The Price of Survival

The False Mark Knight’s life-burning blade, accompanied by a shriek that tore through the air, was almost upon Allen.

The icy chill of death pierced him to the bone.

‘There was no escaping it! His body had reached its absolute limit!’

In that critical instant, the world in Allen’s eyes abruptly slowed.

The trails of suspended dust, the lingering afterimages of flickering candlelight, the ripples in the air torn by the enemy’s sword tip—even the minute tremors of their contracting muscles—all became as clear as a slow-motion film.

Even more bizarrely, countless blurry “lines” representing attack trajectories intertwined and flashed within his vision, ultimately converging into a single, undeniable future: the sword would graze his neck, severing a few strands of hair, but the true, fatal strike would be a vicious, angled sweep immediately following.

‘Future Sight!’

This thought flashed like lightning through Allen’s chaotic mind.

‘Had his plea… been answered?’

‘So, you truly have been watching me make a fool of myself all this time! You wretched deity!’

‘Did you plunge me into this cycle of death merely to turn a staunch materialist like me into your devout follower?’

‘You… certainly have too much time on your hands!’

Allen held no respect for deities, nor did he have time to ponder the origin of this newfound power.

The combat instincts honed through countless cycles of death instantly overwhelmed all other thoughts.

He chose to trust this absurd “premonition.”

‘Abandon the block! Abandon the dodge!’

In that slowed world, he squeezed the last ounce of strength from his muscles, lunging forward in a self-destructive, beyond-limit surge.

His longsword, no longer a defensive shield, transformed into a resolute countercurrent, disregarding the imminent fatal slash and plunging directly into the False Mark Knight’s chest, precisely where the heart lay exposed by their exertion.

“Pfft!”

“Urgh—!”

Two muffled sounds echoed almost simultaneously.

True to the “premonition,” the False Mark Knight’s blade indeed grazed Allen’s neck, leaving a searing sting and a few severed strands of hair.

His planned sweep, however, would never be delivered—

Allen’s sword had pierced their heart with unerring precision!

The berserk power granted by the secret medicine, like a punctured balloon, instantly dissipated.

Beneath the False Mark Knight’s mask, their crimson pupils constricted violently, filled with incredulous shock and swiftly dimming despair.

They staggered, their longsword slipping from their grasp and clattering to the ground with a grating metallic clang.

“My Lord… why… have you forsaken me…”

The False Mark Knight’s hoarse voice, thick with the stench of blood, fixed on Allen with a desperate gaze before they collapsed backward, lifeless, hitting the ground with a final thud.

“Hoo… hoo…”

Allen, completely drained, collapsed bonelessly to the ground, gasping for air, his lungs burning.

That single, beyond-limit strike had utterly depleted his body.

The golden glow in Allen’s eyes quietly receded, and the world returned to its normal pace.

The “bullet time” he had just experienced was no mere adrenaline-fueled hallucination at the brink of death; Allen might truly have received some form of divine blessing.

“Haha… how foolish I’ve been. If I had only yielded sooner, would I have died in vain 999 times?”

“No matter. For now, this is how it is. I’ve survived, and I intend to keep on surviving! Oh, merciful and cruel Lord, I look forward to your continued guidance!”

Allen’s promise to the deity was, surprisingly, earnest.

If deities truly existed, Allen believed he should maintain a pragmatic and realistic stance.

‘I can negotiate, and I can love God!’

‘As long as the cheats are sufficient, anything is negotiable!’

****

“CRASH—!!!”

The room door was violently kicked open with brute force!

“Son! Your old man is here to save you!!!”

Viscount Bernard de Laval, clad in ill-fitting, crooked old armor, brandishing a ceremonial saber more decorative than practical, burst in with a troop of tense, sharp-bladed mercenaries trailing behind him, their presence radiating a formidable aura.

They then beheld a hellish scene: shattered furniture, bloodstains covering the floor, two corpses, and Allen, slumped in a pool of blood, drenched head to toe as if he had crawled straight from the underworld.

