Edit Chapter 407

How To Survive In The Romance Fantasy Game

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Barely, but enough.
Of course, he would've preferred to have his top subordinates still alive. Losing them—those years of careful grooming, the forged loyalty, the cultivated madness—it stung.
But beggars couldn't be choosers now.
Survival was the highest currency, and regret would buy him nothing.
He'd work with what he had.
And what he had… was still dangerous.
Because he remained hidden in plain sight.
A professor—respected, unassuming, even admired by some of his students.
And as long as he remained in that position, the last remaining threads of their cult could still slither in from the outside world.
Slowly.
Quietly.
A drop at a time.
If he played it right, he could rebuild.
That meant avoiding recklessness.
The principal was a hawk in sheep's clothing, and the last thing he needed was to draw her attention. If she started digging, he wasn't sure even he could survive it.
Caution was key now.
"I'll need to cut a few tails,"
The scent of demonic energy still lingered in places he didn't like—in broken corridors, beneath stone tiles, and in the minds of the few who had seen too much.
All of it needed to be cleaned, burned, silenced.
If done right, the Saintess and her self-righteous little band would believe they'd truly won.
Right now, it was clear his enemies think they were all wiped out… and that was his advantage right now.
And although he was forced to stay in the shadows for now—masked behind lectures and false smiles—he knew he couldn't remain idle forever.
Even peace, when prolonged, becomes a noose.
He had to move, and move decisively.
Because even a still blade can slit a throat when no one sees it coming.
"Now who among those dogs is guiding the goddess's wench?"
Time after time, the saintess had appeared exactly when she shouldn't have—where she couldn't possibly be—and cut the cord just before it snapped around her neck.
At first, he had assumed divine intervention.
It would've made sense.
After all, she was the so-called chosen of the Goddess—blessed, pure, revered by fools.
Perhaps the goddess herself had placed an eye directly on the mortal plane, guiding her beloved pet.
But the more he thought about it, the more he discarded that theory.
No divine being would directly interfere so consistently in the human realm. It was forbidden by the natural laws, tethered by the divine accords.
No matter how favored the Saintess was, no god could walk beside her that often without consequence.
No.
There was a different answer.
A more… human answer.
Which meant there was someone—something—within her circle.
A guide? A spy?
A piece moving against him from inside the game board.
And that someone needed to die.
His expression twisted with quiet rage; jaw clenched as he paced the shattered remnants of his once-pristine room.
He could almost feel the presence of that hidden force, smirking behind their veil of innocence, always one step ahead of him.
He already had suspicions.
It was likely one of her precious friends—those naive, insufferable fools who followed her like lost puppies.
At least one of them wasn't what they appeared to be.
They were the variable, the aberration.
He could not allow such a piece to remain on the board.
Yes, killing a student would be a risky move.
It would draw attention, cause waves, possibly delay their long-term objectives.
The faculty and the principal especially would be on alert.
But he was no longer in a position to hesitate.
The cult had already taken enough damage. If he didn't act now—didn't sever the bleeding root—they might never recover.
And what was a single student, compared to the grand resurrection they pursued?
"I'll find you… and I'll crush you before you whisper your next—"
"My next what~?"
The voice was playful.
Sweet.
And chilling.
His body froze.
Asmond's eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping him as he instinctively took a step back.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to run.
It wasn't just instinct. It was survival—pure, primal panic flooding his nerves like wildfire.
Red mana surged violently from his core, encasing him in an aura of barely-contained power.
He looked around, wild-eyed, searching for the source of the voice—of the threat.
But there was no threat.
No blade pressed against his skin.
No bloodlust filled the air.
No killing intent.
Yet… it felt as though death had already wrapped its fingers around his throat.
He found her then.
Standing beneath the pale wash of moonlight that poured through his shattered window.
A student.
His mind reeled.
What the hell was a student doing here?
She couldn't have been older than eighteen, her silhouette framed perfectly by the gentle light.
She wore the standard uniform of the Academy's top class in the magic department, crisp and proper, yet something about the way she wore it felt wrong.
Too composed.
Too effortless.
Golden blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders like liquid light, catching the glow of the moon and dancing with it.
Her posture was graceful, delicate even—yet unwavering.
And those eyes.
Piercing blue, like twin gemstones carved from winter's heart.
She wasn't afraid.
Not even a little.
"Good evening, Professor Asmond Verteli," she said with a smile, her voice smooth and almost melodic. "The night is quite beautiful, isn't it?"
She tilted her head slightly, gazing out the window at the moonlit sky as if she'd merely stumbled upon him during a stroll.
As if she hadn't just appeared out of thin air in the middle of a high-ranking demonic cultist's private chamber.
Asmond's breath caught in his throat.
