The Fake Mark Knight’s sword, burning with the life of its wielder, tore through the air with a shriek, now mere inches from Allen’s eyes.
The chill of death was biting to the bone.
There was no way to dodge!
His body was pushed to its limit!
At this life-or-death moment, the world before Allen’s eyes suddenly slowed down drastically!
Dust motes floated in suspended arcs, the flickering shadows of candlelight lingered, the ripples of air torn apart by the enemy’s sword tip were visible…even the subtle twitching of his opponent’s contracting muscles were as clear as if in slow motion.
Even stranger, countless blurry “lines” representing attack trajectories intertwined and flickered in his field of vision, finally converging into a single definitive future—the sword would graze his neck, snipping a few strands of hair, but the real deadly strike was the tricky horizontal sweep that would follow right after!
Future Sight!
This thought flashed like lightning through Allen’s chaotic mind.
His prayer…had been answered?
So, you really have been watching me suffer all along, you damn god!
Could it be you trapped me in this death loop just to turn a steadfast materialist warrior like me into your believer?
You really have nothing better to do!
Allen bore no respect for gods, nor did he have time to ponder where this power came from.
Countless death loops had sharpened his battle instincts beyond all else in an instant!
He chose to trust this absurd “premonition.”
He gave up blocking!
He gave up dodging!
In that slow-motion world, he drained the last ounce of strength from his muscles and lunged forward in an almost self-destructive posture beyond his limits.
The longsword in his hand was no longer a shield of defense, but transformed into a resolute countercurrent, ignoring the impending fatal chop and thrusting straight into the Fake Mark Knight’s chest—right where the force had opened a gap near the heart!
Breath.
“Pfft!”
“Ugh—!”
Two muffled sounds rang out almost simultaneously.
The Fake Mark Knight’s blade indeed grazed Allen’s neck as “foreseen,” bringing a burning sting and a few strands of hair falling.
However, his planned horizontal sweep never came.
Allen’s sword pierced his heart with pinpoint precision!
The berserk power granted by the secret medicine burst like a popped balloon, instantly dissipating.
The crimson eyes behind the Fake Mark Knight’s mask shrank violently, filled with shock and quickly fading despair.
He staggered a step, dropping his longsword to the ground with a harsh clang.
“Master…why…have you…abandoned me…”
His hoarse voice was thick with the scent of blood as he fixed his gaze on Allen before collapsing backward onto the ground, silent forevermore.
“…”
Allen utterly lost strength, collapsing limply as if his bones had been extracted, gasping heavily with lungs burning like wildfire.
That strike beyond his limit had nearly hollowed out his body.
The golden light in Allen’s eyes quietly faded, and the world returned to normal speed.
That “Bullet Time” was no hallucination from a life-or-death adrenaline rush; Allen had likely truly received some kind of Blessing.
“Haha…how stupid I was. If I’d given up sooner, would I have died 999 times in vain?”
“No matter, that’s enough for now. I survived, and from now on I will keep living! Merciful yet cruel Lord, please continue to guide me!”
Allen’s promise to the god was sincere.
Since gods truly existed, Allen ought to maintain a pragmatic attitude.
I can talk, I can love a god!
As long as the cheat is solid, anything is negotiable!
“Bang—!!!”
The door was kicked open violently with brute force!
“Son! Your father is here to save you!!!”
Viscount Bernard, wearing clearly ill-fitting and crooked old armor, brandished a decorative yet impractical sword.
Behind him, a group of mercenaries brandishing sharp blades looked tense and stormed in fiercely.
Then, they saw the hellish scene: shattered furniture, bloodstains covering the floor, two corpses, and Allen collapsed in a pool of blood, drenched and looking like he had crawled out of the underworld.
“My son—!!!”
Bernard’s anguished wail echoed through the air as he scrambled over, grabbed Allen in a fierce embrace, tears and snot flowing, “I knew I shouldn’t have believed your nonsense! Saying you could handle it alone…It’s all my fault! How could I be so foolish to let you face those merciless bastards alone! If you die, our family line truly ends!!!”
Allen was nearly suffocated by his father’s grip: “Cough…let go…your son’s not dead yet…just almost strangled…Also, get me out of here! This room’s toxic!”
“Ah? Oh, oh, oh!”
Bernard snapped out of his panic, hurriedly supporting Allen as he dragged him out, shouting to the mercenaries, “What are you standing there for? Cover! Cover my son’s retreat!”
Shutting the bloody and toxic bedroom door behind them, Allen tore off his beaked mask and leaned against the cold wall to steady himself.
Ignoring his exhaustion and pain, he asked urgently, “How’s the situation? Is everyone else safe at home?”
“No, no!”
Bernard patted his chest in relief, “Everyone was told to hide in the cellar ahead of time, just like you said. Thank the heavens you told me about the cult’s attack as soon as you woke up!”
“The brothers I secretly hired did well, taking those lunatics by surprise. They suffered heavy casualties, but fought like they had nothing to lose, not a single one surrendered…What a bunch of madmen!”
