Edit Chapter 380

How To Survive In The Romance Fantasy Game

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The atmosphere was frosty and cold, the air thick with the scent of blood and steel.
A thick fog clung to the battlefield, swirling like ghostly tendrils as the remains of the once-pristine white plains lay stained in deep black and crimson.
"Huff… Huff…"
A weary breath escaped from beneath the dented helmet of a White Knight.
A thin wisp of smoke curled into the frozen air, a stark contrast to the warmth of blood seeping into the ground beneath him.
His arms trembled as he forced himself up, his gauntlets grinding against the shattered remnants of his fallen comrades' weapons.
And before him stood the very monster responsible for this massacre.
"Hm~ in the end, this is all you amount to?"
The voice that spoke was drenched in mockery and amusement.
"Can't say I'm too disappointed~ but I'm not too surprised by the outcome either~"
A pair of luminous, slitted eyes gleamed amidst the mist, filled with an almost childlike mirth as they peered down upon the broken knight.
The knight's grip around his sword tightened.
"You wretched beast…"
A chuckle.
"My~ my~ thanks for the compliment~"
The smirk that curled on Cheshire's monstrous face was neither cruel nor kind—it was simply entertained.
The cat stood there, unscathed, its crimson fur shimmering in the pale, eerie light of the battlefield.
The creature's long, striped tail flicked lazily as if this entire fight had been nothing more than a game—a mildly amusing diversion that had, by now, grown stale.
Tristan, one of the very few Primaris of the White Queen, stood his ground despite his body screaming at him to fall.
His sword remained planted in the ruined earth, a symbol of defiance rather than strength.
His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, the deep white glow within his helmet flickering as he focused all his remaining willpower on the being before him.
He could still hear their voices.
Felix. Gawain. Mordred. Bedivere.
His comrades.
Loyal subjects of their queen. Representatives of her might.
And yet, even with the full might of the Primaris Order, they had failed.
The blood of his brethren pooled beneath him, soaking into his armor, a reminder of their failure.
They had fought for an entire day, their blades clashing against this monstrous being in an unrelenting storm of steel, magic, and willpower.
Yet, what had it amounted to?
Not even a scratch.
A part of him couldn't help but wonder—would the outcome have been different if Sir Hatter and the Grand Mage Merlin had been present?
Would their combined might have been enough to tip the scales?
Or was this battle doomed from the very start?
But that was a question he would never know the answer to.
Because now, all that remained was him—the last knight standing.
And the crimson beast before him, smiling as if this was nothing more than a delightful tale with a predetermined ending.
Although the outcome was disappointing, it had not been unexpected.
From the very beginning, they had known—deep down—that this mission had a high chance of failure.
And yet…
A part of him felt relieved.
At the very least, they had managed to complete the second part of their mission—the contingency plan, should things take a turn for the worse.
Even if they died here, their efforts would not be in vain.
But now, standing before him, towering like a small mountain, was the very reason they had failed.
Cheshire.
The monstrous cat was a walking calamity, his very presence distorting the world around him.
Reality twisted and bent in his wake, the sheer density of the red energy surrounding him warping the fabric of space itself.
With each step, the ground trembled.
The air cracked.
The weight of his power pressed down like an inescapable vice, suffocating all those who dared stand before him.
And then, with a simple flick of his clawed paw—
Dozens of severed heads began to float, circling the kneeling knight like a macabre halo.
Tristan froze.
He didn't need to look to know who they belonged to.
Felix. Gawain. Mordred. Bedivere.
His comrades. His brothers-in-arms.
Cheshire tilted his head, watching Tristan with an amused, mocking smile.
"Any last words?"
The knight's grip on his sword tightened.
He forced himself to breathe, to remain composed.
"Soon… all realms shall bend to our Majesty's will… Bend the knee, oh Guardian of Red, and perhaps your Queen may yet be spared…"
His voice was steady. Unwavering.
A declaration, not a plea.
But Cheshire only chuckled.
"Tsk~ I guess fighting in my realm made you lose all your brain cells?"
The cat's crimson eyes gleamed with sharp amusement as his striped tail lazily flicked behind him.
"Well then~ I suppose I should make it clear… I don't think you guys ever had a chance to begin with~"
Tristan ignored the taunts.
