disposable pawn of the Crimson Spiral Cult.
His former noble status had long been stripped away, leaving only seething hatred and a desperate thirst for power.
Tonight’s mission—assassinate the notorious Allen de Laval—was his ticket to becoming a Pseudo-Sigil Knight.
“So utterly fallen…”
The Dustfallen sneered coldly at the empty courtyard.
The rumors of the Laval Family’s impending bankruptcy appeared true.
No money meant no guards could be hired.
His infiltration went surprisingly smoothly; not a single servant patrolled the grounds.
Thanks to reliable intel from the Cult’s informants, he quickly found the target’s bedroom within the vast noble estate.
He gently pushed open the door.
In the dim light from the window, the curled-up figure beneath the covers was clearly visible.
Allen de Laval was still deep in sleep, unaware that death was upon him.
A flicker of pity crossed the Dustfallen’s mind for the playboy noble heir; after all, he too had once been a victim of noble intrigues.
Besides him, other Cult members had infiltrated the manor tonight, poised to orchestrate a massacre that would shock the Capital Lucien.
But the Dustfallen cared little about the Cult’s motives—his sole objective was to end this spoiled heir’s life!
“Die, you pitiful wretch!”
The sword’s flash was like a viper’s strike, filled with lethal resolve as it pierced the bedding.
Pfft!
But the expected sensation of steel slicing flesh never came.
The Dustfallen froze.
“How strange, isn’t it?”
A mocking voice suddenly echoed from behind him like a ghostly whisper.
His pupils shrank in terror as a chill shot from his spine to his skull!
He tried to withdraw his sword lodged in the floorboards, but cold metal had already pierced his heart.
Through the agony, the last image he saw was a face covered by a bizarre bird-beaked mask, with cold light gleaming from eyes hidden in shadow.
“I knew you’d come tonight.”
Allen swiftly drew the Protector Dagger his father had given him, watching as the Dustfallen collapsed.
“The first incident the Cult tries to pull off is a bloodbath at the Viscount’s Manor, with me and Marianne going missing? How could I not be prepared for such a classic start?”
Having been woken countless times by assassins in his sleep, Allen had developed a bone-deep PTSD about bedroom attacks.
Tonight, he was the hunter lurking in the shadows.
He removed the Dustfallen’s mask, revealing a young face full of disbelief and resentment.
Once well-groomed, the man now bore the weariness of the mortal world.
Allen had no interest in the assassin’s past or identity; he methodically rifled through the spoils.
“This mask is pretty decent, I’ll keep it…Wait, you look like a noble, but all you carry is this broken sword?”
He weighed the confiscated Noble Longsword with a scornful expression.
“Terrible drop rate! Is this the Cult’s best effort?”
Having dealt with the assassin with ease, Allen’s paranoia flared.
The Cult was known for always having backup plans, especially against unexpected twists or traitors.
Allen tightened his grip on the longsword, his sharp gaze sweeping every corner of the room as the air seemed to freeze.
With knowledge on his side, he needed to force any lurking enemies out into the open.
“You Cult lunatics are like sewer rats, always hiding, afraid of the light.”
He deliberately raised his voice, the sarcastic tone echoing through the silent room.
“Is the Cult idiot assigned to surveil me tonight so scared of this useless noble heir like me?”
“I’m not interested in wasting time on small fry. At least send an Abyss Walker to spar with me. Livia kills Listeners of the Stars like dogs, and I’m evenly matched with her…”
He paused, his tone suddenly cocky.
“In other words, I’m way stronger than the Listeners. The Cult should just make me the boss! If you beg me on your knees right now, maybe I’ll spare your miserable lives!”
“Come out, all of you!” he shouted.
D!
Allen’s signature skill, Mocking Taunt, activated successfully!
Heavy, beast-like breaths echoed from the shadows!
A faster shadow tore through space like a blade, instantly appearing behind Allen, its cold edge aimed at his back!
“A Pseudo-Sigil Knight is really here!”
Allen seemed to have eyes on his back, rolling desperately but precisely to dodge the lethal strike.
His seized longsword blocked the pursuing blade, sparks flying from the metal clash.
He stared into the red eyes beneath the mask, a cruel smirk curling the attacker’s lips.
“What’s the hurry? Planning to bow to me as your boss after hearing my words?”
“You…how do you know the Cult’s secrets?!”
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s voice was hoarse and dry, filled with disbelief and shock.
“Hey, don’t underestimate me.”
