Chapter 507
Chapter 507
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 507
Chapter Title: Sniping Park Chan-woo (3)
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Emotions.
Sadness, joy, like and dislike.
Yet the emotions of mortals are truly futile things.
They are like ripples on the water's surface.
Easily swayed by a single gust of wind.
A tiny pebble can create massive waves.
What was believed to be love turns to hatred overnight.
...The trust sworn for eternity scatters like dust before a fleeting gain.
Positive and negative.
The boundary between them is so shallow and precarious.
What of faith and trust?
People say they are as solid as rocks enduring eons, but in truth, they crack helplessly at the smallest fissure and shatter into pieces.
A single invisible seed of doubt can crumble even the sturdiest-looking fortress walls overnight.
Beings who fight back-to-back yet always fear in some corner of their hearts that the blade might turn toward their own back.
The Lord of Pitch Black sat upon his throne, watching the spectacle unfolding in his darkness with keen interest.
The love that mortals so exalt as their greatest and most sublime emotion?
'Ah, love.'
The Lord of Pitch Black couldn't suppress a sneer just from recalling the word.
In truth, no emotion is as dangerous or destructive as love.
It approaches pretending to be the sweetest honey, planting the deadliest poison in the deepest recesses of the soul.
The Lord of Pitch Black mused.
Love is the emotion that changes the fastest.
The more fiercely it burns, the quicker it turns to ash; the more blindly, the easier it blinds.
Though it seems like a promise carved in stone, it is in fact a name written on water—love is the essence of emotion that erodes most easily and is forgotten first. He knew this well.
If there truly existed someone in that darkness who loved Park Chan-woo with all their heart.
'All that love will return as calamity.'
A cruel smile curled at his lips.
The moment that pure love inverted, the depth and weight of the hatred would be indescribable.
It would burrow into Park Chan-woo's heart more viciously and persistently than any curse of this Abyss.
The sight of the one who had gazed at him with the hottest eyes now wielding the coldest blade.
Could there be a more perfect picture of despair?
How many followed Park Chan-woo with true hearts?
Among those shadows in the masked ball aiming for each other's throats, how many had sworn loyalty at his feet mere minutes ago?
And those who outwardly bowed out of necessity but inwardly brimmed with envy and resentment toward him—what expressions did they wear now in their reversed emotions?
Watching this would be fine entertainment indeed.
The Lord of Pitch Black sank deeper into his jade throne.
He was in no hurry.
He wanted to savor every moment as the actors agonized, conflicted, and finally bared their teeth at one another on the stage.
720 hours.
Thirty days, though the sense of time within meant nothing.
All would collapse from exhaustion.
By some path or another, they would inevitably target Park Chan-woo.
'Park Chan-woo. Your legend ends today, right here, by the hands of those who loved you most.'
And I shall watch it all unfold from the front row with delight.
Ataraxia was confident.
Even as the curse of 'Emotion Reversal' blanketed the space, he felt not the slightest tremor.
He was certain he was different.
His loyalty to Park Chan-woo transcended the realm of mere 'emotions.'
It was the very reason for his existence, a 'conviction' forged unbreakable through countless trials of doubt and despair.
Besides, he was the Great Dragon of Despair.
How could the shallow darkness of the Abyss dare erode the noble spirit of a dragon?
On the contrary, he even anticipated the surge of emotions heading his way.
This ordeal would prove just how unshakeable his absolute faith in Park Chan-woo truly was.
Yet as the darkness thickened, his confidence began to flow in a different direction.
There was no change.
His loyalty remained steadfast, his faith in Park Chan-woo uncracked by even a hair's breadth.
And it was precisely that 'unchanging' state that planted a tiny seed of doubt in his heart.
'Why... does nothing feel different?'
If his loyalty was truly a 'positive emotion,' it should have inverted into horrific 'betrayal' or 'hatred.'
But his heart was utterly serene.
As if, from the start, there had been no emotion to reverse.
Suddenly, one doubt led to another.
'How does he view my loyalty?'
How did Park Chan-woo regard this absolute devotion he offered?
Ataraxia saw Park Chan-woo as his one true god.
The being who restored the pride stolen by Sepiro from his dragonkin and saved him from the depths of despair.
For him, he would gladly lay down his life.
But what of Park Chan-woo himself?
How did he see Ataraxia?
The protagonist of a new era.
The god of humanity and dragons.
Park Chan-woo was certainly different from Sepiro.
Sepiro was like ice.
He showed no interest in any being at his feet.
His world contained only himself.
Thus, there were no expectations.
No need to strive for his approval or to feel hurt by his indifference.
Simply submit to absolute power, and that sufficed.
But Park Chan-woo was different.
He was warm.
He set stagnant time flowing again and showed concern for everyone.
He was genuinely moved by a single flower offered by the chief of some nameless minor race, rejoiced in the growth of a single human warrior named Lee Hyuk-soo, and respected the long-held dream of Ataraxia and Darkan.
But that very point complicated Ataraxia's heart.
His attention seemed equal, almost indifferent in its fairness.
The way he treated Ataraxia was not markedly different from how he treated others.