How did she get in? How long had she been here?
"Who are you?" he barked, his voice rougher than intended. "How did you get inside?"
But the girl only smiled wider.
"Oh my~ rushing things, are we? It's our first time meeting, Professor. Don't you think it would be more beneficial to get to know one another first?"
Her gaze finally left the stars and returned to him—those ice-blue eyes sharp enough to cut steel now.
She took a single step forward.
And Asmond felt himself step back again.
Not from fear, he told himself.
Not from weakness.
But the air around her had changed.
Subtly.
Dangerously.
Like a calm before the storm that never came, but promised it would.
"What do you want?" he hissed, trying to keep his composure as his fingers curled, ready to unleash his mana at a moment's notice.
"What do I want…?" she echoed, tapping a delicate finger against her chin as though considering it for the first time.
Then she smiled again, sweetly.
"Maybe I'm here to see if you're still worth the effort."
Asmond's gaze bore into the girl's face, his mind still scrambling to comprehend the sudden twist of events.
His thoughts were scattered, hazy with confusion and alarm.
Who was this?
Why did she feel so familiar?
Then it clicked.
Not all at once, but like a fog being peeled back, revealing what was always there.
"I've seen you…" he muttered, voice low. "You're the wench always trailing behind the Saintess…"
The student's smile widened, but not in offense. If anything, she seemed mildly entertained.
"Calling the Saintess a 'wench' is a bit much, don't you think?" she said with a soft laugh. "Sure, she's clumsy sometimes, but she's not that bad. Fufu~"
The sheer casualness of her words — the way she stood, arms behind her back, as if strolling through a garden and not standing in the chambers of one of the academy's most dangerous hidden threats — only enraged Asmond further.
His eyes flared with red light, demonic energy coiling and crackling like a storm barely restrained.
"Die."
With a word and a flick of his wrist, a spear of condensed miasma shot forward.
[Hell Lance!]
SWOOOSHHH!!!
A violent shriek echoed through the chamber as the weapon tore through the air, faster than most people could hope to dodge.
It was built to kill.
Built to burn the soul of whatever it touched.
But the moment it reached her—
-FWOOSH.
The spear disintegrated into a flurry of glowing blue butterflies.
-FIZZLE..!
-FIZZLE..!
Dozens of them.
They fluttered harmlessly through the room, gentle light particles shedding from their wings, beautiful and serene like a spring dream.
Asmond's jaw slackened, and his breath hitched in his throat.
His attack… was gone?
He barely noticed her raise her right hand, now held slightly outward, palm up.
A faint shimmer of power glowed from her skin.
A glowing blue rune pulsed softly at the center of her palm, its geometric form elegant, ancient, and alive.
"Runic transmutation?"
Asmond muttered in disbelief, his voice hoarse.
He stared at the symbol, unable to tear his eyes away.
That rune — it hadn't just nullified his attack, it had rewritten it. Reforged the destructive demonic energy into harmless light.
Only a few mages in the known world could use runic magic to any competent degree — it was a discipline so rare, so sacred, that even the principal of the academy, the most proficient mage Asmond had ever met, could only manage its application after extensive preparation.
He doubted even the Golden Brilliance could use runes that efficiently...
But this girl—
She did it like she was swatting a fly.
No chant.
No casting circle.
No preparation.
She had simply lifted her hand.
This wasn't supposed to be possible.
"…Who are you?" Asmond asked again, but this time, his voice was quieter.
Not out of curiosity — out of fear.
The girl's eyes sparkled with amusement as she stepped forward.
"Now, now, Professor, didn't I say we should get to know each other first?"
How?
How had he never heard of her before?
Asmond's mind scrambled as he took several steps back.
His breathing was ragged now, not from exertion, but from disbelief—panic, even.
She was definitely a student.
He had seen her before, somewhere in the halls, always quietly standing near the Saintess.
But he'd never paid her much attention.
Now that he thought about it...
'Why did I always ignore her presence?'
It was as if she was just supposed to be naturally there...
But now, he couldn't ignore her presence.
Not when she was standing like this, with power radiating from her so effortlessly, mocking him with her very existence.
Who was she, really?
He didn't know, but what he did know was this:
He needed to survive.
He needed to escape.
Now.
If she truly was a proficient Runic user, then she wasn't just dangerous — she was potentially one of the few threats capable of nullifying both demonic and divine powers.
The Mystic Arts were rare — some even forbidden— and those who mastered it were regarded as aberrations by most magic scholars. Unpredictable.
"Haah!"
[Demonic Miasma]
With a furious roar, Asmond released a pulse of demonic energy.
The chamber was instantly swallowed in a thick, writhing veil of darkness, the kind that devoured sound and light alike.
It twisted like smoke but carried weight — pressure.
Shadows that could blind, bind, and confuse.
It would buy him a few seconds.
That was all he needed.
He turned, leapt toward the window, ready to dissolve into the shadows that waited just beyond the frame.
'I can always build a new identity. Hide. Regroup. Regrow. I still have pawns. I still have time—'
CRACK!
"—Urk!"
His entire body was thrown back mid-jump, like a ragdoll hurled by a catapult.
He smashed against the ground, the impact rattling his bones and leaving him stunned.
