Chapter 510
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 510
Chapter Title: Sniping Park Chan-woo (6)
The Black Sovereign seated upon his obsidian throne wore a sinister smile.
A massive screen hung in the void before him.
The scenes unfolding within the "Primeval Darkness" were being broadcast live without distortion, thanks to his authority.
He was waiting.
For the moment when the most grotesque and perfect tragedy would raise its curtain.
'Humans are inherently that kind of creatures.'
The Black Sovereign was convinced.
In times of peace, they prattle on about morality, cry out for justice, and feign care for one another with their hypocrisy.
As if they were superior beings who had transcended their instincts.
But stripping away that flimsy mask takes but an instant.
Survival.
The moment that most primal and absolute imperative tightens around their throats.
Humans degenerate into beasts faster than any other.
They trample others to survive and betray their comrades for their own safety.
That was the truest instinct flowing through their veins.
How much worse was the situation they faced now?
The curse of "Emotional Reversal" was gnawing at their reason.
And the absolute darkness was amplifying their terror to the extreme.
The inferiority, envy, or vague dependence toward Park Chan-woo buried deep in their hearts would soon twist into horrific murderous intent under the curse's influence.
It was only a matter of time.
Being stabbed by a trusted comrade.
The betrayal humans feel explodes more intensely than any other emotion.
The Black Sovereign anticipated the chain reaction of that explosion.
'Park Chan-woo. You're just human, after all.'
Hero? God?
Mere empty shells.
When those who believed in and followed you come charging for your heart.
...I wonder if you can keep up that lofty pretense.
You won't.
Park Chan-woo would thrash about to survive.
Even knowing those shadows attacking him were once his comrades, survival instincts would seize him, and he would unleash his overwhelming power.
The moment his sword tasted blood.
The instant he became a slaughterer massacring his allies!
All the myths he had built would be cast into the sewer, and every being in the Abyss would witness his ugly true face.
That would be destruction worse than death.
The greatest gift the Black Sovereign intended to bestow upon Park Chan-woo.
"Come on, begin."
He whispered to the actors in the darkness.
"Show your ugly true natures to your hearts' content."
Finally.
The first attack began on the screen.
One shadow, consumed by the curse and bereft of reason, charged at Park Chan-woo with a shrill scream.
Thud!
A dull sound.
Flesh tearing, blood spraying—a familiar and delightful scene unfolded.
The Black Sovereign's lips curled up to his ears.
"Yes! That's it!"
Now counterattack, Park Chan-woo!
Tremble with betrayal and crush that worm with your overwhelming power!
He stared at the screen with eyes gleaming in ecstasy.
But.
One second, two seconds, three...
Even as time passed, Park Chan-woo did not move.
He neither drew his sword nor cast a spell.
He didn't even try to dodge the attack.
He simply stood there with arms spread wide, silently embracing the shadow that had stabbed him.
"...?"
The wine glass halted in the Black Sovereign's hand.
What was he doing?
Frozen in panic?
Or hesitating upon recognizing his cursed comrade?
That could be. Reason might still suppress instinct for now.
But the attacks did not stop.
The first shadow's assault served as the signal flare, and the other shadows circling nearby swarmed him like sharks scenting blood.
Magic blasts erupted, axes cleaved down, arrows rained like a storm.
Park Chan-woo's body was reduced to a mangled wreck in an instant.
Even a body that had transcended in the Tower of God could not endure countless attacks without resistance.
His white clothes were dyed crimson with blood, and his life force drained ceaselessly from the wounds.
A clear brush with death.
Yet.
Park Chan-woo did not counterattack.
He showed no anger, no screams, not even a groan.
His expression was eerily serene.
As if he were a noble pilgrim undertaking ascetic trials.
Or an ascetic vowing to bear the world's sins alone.
He silently received all the blades of malice and hatred pouring toward him with his own body.
Stab, thud, crunch!
Horrific tearing sounds echoed ceaselessly in the darkness.
One stabbed and retreated, only for another to slash in.
This was no battle.
It was a one-sided lynching, closer to an execution.
But Park Chan-woo did not fall.
Even vomiting blood, he straightened his staggering body and reached out toward the shadow attacking him, now recoiling in terror.
Then, gently enveloping that confused soul, he moved his lips.
No sound came through.
But the Black Sovereign could read the lip movements.
"...!"
His eyes shook violently.
What... the hell was this?
He couldn't comprehend Park Chan-woo's actions.
His perfect calculations, the absolute premise of "humanity's ugliness," were being denied before his eyes.
This was a situation where he had to kill to survive.
He had been betrayed.
So why wasn't he angry?
Why was he comforting and embracing those trying to kill him?
"It's an act! Hypocrisy! That bastard's just putting on a show!"
The Black Sovereign bellowed.
He thought it was madness, acting until the moment of death to preserve his hero image.
Yes, once the pain exceeded limits, in that final moment as life faded, his true colors would show.
"More! Attack him harder! Tear off that loathsome mask!"
He intensified his curse to goad the shadows.