“My son—!!!!” Bernard de Laval’s mournful wail instantly rent the air as he scrambled to Allen’s side, embracing him tightly, tears and snot streaming down his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have believed your nonsense! Saying you could handle it all by yourself… it’s all my fault! How could I have been so deluded as to let you face those cold-blooded beasts alone! If anything happened to you, our family line would truly be severed forever!”

Allen, nearly choked by his father’s embrace, gasped, “Cough… Father… let go… Your son isn’t dead yet… though you’re about to strangle him… And hurry, get me out of here! This room is poisoned!”

“Ah? Oh, oh, oh, oh!” Bernard de Laval, as if waking from a trance, frantically helped Allen up and began dragging him out, all while roaring at the mercenaries, “What are you staring at?! Cover us! Cover my son’s retreat!”

After closing the bedroom door, thick with the stench of blood and poison, Allen tore off his plague doctor mask and leaned against the cold wall, barely managing to stand.

Ignoring his body’s exhaustion and pain, he urgently inquired, “What’s the situation? Is everyone in the household safe?”

“No, no!” Bernard de Laval exclaimed, patting his chest with lingering fear. “Everyone followed your instructions; the servants were sent to hide in the cellar beforehand. Good heavens, it’s a blessing you told me about the cultists’ arrival right after you woke up!”

“The lads I secretly hired really came through. They caught those fanatics off guard, inflicting heavy casualties, but every single one of them fought like madmen, refusing to surrender even to the last man… truly a bunch of lunatics!” He wiped a bead of cold sweat from his brow. “Son, tell your old man honestly, how did you know those fanatics were coming tonight? Was it truly a divine revelation?”

Allen wearily waved a hand, his gaze as sharp as a blade. “I told you it was a divine revelation. Would our God deceive His own people? I was just saved by Him a moment ago!”

‘As for which deity had saved him, he would set that aside for now!’

‘Be it a righteous god or an evil one, as long as they provided cheats, they were a good god!’

“Father, what did the Inquisition say?”

“The old butler went to inform them, but they didn’t believe it at first, thinking some drunk noble had gone mad. But guess what? Not long after, the slaughterhouse in the lower district erupted! The Inquisitors really clashed with the cultists!”

Bernard de Laval whispered, “I heard the Inquisition caught a ‘big fish,’ but they accidentally let them escape! Now the entire capital is under lockdown, and the butler just returned, saying a squad of fully armed, menacing Inquisitors is heading our way!”

Allen was not surprised by this outcome.

The Blood Priest of the capital was incredibly troublesome; even Livia von Stern had suffered considerably at their hands in the early stages.

The Inquisition, unprepared as they were, naturally couldn’t easily apprehend them.

However, having lost their main stronghold, they would likely lie low for a while and wouldn’t trouble Allen anytime soon.

A cold, ruthless smile inadvertently curved Allen’s lips.

He knew where the opponent might be hiding; once his combat strength increased, he would simply kill them.

‘Speaking of which… there’s one more hidden danger to resolve…’

“Where is Marianne?” Allen suddenly asked, his voice betraying a hint of imperceptible tension. “Is she alright?”

Bernard de Laval paused, then a knowing, somewhat lewd smile spread across his face.

“Oh? Marianne? She’s fine, perfectly fine! When I came looking for you just now, I saw her heading towards the courtyard, saying she was worried enemies might jump out your window to escape and wanted to keep an eye on things.”

Bernard de Laval winked conspiratorially. “Heh heh, Son, have you finally come to your senses and started caring about the head maid? Good taste! That girl might be a bit cold, but I could tell she was a good catch from the moment I saw her…”

Allen ignored his father’s gossip, a flicker of cold killing intent flashing deep within his eyes.

He didn’t know what role Marianne had played in tonight’s attack, but her withholding of information was tantamount to complicity.

Had he not received divine blessing, he would now be a corpse.

‘But this Future Sight… how exactly does it work?’

Allen couldn’t replicate the previous operation; it seemed his cheat was merely a trial card, automatically revoked upon expiration.

Allen, however, wasn’t disappointed.

Ultimately, survival depended on himself; he couldn’t risk his life every single time.

If he didn’t learn to mitigate risks, even with a permanent cheat from a deity, he would eventually meet his downfall.