Instead, he gathered the last vestiges of his strength—the remnants of his very essence, the final embers of his soul.
His Queen's blessing ignited within him, and for the first time since the battle began, he stood tall once more.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.
His white armor, once pristine, now shattered and soaked in blood, gleamed with a final, desperate light.
This was it.
If he was to fall, he would fall fighting.
With a roar that shook the battlefield, Tristan swung his sword.
"HAAAGHH!!!"
A surge of unfathomable power erupted from his blade, a final, defiant act—
But then—
BOOOOSHHH!!!
A giant crimson paw came crashing down.
The air split apart, his power scattered like dust.
And in that instant—
His entire body crumbled.
Like ash swept away by the wind.
His strength. His will. His very existence—reduced to nothing.
Cheshire sighed, his grin never faltering, though his eyes held the faintest flicker of something else.
Something almost… wistful.
"You know… I actually quite liked you, before she turned you into one of her little toys, Tristan~"
The cat's massive form shrunk, taking a step back as he observed the last remnants of the knight's being dissolving into the void.
His tail flicked once, then twice, before he softly muttered—
"I hope you're free in your next life~"
A smirk. A whisper.
"Well… if there even is one."
And with that, the last flicker of white faded into red.
Cheshire's sharp crimson eyes narrowed as he watched the last embers of a being he had once called a friend fade into nothingness.
Tristan was gone.
And yet, even in death, Cheshire refused to offer him any courtesy.
To show mercy would have been an insult.
Not to Tristan—but to the respect he had for him.
If their positions had been reversed, he knew Tristan would have done the same.
That was just how things were.
The smirk lingering on Cheshire's lips slowly faded, his gigantic form shrinking as his overwhelming presence receded.
In mere moments, the towering guardian of red was gone—
And in his place stood the lovable, deceptively harmless-looking cat he was known for.
Cheshire rolled his shoulders, stretching his limbs lazily before letting out a low chuckle.
"Although everything went well… they really got me, huh~?"
His voice, light and playful as ever, barely masked the exhaustion creeping into his tone.
With a flick of his tongue, he licked his wounds—ones that weren't visible to the naked eye.
But to those who could see beyond the physical—those attuned to the deeper layers of reality—
He must have looked like a dead man walking.
His once limitless authority was now dwindling.
The energy within him, the power that had once warped space itself, was now slowly bleeding away.
Blocking the leakage wasn't the issue.
Fixing his broken essence—his very soul—was another matter entirely.
"...It was probably Mr. Hatter who devised this plan."
He exhaled, ears twitching as he gazed into the empty, bloodstained battlefield.
A slow, knowing grin returned to his face, though this time, it carried a sharp edge of bitterness.
"How cruel~"
His voice, usually laced with amusement, now held a tinge of something else.
"Just for some old cat, they really went this far…?"
He placed a paw over his heart.
The moment he did—
A deep, cold resonance echoed through him.
And then, in a flash of unnatural light, a sword began to take shape.
The [Vorpal Sword].
A blade that should have long been lost.
A weapon that had once belonged to his former master.
A sword designed for one sole purpose—
To kill beings like him.
His red pupils contracted; the glow of the sword reflected in his eyes.
"...How nostalgic."
He grinned.
And despite the pain, despite the damage, despite the wound still lodged deep in his soul—
Cheshire couldn't help but laugh.
Although he was a crazy cat who could bend reality itself, this was one of those realities he couldn't change.
The sword's poison would soon reach his soul.
And when it did—
He would die.
Slowly, Cheshire's body drifted downward, his once-commanding presence fading with each passing moment.
As his paws finally touched the ground, the very fabric of his domain—[Wonderland]—began to unravel.
The red-stained, warped landscape—an illusion shaped by his will—dissipated into thin air.
And in its place, the pristine white of this realm returned.
The White Queen's domain.
His eyelids grew heavy.
Tired.
Nauseous.
In pain.
It wasn't just the kind of pain that seeped into flesh and bones—
It was deeper than that.
Like something was rotting inside him.
He felt every uncomfortable sensation in the world at once, pressing against him like an unrelenting tide.
A part of him wondered if he was hallucinating—
Because standing just a few steps away…
Was Alice.
Not the Alice of today—
But the young, wide-eyed Alice from long ago.
"...Tch."