The assaults grew fiercer, more brutal.
But.
The more intense the attacks, the more Park Chan-woo's blood flowed.
Paradoxically, something strange began happening in the darkness.
What poured from Park Chan-woo's wounds was not mere blood.
It was light.
The divinity he harbored, the convictions he upheld, and his "selfless goodwill" toward them.
Melted into his blood, it flowed out as light.
That light traveled along the weapons that pierced him, seeping into the attackers' bodies.
It began purifying the emotions twisted by the curse, cleansing those turbid souls.
Dedication and forgiveness were snapping the chains of the curse.
Soon.
When the first one knelt down.
When all the shadows halted their attacks and prostrated on the blood-soaked ground, shedding tears of remorse.
The Black Sovereign slumped powerlessly onto his throne.
"...."
He was speechless.
Defeat.
In the hellscape he had designed, the cruelest experiment of human nature.
Park Chan-woo had shown something transcending "humanity," crumbling his very worldview.
Across the entire Abyss.
Among the countless beings watching the "Primeval Darkness" raid via broadcast, a suffocating silence prevailed.
At first, all held their breath in tension.
Some despaired at Park Chan-woo falling into the trap, while others cheered at his downfall.
When the shadows began attacking him, many squeezed their eyes shut.
Unable to bear witnessing the impending horrific slaughter.
The hero degenerating, butchering his comrades in a gruesome scene.
But when they opened their eyes, it was no slaughter they beheld.
"...Ah."
A short groan, like a sigh, escaped someone.
Park Chan-woo on the screen was a mangled mess.
Covered head to toe in blood, barely standing—what seemed a miracle.
No sign of his mighty equipment or overwhelming magic.
He stood there in his most vulnerable, most pathetic state.
Yet.
It was strange.
That pathetic form felt more "sacred" than any of his previous flashy miracles.
Utterly different from the overwhelming tyrant in the interspecies war, who subjugated foes with power and granted mercy.
If that Park Chan-woo had been a "king" looking down from the heavens.
This blood-soaked Park Chan-woo embracing his stabbers was like a "saint" descending to the lowest depths to share their suffering.
No, even "saint" fell short.
The pinnacle of nobility only one who offers himself as sacrifice, bearing others' sins, could show.
Even the Twelve Lords watching the broadcast were at a loss for words.
Many had become gods through power.
But this way... they had never heard or imagined it.
Winning by not counterattacking, healing by taking wounds, ascending to the highest by descending to the lowest.
A paradox incomprehensible, at least within this "Abyss."
Yet the reality before them proved the grandeur of that paradox.
His attackers kneeling in remorse.
The darkness-filled space brimming with solemn purifying light—a miracle.
It shook the souls of all Abyss dwellers more profoundly than any display of power.
They realized.
The Black Sovereign's "Primeval Darkness" was no prison to trap Park Chan-woo.
Rather, it was a stage that, in the thickest darkness, made his most dazzling light shine brilliantly for all to see.
The silence gradually turned to awe.
Those who doubted bowed their heads; his followers wept in prayer.
At this moment, no one in the Abyss could deny it.
That bloodied human was the sole being who could unify this fractured world.
The attacks ceased.
The emotions twisted by the curse were mostly purified by the light from his scattered blood, but the darkness remained thick.
No one, including himself, could see each other's faces; the primeval light still glimmered faintly in the distant beyond.
'The darkness is still long.'
Park Chan-woo knew this was not the end.
The Black Sovereign.
He wouldn't have prepared only the "Emotional Reversal" trap.
A gambler who had staked his existence on this board.
If the first move failed, he surely had a follow-up.
'But that's precisely why this is the perfect opportunity.'
An Abyss of this scale.
One defying Abyss laws with powerful perception distortion.
Maintaining it alone must be costing the Black Sovereign an enormous amount of coins.
Perhaps he'd even pawned part of his possessions—or his very existence.
Proof he had bet everything on this one game.
At least the first stage, the "distortion of emotions" trial, was cleared.
Park Chan-woo thought to himself.
What comes next?
He dragged his mangled body forward once more.
A soft light flowed from his wounds instead of blood, but his life force was still depleting.
Time was not on his side.
'I must find the light.'
His footsteps turned toward the primeval light again.
The surrounding shadows followed quietly behind, like pilgrims accompanying his journey.
How long did they walk through the darkness again?
A completely different aura emanated from the shadows ahead.
A cool yet chilling energy, beautiful yet horrific.
Soon, Park Chan-woo's steps halted.
A small "spring" emitting the only faint blue glow in the darkness blocked their path.
The Spring of Oblivion.
Before this spring, many hesitated.
Having endured the curse's first stage, they realized how shallow trust among them truly was.
Fear and anxiety of being swept by the curse again gripped their feet.
They couldn't advance without drinking.
But drinking meant losing their most precious memories.
The records of convictions and bonds that had made them "heroes," "the strong," and brought them here.
All could vanish in an instant.
If everything was lost, could they remain themselves?
That was when it happened.