Chapter 4
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: In the Darkness
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Asleep?”
A low, gruff voice. It was Duke Karls. And now this rebel was talking down to the emperor like they were equals.
Of course, as a thoroughly branded slave, I had no grounds to complain. I slowly raised my head.
I licked my dry lips. The first opponent to test my new ability on had walked right into my lap.
“Duke Karls. Why did you have to draw your sword? Because I'm a tyrant? Or because you're worried about the empire's future? But what if I suddenly turned over a new leaf? What if all the madness I've shown so far was just an act? I can change. No, I already am.”
I worked my lips, unleashing a torrent of words. Betting on the desperation honed through 98 deaths and the power of my Persuasion (Lv.1) skill.
But Duke Karls's expression didn't budge an inch. His eyes remained as cold and still as a deep lake.
“.....Talkative.”
He replied curtly, then fell silent. The air between us, separated by the iron bars, grew heavy.
Failure. A Level 1 tongue wasn't enough to pierce the iron wall of that stubborn grandmaster knight.
“Wait! If I stay here like this, I'll freeze to death before I even see Helena.”
I swear I heard a faint ding. What was that?
Soon enough, Karls indifferently ordered a servant behind him to fetch a thick wool blanket.
He tossed it through the bars. Thud. An old blanket reeking of dust landed on my lap.
“Fine. You'll need to stay alive for the time being, at least...”
Straws stuck to the edge of the blanket tickled my nose. The musky animal scent of the wool mixed with the musty staleness of the old warehouse, assaulting my nostrils.
I stared blankly down at the gray blanket on my lap. Rubbing the fabric with my fingertips, I felt its rough, stiff texture scrape between my prints.
A cheap, pilled-up rag. Something I wouldn't have used as a floor cloth in my emperor days, but right now, it felt more precious than the finest silk quilt.
“Tch.”
A bitter taste filled my mouth. The eloquent words swirling on my tongue scattered into the void.
Turn over a new leaf, act, change. The words I'd spat out had bounced off the bars and rolled limply to the floor.
Duke Karls had clearly dismissed my desperate plea as nothing more than a dog's bark.
The torchlight flickering on the surface of his silver armor seemed to mock my pathetic state.
I draped the blanket over my shoulders. Just adding this one ragged piece of cloth eased the biting chill that had gripped my body.
As the warmth seeped into my skin, the tension melted away, and fatigue pressed down on my shoulders.
“I won't say thanks.”
I spat it out gruffly on purpose and turned my head. Karls didn't reply. He simply stared at me for a moment with those deep eyes beneath his helmet, then slowly turned away.
Clank. Clank.
Each time his armor shifted, the rhythmic clash of metal echoed. As his heavy footsteps receded, the cell sank back into silence.
I couldn't tear my eyes away until his back vanished into the darkness. Straight posture, unwavering stride. The epitome of a knight, annoyingly perfect.
Is it because it's only Level 1? Didn't even faze him.
I leaned back against the wall and stretched out my legs. The shackles on my ankles jingled.
Maybe it would've been better to provoke him with something like, “You actually fell for me, didn't you?”
At least that might've shaken his emotions. Better to inspire disgust than this utter dismissal, twisted as that thought was.
Of course, I shook my head at the idea that it might've gotten my head lopped off.
The cell was pitch black, but the glowstones embedded in the walls emitted a faint blue light, casting long shadows. Something squirmed in those shadows.
A rat. One scampered over and started gnawing at the edge of the blanket.
“Hey.”
I kicked lightly, and it startled, fleeing to the corner.
“You hungry too? Me too.”
I let out a hollow chuckle. From emperor to dungeon prisoner, now chatting with rats. Life's full of variety.
I closed my eyes. The 98 deaths flashed by like a montage. The chill of a severed neck, the searing pain of a pierced heart, the horrific agony of organs melting from poison.
All those memories revived vividly, making me shudder. But I'm alive now. Chained though I am, my heart beats, my lungs draw breath.
10 chances.
Ten opportunities. Blessing or curse...? The blessing was obvious—more chances to survive. The curse? Quitting Dung5 to boot up Atria Continent Chronicles and getting dragged into this hellhole.
Should've just kept grinding Dung5...
I slipped my hands under the blanket and rubbed my chilled arms. The coarse wool irritated my skin. Suddenly, the conference room scene replayed in my mind.
Helena's shocked face, flushed cheeks, heaving cleavage. And Karls's flustered eyes.
I laughed. Yeah, that was enough. At least I'd planted a trauma they'd never forget.