Of course, a cheat of Livia von Stern’s caliber was an entirely different matter.

‘A myriad of martial arts, all boil down to stats.’

‘If stats were high enough that no one could break through defenses, then naturally, there was no fear of failure.’

‘Damn it, Livia von Stern! Tonight, I nearly met a death ending, and I’ll lay the blame for that at your feet!’

‘We’re playing the same game, so why are your cheats a hundred times more privileged than mine?!’

‘I get a casual trial card; if others discover any anomalies, my account gets instantly banned.’

‘You get a custom DMA, not only can you openly use cheats, but if you’re reported, you even have a backend acting as your shield.’

‘Why? Just because you’re the dev team’s favored daughter?’

‘Hmph, I can’t do anything to you now, but your childhood friend… she’s in my hands.’

Suppressing his villainous smirk, Allen sternly addressed Bernard de Laval, “I have something to discuss with her. Father, please stay with the mercenaries; there might still be stragglers in the house, so be careful.”

“No! It’s too dangerous! Son, you’re so badly injured; your old man will go with you!”

Bernard de Laval’s heart ached at the sight of his son, drenched in blood.

“Father.”

Allen’s voice was utterly calm, yet the aura he instantly exuded caused the surrounding air to thicken.

His blood-smeared face was devoid of expression, his dark eyes bottomless, like an Asura newly risen from mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

That cold, palpable aura of oppression made even the seasoned mercenaries instinctively tighten their grip on their weapons.

Bernard de Laval, in particular, was so awestruck by this aura, one he had never witnessed in his son before, that he was rendered speechless.

“I said, I will go alone.” Allen enunciated each word, almost a command. “Please, listen to me.”

“…Alright… alright… I’ll listen to you, I’ll listen to you,” Bernard de Laval swallowed, nodding awkwardly.

He watched his son, clutching the still-dripping noble longsword, walk with a somewhat unsteady yet exceptionally resolute gait towards the depths of the courtyard, disappearing into the shadows.

****

Moonlight, like liquid silver, spilled across the Laval family’s reasonably spacious courtyard, coating it in a cool, silvery sheen.

Allen soon spotted the figure.

Marianne stood silently in the center of the courtyard under the moonlight, her back to him.

The night breeze ruffled her smooth dark hair, and beneath the cool moonlight, her thin maid’s dress outlined her slender yet straight back, like a fragile porcelain figurine.

She had been waiting there for a long time.

“Hello, Marianne, long time no see.”

Allen’s slightly trembling voice broke the stillness.

He struggled to control his facial muscles, attempting to form an innocuous smile.

Yet, as his expression mirrored his inner state, only a bloodthirsty indifference settled on Allen’s face.

Marianne slowly turned around.

The moonlight clearly illuminated her exquisitely beautiful yet utterly bloodless face.

Her eyes, like deep pools, were utterly calm, without a single ripple, as she quietly watched Allen, drenched in blood and radiating killing intent.

“Young Master Allen.” Her voice was cool and devoid of emotion. “It is truly wonderful to see you so lively and well.”

The greeting sounded sincere, yet it carried a hint of cold irony.

Allen sensed a dark humor in Marianne’s calm demeanor, and so he tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a cruel and frigid smile:

“Is that so? I thought you’d be quite disappointed. Surprised? Not only am I not dead, but I’ve also slaughtered all your accomplices.”

He deliberately emphasized the word “accomplices.”

Marianne’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

She remained silent for several seconds, her long eyelashes trembling slightly. Finally, a trace of weary relief flickered in her deep, pool-like eyes.

“When did you know?” she finally spoke, her voice as faint as a breeze.

“I knew it in my dreams.” Allen, disinclined to waste words, laid out his trump card directly. “I’ve informed the ‘Blood Priest’ lurking in the capital that you have betrayed the cult.”

With that, Allen abruptly advanced on Marianne, his killing intent now barely concealed.

A flicker of panic crossed Marianne’s eyes, and she instinctively retreated a few steps.

“If I’m not mistaken, the False Mark on your body has become inert, hasn’t it? He’s reclaimed your power, hasn’t he?”

