A Jest of the Goddess of Fate

Palieu South Bank Sector 2. The manor of Duke Tiffany. Sitting in her parlor and gazing out at the grim, torrential rain beyond the window, Duke Tiffany furrowed her brow. If Nigel fell, she had no expectations of surviving the night. Yet she never could have imagined that an evening that began merely as a clash between the ambitious Perlman and the Kingdom of Posen would escalate into such an anarchic battle. It was not just the illusory appearance of High Priest Loren; even Askesan had entered the fray. According to top-level intelligence stolen by the United Council of Kingdoms from the Creti Empire and corroborated by a Cardinal Bishop of the Resurrection Church, Bishop of Extinction Askesan had perished half a year ago. Yet through the blurry broadcast of the Posen Demon Realm channel, several kilometers away on the battlefield, Askesan appeared to have returned from the dead to vanquish Perlman. Absolute supremacy, terrifying sealing arts, and the obsidian, divine-era radiance of the [Original Slate - Sealing]—everything proved beyond doubt that the distant gray figure was Askesan himself, not an illusion. Earlier, another channel had even picked up his voice piercing the curtain of rain, declaring, "I have returned." "Could he truly have returned from hell?" Duke Tiffany pinched the bridge of her nose, troubled by the inexplicable question. She was certain she was far from the only one questioning this. The source of the intelligence, the Creti Empire, was likely the faction least willing to believe Askesan could be resurrected. *** Posen Demon Realm Sector 10. At the northernmost reaches of the Posen Demon Realm on this rainy night, the dust finally settled. As the last deafening boom dissipated, the ambitious demon lord, Perlman, collapsed limply upon the icy ground. "Wh-why...?" His body was nearly cleaved in two. Blood geysered from his wounds, yet his pale face reflected bitter resentment far more than pain. The torrential downpour persisted tirelessly, drops slamming like bullets against shattered architectural debris with dull, percussive thuds. Rainwater blended with blood, coursing freely through the ruins. Skyscrapers that once scraped the clouds were reduced mostly to fragmented skeletons riddled with fractures and jagged holes. Precarious panes of shattered glass wept shrilly beneath bursts of lightning and rolling thunder. "Perlman, what can I even say?" Lanqi looked down at the struggling demon. Even with Talia already moving in to deliver finishing blows, thoroughly finishing off Perlman would take some time. "You demons truly possess remarkable vitality. Give him a decent end; after all, he was once a hero of the Kingdom of Posen, and Nigel's adoptive father." Lanqi spoke to Talia. "You're a demon! Your whole family is demons! I'm a law-abiding citizen of Ikerite, twenty-five years old, and a Platinum-rank card maker!" Talia snapped back in Lanqi's mind. "..." Lanqi did not know when Talia had developed such an aversion to being called a demon, but in this regard, she had been entirely corrupted by Hyperion. He could not help but feel that if other demons heard the contemporary Demon King's thoughts, they would have no choice but to accept the grim reality that the demon race had truly fallen into decline. "Where—where on earth did you get the real [Original Slate - Sealing]?!" Even now, Talia could hardly believe the special effects Lanqi displayed were authentic. She had been entirely convinced that his sealing slate's divine-era radiance was merely a forged knockoff like his counterfeit Wind Slate. Only when its actual power was unleashed did she realize something was off. How could this guy travel to the Northern Continent and casually walk away with the [Original Slate - Sealing]?! "Old Sang gave it to me, of course," Lanqi replied as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Old Sang is Askesan! How did you defeat him? And all those sealing cards—did you rob him of them?!" Though Talia still could not piece together the entire story, she had a rough idea of where Lanqi had obtained the legacy. Rounding things off, Lanqi possessing the slate was basically equivalent to her possessing it, yet shock remained her overwhelming emotion. "What do you mean, 'rob'? He gave them to me voluntarily." Officially certified by the Protos Empire. "Like hell he was voluntary!" She did not believe a single word of his nonsense. Just as Talia's abyssal black flames engulfed Perlman, a chilling transformation quietly unfolded across his body. A bizarre flame suddenly flared from the fragment of [Palroni's Record of Resentment] lodged in Perlman's chest. At first, the flame was faint and fleeting, like a ghostly whisper. Gradually, however, it grew brighter and wilder, ultimately condensing into a cluster of deep-blue cursed flames dancing unbound in the rainy night. "!" Talia moved instantly to shield Lanqi, pulling him behind her. The flame's hue was insidious and sinister. Its deep-blue form morphed erratically—at times resembling torn visages, at others twisted limbs—as if eager to consume everything in its path. Talia locked her gaze onto Perlman's every move, terrified of missing any herald of danger. By all rights, her finishing attacks had been taking effect, and Perlman should have had no trump cards left. Yet Perlman's body began convulsing violently. Like a marionette pulled by invisible strings, he lurched back to his feet. "Aaaargh!" Perlman's agonized wails echoed through the rubble, sounding as though he were wrestling with an unseen fiend within, or enduring unfathomable torment. In a flash, Perlman snapped upright. His movements were rigid, utterly devoid of any signs of life. When he lifted his head once more, his face belonged to an entirely different presence. "Allow me to introduce myself to the two of you first. I am Beelzebub, a demon from the north." Perlman's lips parted once more, emitting a shrill, piercing voice. "What a jest of the Goddess of Fate, Rocky McCarthy, that someone like you—capable of defeating Perlman—would turn up here." His vacant eyes fixed upon Lanqi. "..." Lanqi watched him quietly. He knew this was the culprit who had spread the curse—the heinous demon from another regime hailing from beyond the Calamitous Wasteland, just as Talia had described. Perlman possessed little combat strength left, allowing Beelzebub to seize the opportunity to puppet him through the fragment of [Palroni's Record of