Allen scoffed, then spat a few syllables in a twisted, inhuman ancient language:
“Burn the old world, erect the new throne!”
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s pupils contracted sharply.
That was the Crimson Spiral Cult’s core motto—known only to its innermost members.
How could a spoiled noble heir know such forbidden knowledge?
Tonight’s mission was supposed to be the easiest: infiltrate a noble family too broke to hire guards—impossible to fail!
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight had taken no prior reconnaissance of the Laval estate.
His job was merely to lurk in the shadows, grading the Dustfallen’s performance.
But when he sensed something was off, Allen had already killed the Dustfallen and uncovered the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s own infiltration using Emblem Power to sneak into the bedroom!
Wasn’t this noble heir supposed to be a powerless wastrel?
Killing so cleanly and instantly detecting hidden enemies…
Such cold, careful composure wasn’t ordinary at all!
Could he be a member of the Inquisition?
Was tonight’s assassination a trap set by the Inquisition?!
Now!
Allen seized the momentary hesitation and launched a fierce counterattack!
The longsword in his hand became a silver flash, his moves cunning and ruthless—no spoiled heir’s idle play.
But physical reality was cruel.
Allen’s body, hollowed by alcohol, lacked the strength, speed, and endurance of his opponent—far weaker than the robust form he had secretly trained in a previous life.
Caught off guard, the Pseudo-Sigil Knight faltered and lost ground.
Yet as a Cult elite hardened by countless battles, he relied on experience and muscle memory to counterattack, gradually turning the tide!
Allen shifted to defense, each block numbing his arms, every dodge draining precious stamina.
He survived by skill and wit, but defeat seemed inevitable.
“Isn’t it strange? Why do I have this swordsmanship? I’m just a noble who wears robes, no Emblem at all.”
Allen jabbered incessantly, trying to unnerve his opponent even as the sword edges came faster and sharper.
“Curious why I know the Cult’s secrets and that you’d come tonight? You’ve been betrayed, you know that?”
He narrowly dodged a slash to the neck, speeding his words.
“Your inside man is my maid Marianne, right?”
He dropped the bomb with a proud grin.
“That girl hasn’t been brainwashed completely. She fell for this noble heir’s charm and betrayed you.”
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s sword hesitated for the faintest moment!
Marianne?
The newcomer woman?!
“Oh, and I bet you’re wondering why the Laval Family hasn’t burned yet?”
Allen panted, lungs burning, but the trash talk didn’t stop.
“Simple—I hired mercenaries through my father. Even if you send Dustfallen or Flesh Priests, they’re no match for a trained mercenary squad! Soon you’ll be buried with their corpses! Happy now?”
“…You…damn you!”
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight finally snapped, roaring as his sword strikes intensified!
“Haha! Whether I deserve death isn’t up to you.”
Allen’s arms nearly gave out, but his grin only grew more wild.
“By the way, I already told the old butler to inform the Inquisition. Your nest in the Capital… is in the Slaughterhouse Underground in the Lower District, right?”
Those words struck like thunder!
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight froze, terror and shock filling his red eyes.
The Slaughterhouse Underground?
That was the Cult’s most secret base in the Capital, unknown even to the Inquisition!
How did he know?
Could it be…
Marianne really betrayed them?
That weak woman—the Pseudo-Sigil Knight had warned against taking her in!
Allen caught the flicker of distraction, smirking coldly.
His words were meant for the higher-ups—to kill the enemy’s heart as well as their body.
He would make the mastermind rat know that Allen de Laval was no easy target—and cut ties completely with Marianne and these lunatics!
If Livia came tomorrow and found her beloved “white moon” had fled with the cultists…
Allen didn’t want to taste a corrupted storyline reset again.
“That dump of a place was a smart choice,” Allen continued pressing, full of malicious teasing.
“Covering up the anti-human stench with blood smell. But…you didn’t mix ‘Hope Meat’ with the regular stuff to sell, did you? Ugh, just thinking about it makes me sick.”
He blocked another attack and ramped up the taunting:
“The Inquisition might not believe me yet, but when they see the ‘scene’ down in the Slaughterhouse…tsk tsk, what will it be? A barbecue party? So why aren’t you running, Mr. Unknown Flesh Priest?”
The Pseudo-Sigil Knight shuddered violently, despair suddenly flooding the mask’s expression—the connection with his Flesh Priest master had been severed!
Even the Priest feared him and abandoned him!
“Why…why do you hate us so much?!”