Like giving a massive middle finger to all those who pissed me off across 98 deaths...
I pulled the blanket over my head. My breathing echoed roughly in the darkness. The dungeon's silence rang in my ears.
Tomorrow morning, another hell awaited with the dawn, but for now, I had to rely on this worn blanket's warmth to sleep.
“Damn it, let's dream of happiness. No, please wake up at home... Mom...”
It was pitch black darkness.
The only light was the faint, murky purple glow seeping from cracks in the walls. The air hung heavy, laced with the sticky humidity, burnt candle wax, and a fishy metallic tang drifting through.
Every breath felt like slimy moss coating my lungs deep inside.
In the center of that darkness, figures ringed a round table carved from black stone.
They were all cloaked head to toe in dark gray-black robes, making it hard to tell if humans or huddled shadows lurked beneath. The hush was broken only by the rustle of robes brushing together.
“Report.”
The one at the head of the table spoke. His voice was low and dry, stripped of emotion. It echoed off the cave walls, burrowing into listeners' eardrums.
The figure kneeling across the table flinched. Her robe's hood slipped slightly, revealing sweat-matted black hair and terror-stricken eyes.
“The emperor... didn't die.”
Her voice trembled faintly. The sound of her gulping dryly seemed deafening. The head figure didn't stir.
But the darkness around him thickened, an oppressive pressure dominating the space.
“Why? I know Duke Karls's sword doesn't fail. Timing, justification, troop placement—all perfect. There shouldn't have been any gap for the emperor to survive.”
“It was...”
The woman bit her lip. Words too shameful to voice swirled on her tongue. She gripped the floor with her hands, eyes downcast.
The cold stone chilled her palms, but cold sweat trickled down her back, soaking into the cleft of her buttocks along her spine.
“An embarrassing method to explain.”
“What's embarrassing about it? A report is just facts. Did the emperor use black magic? Or did he have a hidden guard?”
“No. Nothing like that...”
She squeezed her eyes shut. The bizarre, shocking scene relayed by her spy in the palace replayed in her mind like an afterimage.
“The emperor called an emergency continental council. He put Queen Helena of Roselia on screen and... masturbated.”
Silence.
A heavy hush descended. The other robed figures around the table seemed to hold their breath in unison. Even the head figure paused, his rhythmic finger-tapping on the table cutting off abruptly.
“Masturbated... you say?”
“Yes. Violently so. He dropped his pants, pulled out his member, shook it while spewing obscenities at the queen. And... he finished. Right at the moment Duke Karls burst in.”
A sigh like a lament leaked from the darkness. Not anger, but absurdity. The primal discomfort of beholding an incomprehensible creature.
“Unbelievable. He survived on such a vulgar stunt?”
“An unforeseen variable. Queen Helena flew into a rage and intervened. She threatened Duke Karls to halt the summary execution, saying she'd kill the emperor herself.”
She groaned.
“The duke... judged he had to sheathe his sword for political reasons.”
The woman finished her report and bowed her head deeper. Tension crushed her nape.
The head figure slowly rose. His chair scraped sharply against the stone floor as it slid back. He approached her with measured steps.
Black leather boots emerged from beneath his robe hem, entering her view.
“So. What's the plan going forward?”
“Our analysis shows the emperor's fate hasn't changed much. Given Queen Helena's temperament, she won't let him live.
On the contrary, he'll die in even more exquisite agony. Currently, the odds of him dying by her hand are over ninety percent. It's just delayed slightly; the outcome remains.”
“Ninety percent...”
The man's voice turned icy. He nudged her chin up with his toe. Her terrified eyes quivered.
“That's not a plan. It's gambling on chance.”
“But that lecherous emperor can do nothing from prison. His magic's sealed, no allies. The moment Queen Helena arrives...”
“What were the success odds for this plan?”
The man cut her off.
“What if that madman sweet-talks the queen too? What if he pulls another stunt to redirect her fury? Then what?”
The woman was speechless. She'd never even imagined it. A rage-maddened queen forgiving an emperor tantamount to a rapist?
Nearly impossible. But the report she'd just given was nearly impossible too. An emperor jerking off to his daughter on the brink of death.
The man returned to his seat and issued a cold command.
“Prepare a plan for that ten percent chance. Failure will not be tolerated.”
Who the hell are these nameless cultist bastards, Destruction Cult or Demon God Cult or whatever? How do they even calculate shit? Especially that crazy high priestess bitch?
No hope. This game wasn't made to be beaten.
To snag that woman, you gotta pull off some Lyserama.
You can't do Lyserama real-time in this game?
Exactly. No hope.