Just one among many comrades.
One among countless loyal subjects building his empire.
Ataraxia couldn't shake the thought of whether this was truly what he desired.
The darkness stirred countless ruminations.
'Did I... not want to be special?'
He wanted to be the sharpest blade among Park Chan-woo's many swords.
The sturdiest shield among his many shields.
To be the one—and only one—who earned his deepest trust.
'I wanted recognition.'
Perhaps at the root of this loyalty lurked an insatiable craving for 'recognition' that Sepiro could never fulfill.
Reaching that thought caused a faint crack in his once-solid conviction.
Then was this emotion not pure loyalty, but mere 'desire' for acknowledgment?
In the darkness, it seemed the voice of the Lord of Pitch Black echoed.
-Do you truly exist for him, or are you using him for yourself?
"...Shut up."
Ataraxia muttered lowly, shaking his head.
But once ignited, the smoke of doubt did not dissipate easily.
This darkness was insidious.
Rather than twisting emotions directly, it dredged up the deepest hidden anxieties, making him doubt himself.
The heart of Ataraxia, who prided himself on the noble dragon spirit, was slowly being eroded by the darkness.
Lee Hyuk-soo thought.
Closing his eyes in the darkness, he recalled a distant past.
His first meeting with the Prophet.
The memory outside the Water Good nightclub.
The helpless self standing frozen amid chaos and terror, unable to do anything.
Without him, he would have become demon fodder right there.
Or perhaps one of the countless cowards surviving on others' sacrifices.
He could never have saved his mother, earned the glory of being called Sword King, or dreamed of humanity's peace.
Everything about him began with that man.
Lee Hyuk-soo had never forgotten that fact for a single moment.
Thus, he was firmer than anyone.
When the Lord of Pitch Black cast the 'Emotion Reversal' curse, Lee Hyuk-soo scoffed.
His heart was no mere 'emotion' to be shaken by such petty tricks.
His feelings for the Prophet were absolute 'conviction,' the very 'truth' upholding his existence.
But this cunning darkness did not attack the solidity of his conviction directly.
Instead, it burrowed into the deepest foundation, the most fragile part Lee Hyuk-soo himself had ignored.
'Am I... truly necessary?'
That thought seeped into his heart like poison.
Until now, he had unwaveringly believed himself the sharpest sword and sturdiest shield to Park Chan-woo.
The most loyal knight to humanity's hero and sovereign, Park Chan-woo.
But was that really true?
Lee Hyuk-soo recalled the Interracial War.
Before Park Chan-woo's return, he had been utterly helpless.
Against Han Shin's betrayal, the dragonkin trap, Ataraxia's overwhelming power—he could do nothing.
He had only despaired, fallen, and nearly died.
In the end, Park Chan-woo resolved everything.
Even without him, Park Chan-woo would have solved it all.
More easily, more perfectly.
Perhaps Park Chan-woo had simply picked him up by chance.
Among countless humans, he was just a pebble grabbed and thrown, which happened to roll well by luck.
It wouldn't have mattered if it had been Han Min-oh or some unknown other.
'What am I... to him?'
He was great.
He saw everything, knew everything.
Would such a man truly 'need' him?
No, perhaps it was mere pity.
Just giving a small chance to the pitiful young man lost outside the nightclub.
'Even without me, humanity would have been protected, wouldn't it?'
He could find no answer to the question he posed himself.
The darkness whispered.
—Yes. You're not needed. You were just lucky. Without him, you'd be nothing. A mere phantom overshadowed by him.
He wanted to deny it.
But he had no grounds to refute.
Were the confidence and pride he called his own merely vain illusions propped up by the Prophet's immense light?
Not an external assault, but an internal one.
Making him question his own worth.
The Lord of Pitch Black was rusting humanity's strongest sword in the most insidious way.
Lee Hyuk-soo collapsed into the darkness.
For the first time, he lost sight of the path ahead.
Even the lighthouse of the Prophet vanished, leaving him adrift alone in a pitch-black sea.
Adora was engulfed in a fury utterly different from before, amid the cold darkness.
The Lord of Pitch Black's 'Emotion Reversal' curse.
Her absolute love and trust in Park Chan-woo, which formed her very being, should have flipped to the opposite: venomous hatred and distrust.
She awaited it.
She even hoped to hate him.
If this uncontrollable feeling toward him vanished even briefly, freeing her from that agonizing fever, she thought she might find some peace.
But nothing happened.
Even as Lee Hyuk-soo floundered in the swamp of self-doubt and Ataraxia agonized over questioning his loyalty.
Adora's heart remained astonishingly calm.
Her love for Park Chan-woo hadn't changed a whit.
Even in the darkness, his position felt vivid, and her feelings toward him only grew more tender.
Why?
Why didn't the curse affect her?
Was her love so great it neutralized even the curse?
No. She was not arrogant.
She realized intuitively.
It wasn't that the curse failed—it was that there had been no 'positive emotion' to reverse in the first place.
For the first time, Adora doubted.
'This feeling of mine... wasn't love?'
Perhaps the emotion she felt wasn't love at all.