His voice cracked with desperation as his attacks faltered, becoming slower and disorganized under mental shock and unknown reasons.
“Happy? Surprised?”
Allen’s strength was near breaking, but his gaze burned with madness.
“To kill me, you’re risking the entire Cult base? Why?”
He narrowly parried a sword aimed at his neck, voice cold as ice: “Because you dared provoke me! Rats hiding in the dark, how dare you threaten my family? Tonight, all of you die here!”
Allen’s plan was working!
He had secretly set a colorless, odorless Ember Scent in his room—a notorious aristocratic poison!
Unlike the twisted Flesh Priests, Pseudo-Sigil Knights were still human, vulnerable to volatile toxins.
Only a few Emblems provided resistance to poisons; the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s Emblem power clearly focused on stealth, offering no protection.
Allen wore a bird-beaked mask capable of filtering poison gas; if he could just stall long enough, victory would be his!
Not every assassin was a berserker.
Under the poison’s effect, the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s attacks weakened.
Seizing the chance, Allen mustered his last strength and roared a desperate counterstrike!
“Go to hell!”
His longsword carved a resolute arc, slashing into a chink exposed in the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s defense!
“Gah—!”
The assassin screamed, blood spraying wildly as he staggered back.
But in those crimson eyes, despair was swiftly replaced by madness!
“If I can’t live, I’ll at least take down your kind!”
He howled and swallowed a crimson pill!
“What?! You have a Miracle Drug? There’s a second phase after the first? How is this even fair?!”
Allen’s face turned grim.
He’d only survived a few moments against Livia last week because of that thing!
The drug burned life itself, temporarily unleashing terrifying power close to an Abyss Walker’s!
This was it.
In his current state, Allen couldn’t withstand a single blow!
Empowered by the drug, the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s aura surged, the blood gushing from his wounds fueling his strength.
He emitted a guttural roar, vanishing like a phantom and reappearing overhead, sword crashing down like thunder!
“Damn!”
Allen rolled desperately, the blade grazing his shoulder and carving a deep groove in the floor.
Stone chips flew as the berserk strike could have torn him apart before poison claimed him.
Cornered, each block sent shocks through his arms, his grip nearly slipping.
Death had never felt so close.
But he could not retreat.
Leaving this poisoned room meant losing all chance of turning the tide!
“Is this cycle ending too?”
The thought flickered, but was drowned by an even stronger will to survive.
He had died nine hundred ninety-nine times already—one more death would complete the original work’s achievement for a thousand deaths.
But would he awaken again after the thousandth?
Every game has an ending, and every cycle must conclude.
Perhaps this cycle was his last chance.
Allen never hesitated to assume the worst about the Starshine Serenade world.
He had predicted, and fully believed, the world could be this vile and brutal.
He must not die. Absolutely not die!
As long as he lived, he was the greatest irony to this hateful world.
Adrenaline surged in despair, the shadow of death igniting a madness forged by countless deaths.
“Come on, show me what else you’ve got!”
Allen grinned fiercely, dodging the Pseudo-Sigil Knight’s attacks with everything he had.
Mere mortals couldn’t defeat Emblem prodigies?
Then how had he pushed this bastard to the brink before?
“I want to live! No matter what, I will struggle to live! God, I always thought you threw me into this shitty world because you’re an evil bastard! But if you can hear my prayer, I’ll give you everything I have!”
He finally gave up futile resistance and unleashed his strongest desire to the hated god, to the cursed world itself.
“So…please grant me strength! Even if…it costs me more than death!”
Allen was no longer the ordinary youth from a peaceful world.
He had fallen to an Abyss Walker, stained with endless blood.
He struggled at death’s edge as a villain, exhausting every means for a chance to survive.
He never gave up.
Even as the world turned cruel, and through 999 cycles of unbearable trauma,
He chose to forget and keep moving forward.
Not for ideals, not for love, but for a simple goal—
To live.
A thousand words couldn’t match those two.
That was enough.
As long as he lived, Allen could hold even a faint hope for this hateful world.
“Look at me! You bastard god! I’ll give this goddamn world all my love!”
Allen’s final roar echoed in his heart, fusing all his will to live, defiance, rage, and resolve into one moment!
Buzz!
As if answering his soul’s cry, an unprecedented strange sensation surged through him—not Emblem power, not divine might, but something…like a cold spring of insight flowing into his near-empty mind.
In the depths of his dark pupils, a dazzling golden light flickered like the first star piercing eternal night—suddenly ignited!