Pain bloomed across his back like lightning.
What…?
He had hit something.
No — he had slammed into something.
Something massive.
Unseen, unmoving.
Like a wall forged from iron and will.
He coughed and blinked through the dissipating smoke.
The darkness around him wavered as the veil thinned… and then he saw it.
Someone was standing before the window.
A silhouette, tall and composed, partially illuminated by the moonlight pouring in behind him.
And as the last shreds of miasma faded, Asmond's heart sank deeper into dread.
It was a young man — no older than a student — but there was something terrifyingly familiar about him.
His hair was a soft, pale shade under the moon's glow, and his eyes were a piercing, crystal blue — just like hers.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't speaking.
He simply stood there, looking down at Asmond with an expression devoid of pity, as if he were nothing more than filth on the soles of his shoes.
A deep chill ran down Asmond's spine.
"Evelyn, it seems you've developed quite the peculiar personality while I was away…"
He cast a sidelong glance at the young woman behind him, whose expression remained unbothered, almost smug.
"Playing with your food isn't exactly a trait I personally appreciate."
Asmond blinked.
Food?
Were they mocking him?
Or did they genuinely not see him as a threat?
Evelyn giggled lightly, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Well, I reasoned I needed to be far apart from the original as much as possible in order to get my plans going," she said with a dramatic tilt of her head. "Making sure everything would be absolutely perfect for the Original's return~"
"I suppose I made you work harder than expected."
Evelyn bowed her head slightly, one hand resting delicately over her chest.
"It's fine. My purpose is to serve you with the most utmost beneficial precision and perfection, Original~"
Original?
The words buzzed like static in Asmond's ears.
There was something strange about how she said it—like it was a title, not just a name.
He didn't understand their exchange — he didn't want to understand — but it was clear something deeper, older, and far beyond his comprehension was at play here.
Still on the ground, Asmond tried to think, tried to piece together what was happening.
His instincts screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn't move. His mind had been jolted into a haze of panic and disbelief.
Then it hit him.
Recognition.
That face.
"Student… Riley?"
The young man finally raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in a subtly amused manner.
"Hmm? You know me?"
Asmond's throat went dry.
Of course he knew him.
Everyone did.
Riley had been the most infamous — and somehow simultaneously one of the most praised — students within the academy.
Word of his sheer audacity had spread like wildfire among the staff.
A single incident — no, a massacre of reputations — had left most of the academic council reeling, and ever since, the boy had been treated with an odd mixture of fear, resentment, and reluctant admiration.
But that was months ago.
Riley had vanished.
He was confirmed to be suddenly missing even if the principal tried to hide the fact…
There were rumors — whispers, theories — that he had been expelled, assassinated, or worse.
Others insisted he'd simply run away from the academy and from everything.
And some thought he was taken by the emperor to prepare as a proper consort…
But none of the rumors had ever suggested this.
He was standing here.
In front of him.
Alive.
Stronger?
Different?
And Asmond could feel it — something in Riley's presence twisted the air.
"Well, it doesn't really matter if you know me or not…"
His hand reached for the sword at his waist.
Asmond's instincts screamed.
A raw, primal warning roared through his body, louder than any thought, louder than any spell he could cast.
He tried to move—tried to shield himself, teleport, anything—but it was already too late.
[Hidden Blade — First form]
[Blue Moon]
In that instant, a burst of blue light erupted from Riley's blade.
The air cracked like thunder, reality itself seeming to warp for the briefest moment as space split open along the blade's edge.
And before Asmond could even fully comprehend what had just happened—
His vision tilted violently.
For a second, he didn't understand. It felt like the world was upside down, his body weightless.
Then the numbness hit him.
His head had been severed cleanly from his body—so swiftly, so surgically, that his brain hadn't even registered the pain.
"You could've just killed him off earlier, you know,"
"I thought leaving a middle boss like him for the Original would've been a beneficial EXP boost," she continued with a shrug, tilting her head toward the headless corpse.
"Considering he's connected to most of his followers, it could've triggered some chain effects. But… I suppose that was an unnecessary thought~"
Riley said nothing.
His blade slowly lowered, the blue glow receding as calmly as it had appeared.
His expression remained unchanged—unbothered, unreadable.
"You returned later than expected original did something unexpected happen?"
"Well quite a few actually happened..."
As Asmond's vision dimmed further, the last thing he saw through his fading consciousness was the two of them—Riley and Evelyn—standing side by side, eerily similar in appearance, speaking as if nothing had happened.

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Word Count: 2,839

Character Count: 16,764

Reading Time: 15 minutes

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Status: Completed

Model: unknown

Last Modified

Updated: Oct 21, 2025 13:31

Created: Oct 21, 2025 13:31