Cheshire let out a breathy chuckle, his tail lazily flicking behind him.
Maybe it was just a trick of the mind.
Maybe he was just thinking about his master too much.
"Heh~ Even now, I can't get you out of my head, huh…?"
His voice was hoarse, his grin weaker than before.
Yet, even as his body threatened to give out, his mind remained sharp.
His thoughts drifted to the sword still lodged in his chest.
The [Vorpal Sword].
A weapon not just anyone could lay their hands on.
The fact that it was here, in the hands of the White Queen's forces, meant only two things—
One, they had killed the Jabberwocky and stolen it from its corpse.
Two, the dragon had allied with them.
And between the two…
Cheshire prayed it was the former.
Because if it was the latter—
If that bloody dragon had switched sides—
Then things were far worse than he thought.
"Tch… That would be a pain."
His gaze flickered upward, his ever-changing pupils dimming slightly.
But if it was the first option—if they had actually fought and killed the Jabberwocky—
Then the White Queen must have personally taken that risk.
She must have thrown herself into battle against that ancient, bloodthirsty monster.
She wouldn't have won without sacrifice.
She wouldn't have walked away unscathed.
If she had done it alone, then—
She must have lost at least half of her mana in the process.
That, at least, was the best-case scenario.
Cheshire smirked, ignoring the searing pain in his core.
"They really got us..."
Cheshire's voice carried a mix of amusement and irritation, a wry grin pulling at the corners of his mouth before fading just as quickly.
He had always known this war was coming.
He had always known the enemy was on the move.
But even with all his foresight, even with all his preparations—
He hadn't expected them to be this ready.
It wasn't as if he had been neglectful.
No, he had spent years anticipating this inevitable clash with the White Queen.
But even now, he couldn't quite understand what had triggered this sudden shift in events.
Something had changed.
And it had changed too fast.
By all logic, the White Queen still shouldn't have regained most of her divinity.
She shouldn't have been ready to make her move.
Yet here they were.
And that alone told him that something unexpected had happened.
A disturbance, an anomaly—something that had forced her hand.
"Tch." Cheshire clicked his tongue and shook his head, ears twitching in irritation.
Pointless.
There was no use trying to think like an uncultured white mug.
That woman's mind was a labyrinth, and he had no interest in playing her games.
"Damn it... I really can't move now, can I?"
His voice dripped with annoyance as he plopped onto the ground, limbs sprawled out like a lazy house cat.
But this wasn't the time to rest.
He needed to get out of here.
And he needed to do it fast.
The fact that he had been ambushed like this—trapped in a carefully laid-out scheme—meant only one thing.
Alice was their real target.
His red eyes narrowed.
She was in grave danger.
Alice was strong—incredibly strong.
He trusted her with his entire being.
But right now—she was far too unstable.
The Crown she wore.
The Crimson Heart inside her.
Neither had fully awakened yet.
And without him there to balance her mana and divinity levels—
Without his presence stabilizing her—
She wouldn't just lose control.
She might die.
Cheshire closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
His injuries didn't matter.
His exhaustion didn't matter.
Because if Alice fell to her own strength—
If she lost herself to the very power that was meant to save her—
Then none of this would matter in the end.
The likelihood of Alice being ambushed like him wasn't low.
In fact, it was extremely high.
Which meant she could already be inside the White Realm, just like him.
And if she wasn't—
She would definitely be on her way here.
Cheshire knew his master far too well to think otherwise.
"Tch. That stubborn fool..." He muttered under his breath.
Alice never knew when to back down.
If she thought for even a second that he was in danger, she wouldn't hesitate—she'd charge straight into the enemy's domain without a second thought.
"It would be great if she brought Riley along..." Cheshire mused, his ears flicking in irritation.
But then, his sharp crimson eyes darkened.
"But knowing her selfishness, knowing how she refuses to burden others... I doubt she'd put him in danger."
A sigh escaped him.
If Riley was with her, Cheshire's worries would have been significantly lessened.
But of course, that was too good to be true.
Alice had a bad habit of shouldering everything alone.
That girl—that reckless, stubborn girl—
Would rather risk her own life than let anyone else suffer.
Cheshire clenched his jaw, shaking his head.
Right now, he had no time to dwell on what-ifs.
He didn't know why the White Queen hadn't bothered finishing him off.