He wiped cold sweat away, “Son, be honest with me. How did you know those crazies would come tonight? Did you really get a divine revelation?”
Allen wearily waved his hand, his gaze sharp as a blade, “I already told you, it’s a divine revelation. Our god wouldn’t lie to his own people. I was just saved by the god a moment ago!”
Which god saved him?
That was a story for another time!
Whether true god or false, as long as there’s a cheat involved, that’s a good god!
“Father, what about the Order of Heretic Inquisition?”
“The steward went to notify them. At first, they didn’t believe it, thinking it was just some drunken noble going mad. But guess what? Before long, the slaughterhouse in the Lower District exploded in chaos! The inquisitors really fought the cultists!”
Bernard lowered his voice, “I heard the Inquisition caught a ‘big fish’, but they accidentally let them escape! The whole Capital Lucien is under martial law now. The steward just came back and said a fully armed, bloodthirsty team of inquisitors is on their way here!”
Allen wasn’t surprised by this outcome.
The Bloodflesh Priest in the Capital was notoriously hard to deal with; even Livia had suffered losses to him in the early stages.
Without full preparation, the Order of Heretic Inquisition could not take him down easily.
But with his main base lost, he would likely lie low for a while and wouldn’t trouble Allen for some time.
A cold smile unconsciously curled at the corner of Allen’s lips.
He knew where the enemy might be hiding, and when his power increased, he would deal with him.
Speaking of which…there was still a hidden danger to deal with…
“What about Marianne?”
Allen suddenly asked, his tone tightening just slightly, almost unnoticeably, “Is she okay?”
Bernard paused, then broke into a sly grin that said, “I get it, I get it.”
“Oh? Marianne? She’s fine, fine! When I came looking for you just now, I saw her heading to the courtyard, saying she was worried an enemy might try to escape through your window and wanted to keep watch.”
Bernard winked, “Heh, son, you finally started caring about the head maid? Good eye! That girl’s a bit cold, but I saw she was a promising one from the start…”
Allen ignored his father’s gossip, a flicker of icy killing intent flashing deep in his eyes.
He didn’t know what role Marianne had played in tonight’s attack, but her withholding of information was tantamount to aiding the enemy.
If not for the god’s blessing, Allen would already be a corpse.
Still, this Future Sight…how exactly do I use it?
Allen couldn’t reproduce the maneuver.
It seemed his cheat was just an Experience Card, which would automatically expire.
He wasn’t disappointed.
Survival ultimately depended on himself; he couldn’t afford to risk his life every time.
If he didn’t learn to avoid risks, even if gods gave him a permanent cheat, he would sooner or later meet his end in the gutter.
Of course, cheats given to someone like Livia were another story.
Mastering all sorts of martial arts was a matter of stats.
When your stats are so high no one can break your defense, you naturally don’t fear setbacks.
Damn it, Livia!
Tonight I almost got a Death End because of you.
I’m holding you accountable!
We’re playing the same game, so why does your cheat have to be a hundred times more powerful than mine?
I got a casual Experience Card, and if others notice anomalies, my account will be banned immediately.
You have a customized DMA that lets you cheat openly, and if you get reported, you even have a powerful backstage shielding you.
Why?
Just because you’re the game team’s daughter?
Hmph.
I can’t do anything about you now, but your childhood friend…is right in my hands.
Suppressing his evil villain grin, Allen spoke firmly to Bernard: “I need to see her. Father, please stay with the mercenaries. There might still be enemies lurking in the house. Be careful.”
“No way! It’s too dangerous! Son, you’re injured like this, I’ll go with you!”
Bernard looked at his bloodied son, heartbroken beyond words.
“Father.”
Allen’s voice was utterly calm, but the aura that instantly radiated from him made the surrounding air freeze.
His bloodstained face was expressionless, his pitch-black eyes bottomless, like an asura risen from a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
That cold, oppressive presence made even battle-hardened mercenaries instinctively grip their weapons tighter.
Bernard was so stunned by this aura—never before seen in his son—that he was speechless.
“I said I’ll go alone.”
Allen paused on each word, almost commanding, “Please listen to me.”
“…Alright…alright…I’ll listen to you.”
Bernard swallowed nervously and nodded sheepishly.
He watched as Allen gripped his blood-dripping Noble Longsword, his steps unsteady yet resolute, striding deeper into the courtyard and vanishing into the shadows.
Moonlight poured like molten silver, coating the Laval family’s fairly spacious courtyard with a layer of cold silver glow.
Allen soon saw the figure.
Marianne stood quietly in the center of the courtyard under the moonlight, her back to him.
The night breeze stirred her sleek black hair.
Under the cold moonlight, her thin maid’s uniform outlined a slender yet straight back, like a fragile piece of porcelain.
She had been waiting here for some time.
“Hi, Marianne, hope you’re unharmed.”
Allen’s voice trembled slightly, breaking the silence.
He tried to control his facial muscles, attempting a harmless smile.
But the expression born of his heart was only a bloodthirsty coldness.
Marianne slowly turned around.