Marianne’s pupils constricted sharply, her lips pressed bloodless, yet she stubbornly refused to answer, merely staring fixedly at Allen with eyes full of complex emotions.

“No answer? Then I’ll have to confirm it myself.”

Allen sneered, suddenly reaching out and roughly grabbing the collar of Marianne’s maid’s dress!

Marianne trembled all over but offered no resistance.

She closed her eyes in despair, her long eyelashes fluttering violently like the wings of a dying butterfly, her pearly teeth biting tightly into her lower lip.

Marianne had not directly participated in the attack on the Laval household.

Yet, allowing the Laval family to fall into peril was no different from personally slaughtering them.

The Demon Young Master’s violence merely inflicted physical pain, but her inaction had aimed to wipe out an entire family.

She awaited judgment, awaited death, as an act of atonement.

However, the anticipated brutality did not come.

Allen merely roughly tore open the front of her dress, exposing a small patch of skin beneath her collarbone, his gaze sharply scrutinizing it.

The skin there was fair and delicate, without any trace of a False Mark transplant or mutated flesh. He quickly checked other parts of her body; aside from some lingering bruises, he found nothing.

Then, Allen crouched down, one hand firmly supporting her calf, the other decisively pulling down her white over-the-knee sock to the very end!

The removed stocking was like a cruel curtain being drawn back.

The girl’s slender ankle and the lower part of her thigh were exposed to the cool air, and to Allen’s suddenly constricted pupils.

What should have been fair and delicate skin was covered in large, shocking bruises! Deep purple, dark red, greenish-yellow… new and old scars layered upon each other, like ugly moss, grotesquely clinging there.

These silent imprints spoke of the violence she had endured.

Allen’s heart sank abruptly, and guilt, like a cold tide, instantly washed away 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 Scarlet Spiral Cult.

He quickly checked Marianne’s left leg, which was similarly covered in old and new bruises, and also bore no trace of a False Mark.

Allen let out a long, silent breath.

He stood up, his movements unexpectedly becoming somewhat clumsy and gentle.

He carefully adjusted Marianne’s torn-open dress and even tried to help her put back on the sock he had pulled down, but then seemed to deem it inappropriate and gave up.

“It appears the False Mark on your body has indeed become inert.” Allen’s voice was much lower, no longer bearing its former aggressiveness. “He’s reclaimed your power and severed his connection with you. As long as you don’t act foolishly and proactively reveal your identity, the Inquisitors won’t discover your involvement with the cult.”

He looked at Marianne’s astonished expression and said without any emotion, “Marianne, congratulations, you get to live.”

“…”

Marianne was completely stunned.

She stared at the young master before her, drenched in blood, who moments ago had seemed like a god of slaughter, her mind a blank.

Not kill her? Why?

She had envisioned countless endings: brutal murder by the enraged young master, being burned alive by the Inquisition, or silenced by the cult… but “living” was never one of them.

“Wh-why…” Her voice was dry and trembling, filled with incredulous bewilderment. “Why won’t you kill me?! I… I almost caused the death of everyone here!”

‘Kill you?’

‘How could I dare?!’

A thousand horses galloped through Allen’s mind.

He had indeed tried to kill main characters in other cycles, but every time he succeeded, the world’s deepest malice would immediately teach him a harsh lesson!

A minor villain killing a main character? That would be a super plot-breaking point in any story!

Marianne’s identity was especially unique; she was Livia von Stern—that peerless heroine’s most important childhood friend!

Kill Marianne? That would be like carving “instant death” onto his forehead!

Once Livia von Stern arrived tomorrow, Allen de Laval could directly book the VIP Hell Tour package.

Under the rule where Livia was the “center of the world,” offending her was akin to making an enemy of the entire world.

Keeping Marianne alive, alive as his maid, was far more valuable than a cold corpse!

She was Allen’s most crucial hostage; even if Livia von Stern still wanted to kill him, for Marianne’s sake, she would have to reconsider.

As a villain, one must discard personal likes and dislikes, and ruthlessly exploit everyone. Even if the other party was an enemy who had once killed them!

This was Allen’s way of survival as a villain.