She had every opportunity to kill him in this weakened state—so why didn't she?
Was she toying with him?
Was she saving him for something worse?
Or...
Was he simply not worth her time?
Either way, it didn't matter.
This was his only chance.
He had to move now.
Gathering the remaining mana he could safely use, Cheshire lifted himself off the ground.
Pain.
It surged through every fiber of his being, burning, tearing, threatening to rip his very essence apart.
But he ignored it.
His crimson eyes snapped open—
Right now, establishing contact with Alice was the top priority.
If he could just open a portal—
If he could just create a shortcut—
It would take an irreversible toll on him, but he was already dying anyway.
So, he might as well risk it.
His claws gleamed in the dim light as he raised his paws, the very fabric of space and time warping at his will.
Just a little more—
But then—
A voice.
"Cheshire...."
Cheshire froze.
His fur stood on end.
His ears twitched.
Slowly—hesitantly— he turned.
His breath caught in his throat.
His sharp crimson eyes widened—so wide they nearly popped out of his eyelids.
"R-Riley?!?!"
"H-How...?"
So many questions crashed into Cheshire's mind at once, but one stood out above all the rest—
How was Riley here?
His ears twitched, his tail stiffened.
Alice.
Had Alice brought Riley here?
No.
He would've immediately noticed if she had.
His master wasn't anywhere in sight.
Which meant—
This wasn't Alice's doing.
And that realization sent a strange chill down his spine.
Before Cheshire could fully process the situation, Riley stepped forward, closing the distance between them with his usual, infuriatingly calm demeanor.
Then, without hesitation, he grabbed him.
"—?!"
For a moment, Cheshire tensed, but then—
A blinding golden light spread from Riley's hands.
Warmth.
Gentle, overwhelming warmth.
Cheshire's body, which had been on the brink of total collapse, suddenly felt... lighter.
The pain—
The agony that had been crushing him—
Faded.
Slowly, his strength returned.
Even the cursed Vorpal Sword, still embedded in his chest, began to spark and flicker—as if it were fighting for its own survival.
Cheshire's crimson eyes widened.
"This is... Divinity?"
His gaze snapped to Riley.
His voice was almost a whisper.
"Riley, you—"
"I know you have a lot of questions, but those can wait."
Riley's grip tightened, and his blue eyes turned sharp.
"For now—where is Alice?"
Cheshire frowned.
His ears twitched in irritation.
Of course, Riley was worried about Alice before anything else.
He sighed, flicking his tail.
"...I'd like to know that myself."
His sharp teeth bared in frustration.
"Those white bastards ambushed me before I could even react—took me straight to this damned place yesterday."
He tilted his head slightly, glancing at the bodies of the White Knights scattered behind him.
Riley followed his gaze.
"I see."
His voice was calm—too calm.
But before Cheshire could call him out on it, the energy behind Riley's hands suddenly shifted.
It became denser.
Stronger.
Cheshire's fur bristled as he felt something unfamiliar wash over him—something pure.
Something overwhelming.
His wounds—
His pain—
It was barely even registering anymore.
Cheshire's crimson eyes trembled.
This warmth...
He had never—
Never—
Felt anything like it before.
It was like being embraced by something far beyond his understanding.
And then—
Riley reached for the Vorpal Sword in Cheshire's chest.
No hesitation.
The blade twitched.
It resisted.
Fought back.
But against Riley's building Divine Power—
It was utterly powerless.
Cheshire watched in stunned silence.
For the first time in a long time, he felt something strange bubbling in his chest—
Awe.
This boy.
No.
This man.
Cheshire suddenly understood.
He finally understood why all those girls—
Alice. Seo. Rose. Snow. And more…
Why they all fell for him.
Riley was too damn cool.
As his body heated up, a thick puff of grey smoke exploded around him.
-Poof!
In an instant—
The small, floating cat with reality-bending powers was gone.
And in his place—
A breathtakingly beautiful young woman.
Long, silky black hair cascaded over her shoulders.
A dangerously sharp smirk played at her lips, her red eyes glinting with mischief.
Her voice, now smooth and sultry, purred—
"Riley, do you want to fuc—"
-SHINK!!!!
Cheshire's entire body jerked as Riley suddenly—without a word—
Shoved the sword right back into her chest.
"W-WAIT—!!"
Her face contorted in pain, her eyes tearing up instantly.
"W-What are you d-d— OW! OW!! STOP—!!"
"OKAY, OKAY—!! I'M SORRY—!!"
"IT WAS A JOKE, ALRIGHT?! A JOKE—!!"

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Word Count: 3,269

Character Count: 19,231

Reading Time: 17 minutes

Translation Status

Status: Completed

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Last Modified

Updated: Oct 21, 2025 13:31

Created: Oct 21, 2025 13:31