The moonlight clearly illuminated her stunningly beautiful yet colorless face.
Her eyes were like a deep pool, calm without a ripple, quietly watching the bloodied and murderous Allen.
“Master Allen,” her voice was cold, emotionless, “It’s good to see you so lively.”
The greeting sounded sincere but carried a hint of icy sarcasm.
Allen sensed the black humor behind Marianne’s calm demeanor and twisted his mouth into a cruel, cold smile: “Is that so? I thought you’d be very disappointed. Surprised? I’m not dead, and I even slaughtered all your comrades.”
He deliberately emphasized “comrades.”
Marianne stiffened almost imperceptibly.
She was silent for several seconds, her long lashes trembling slightly.
Finally, a weary resignation flashed in her deep eyes.
“When did you find out?” she finally spoke, voice as soft as a breeze.
“I knew in a dream.”
Allen was tired of beating around the bush and laid his cards on the table, “I told the Bloodflesh Priest lurking in Capital Lucien that you have already betrayed the cult.”
With that, Allen suddenly advanced toward Marianne, barely hiding his murderous intent.
Panic flickered in Marianne’s eyes, and she instinctively stepped back a few paces.
“If I’m not mistaken, the Fake Mark on you has already failed, right? He withdrew your power, didn’t he?!”
Marianne’s pupils contracted sharply, lips pale but stubbornly silent, only locking eyes with Allen with incomprehensible complexity.
“Not speaking? Then I’ll have to confirm it myself.”
Allen sneered and abruptly grabbed the collar of Marianne’s maid uniform roughly!
Marianne trembled but did not resist.
She closed her eyes desperately, her long lashes trembling like dying butterfly wings, biting her lower lip tightly.
Marianne did not participate in the attack on the Laval family.
But allowing the Laval family to fall into peril without action was no different from slaughtering them herself.
The violence of the demon young master was just skin-deep pain, but her inaction was a deliberate intent to destroy a family.
She awaited judgment, awaited death, as atonement.
Yet the expected violence did not come.
Allen only roughly pulled open the front of her chest, exposing a small patch of skin below her collarbone, his gaze sharp as he scanned.
The skin was fair and delicate, without any implanted marks or abnormal flesh.
He quickly checked other parts of her body, finding nothing except some bruises.
Then Allen knelt down, holding her calf steadily with one hand, and decisively pulled down her white over-the-knee sock on her right leg!
The revealed stocking was like drawing back a cruel curtain.
The girl’s slender ankle and the area below her thigh were exposed to the cool air and to Allen’s suddenly contracting pupils.
Where the skin should have been fair and delicate, large patches of shocking bruises covered it!
Deep purples, dark reds, and yellow-green old wounds layered like ugly moss, fiercely clinging there.
These silent marks told the story of the violence she had endured.
Allen’s heart sank sharply, guilt flooding over him like a cold tide, instantly drowning out his previous killing intent.
How many of these scars were left by the “past” Allen de Laval?
It was these very scars that had pushed Marianne into the abyss of the Crimson Spiral Cult.
He quickly checked her left leg—also covered in new and old bruises, likewise no fake mark.
Allen exhaled deeply and silently.
He stood up, his movements unexpectedly awkward yet gentle.
He fixed Marianne’s torn uniform neatly and even tried to help her put the removed sock back on.
But feeling it wasn’t quite right, he gave up.
“Looks like the Fake Mark on you really is invalid.”
Allen’s voice grew much lower, no longer pressing, “It withdrew your power and severed the connection with you. As long as you don’t mess up and come clean about your identity, the inquisitors won’t come for you.”
He looked at Marianne’s stunned expression and said emotionlessly, “Marianne, congratulations, you get to live.”
Marianne was completely stunned.
She looked at the blood-soaked young master who had just appeared like a killing god, her mind a blank.
Not kill me?
Why?
She had imagined countless endings—being tortured to death by the furious young master, burned by the Order of Heretic Inquisition, or silenced by the cult…but never “living.”
“Wh-why…”
Her voice was dry and trembling, filled with incredulous confusion, “Why didn’t you kill me?! I…I almost got all of you killed!”
Kill you?
How dare I?!
Ten thousand horses galloped wildly in Allen’s heart.
He had tried killing main characters in other loops before, but once successful, the deepest malice in the world would immediately punish him.
In any story, killing a main character as a minor villain is a major taboo!
Marianne’s identity was especially special—
Livia von Stern’s childhood friend!
Killing Marianne was like tattooing the words “instant death” on his forehead!
Tomorrow when Livia arrives, Allen de Laval would be booked for a VIP tour of hell.
In a world where Livia was the “center of the universe,” offending her was like waging war on the entire world.
Letting Marianne live, living as his maid, was far more valuable than a cold corpse.
She was Allen’s most important hostage; even if Livia still wanted to kill him, she would have to think twice for Marianne’s sake.
As a villain, one must abandon personal likes and dislikes and mercilessly use everyone, even former enemies who had killed him!
This was Allen’s survival method as a villain.