Resentment]. "Did you think this was all over?" Beelzebub spoke through Perlman, curving the puppet's lips into a sneer before slowly raising a hand to point deep into the ruins. Behind a collapsed wall tilted a colossal display screen. Though riddled with holes and covered in cracks, it miraculously continued to function, casting a faint glow. The screen displayed the scene on Beelzebub's end. He was no longer on the South Bank; he had crossed over to the North Bank. It was a grand count's residence, now half-collapsed. Broken walls jutted like the fangs of a colossal beast. Beneath the stormy night, the estate's main gates stood wide open. Debris and masonry littered the area between the foyer and the garden, where a figure stood haughtily. Dismantling the estate's barrier had cost him little effort. Amidst the rubble beneath his feet lay a red-haired maid, already defeated. Crimson blood welled from her forehead, staining the rainwater pooled across the garden. Her eyes were shut tight, traces of defiant blood lingering at the corner of her lips. And in Beelzebub's hand, a blonde figure writhed in agony. At this very moment, Beelzebub held Christina by her fair neck. Her face was deathly pale and her eyes were wide. Glistening tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. She could not comprehend why such a terrifying demon had targeted their manor, nor how even Inoan could fail to defeat him. "Look, Rocky," Beelzebub mocked. "Did you know that I discovered your ties to Nigel that very night? And the Baptiste family where you work—surely you care about them, don't you? They are right behind the shattered parlor, trembling in fear." He pointed toward the interior of the manor. In an instant, Christina seemed to understand. "You... you damned spreader of curses..." she stammered, her voice trembling. "Oh? You don't blame Rocky?" Beelzebub merely gazed at her coldly. "If Rocky stopped you... then all I can say is he did a damn good job..." Christina's voice grew increasingly strained as Beelzebub tightened his grip slightly. Even so, he would not kill this precious young lady hostage just yet. "Splendid. The more loyalty and affection you show him now, the greater your value becomes." Through the screen, Beelzebub's eyes bored straight into Lanqi, his thin lips curling into a cruel smirk. Before his voice had fully faded, Beelzebub suddenly squeezed his fingers shut. Christina let out a shrill scream, coughing up blood continuously. Bruises bloomed across her throat beneath his grip, and the tips of her golden hair nearly caught fire from the deep-blue cursed flames. Inside the Baptiste manor, amidst the dead silence, Christina's heart-wrenching screams sliced through the heavy air like blades, piercing everyone's heart. The Baptiste family was ringed by deep-blue flames, penned in like cattle unable to flee a single step. Their faces were stark white, their eyes ablaze with a mixture of fury and terror, underscored by a bone-deep helplessness. The count clenched his fists so hard his veins bulged. The countess clamped both hands over her mouth, tears streaming endlessly through her fingers as she watched her daughter suffer in torment. "Let go of her...!" Inoan pushed herself up in the pouring rain, seeming awakened by Christina's voice, and lunged unsteadily toward Beelzebub once more. Beelzebub casually stepped aside as though teasing an infant, planting a heavy kick into her side. As the deep-blue cursed flames spread across her frame, she tumbled several times across the withered lawn. "Is this the reserve plan you left behind at the Baptiste manor, Rocky? She really is like an unkillable cockroach. No matter how she's beaten, she doesn't make a sound." Beelzebub materialized in front of Inoan, grinding his boot heavily onto her back as if trampling a tattered rag. Inoan did not let out so much as a whimper. This maid possessed remarkable physical resilience, yet was oddly weak—like a frail servant blessed with innate talent who had never learned how to fight. "No... Christina..." Inoan feebly stretched out a hand, still trying to save Christina. Beelzebub twisted his boot against her back and turned his eyes back toward the screen. Simultaneously, amidst the ruins of Posen Demon Realm Sector 10, Perlman under his control spoke with the exact same voice: "Make your choice, Rocky. Hand over the secret key, and we can avoid this battle. I will even promise not to harm the civilians of the City of Flowers. Whomever you wish to take with you, I will let you take. You understand how reliable a demon's contract is, don't you?" On the screen, Beelzebub lifted a finger, as if demonstrating that crushing this frail blonde girl was no different from swatting a fly. "Conversely, if you choose to keep fighting, I won't bother snatching the key anymore. Instead, I will do everything in my power to slaughter the civilians of the City of Flowers. I will kill everyone you know here, and I will destroy the city to the greatest extent possible. Even if you somehow manage to defeat me, you won't be able to keep me here. You will bear a stain of guilt you can never wash away. One day, I will make a comeback and strip away everything you hold dear..." Amidst the ruins, Perlman puppeted by Beelzebub offered an elegant bow to Lanqi, waiting for an answer. "Rocky...! Don't listen to him...!" Before Christina could finish, Beelzebub drove a punch into her stomach. She spewed a mouthful of blood, the light in her eyes dimming. "Keep fighting. Even if you reclaim the City of Flowers today, what of it? You will be left with nothing." Beelzebub on the screen continued to sneer. "..." Talia hesitated, not daring to strike Perlman again. "Lanqi, what should I do?" Keeping her eyes pinned on the screen and the puppet before them, she asked Lanqi in her mind. "..." Though Lanqi gave no verbal reply to Beelzebub, his mind conveyed his answer to Talia. "Talia, never compromise with terrorists. Fight until the bitter end." Lanqi sent his thought across. "No, that won't do! Lanqi, do you have another way? You must have a way, right?" Talia wrestled internally, unable to bring herself to do it. Even a century ago, she had never been ruthless enough to abandon her friends' lives. It wasn't just the Baptistes. If this continued, even if they slew Perlman and rushed to the South Bank, hardly any living beings there would survive. Rosalinda would die; everyone would die. She was no longer the demon princess of a hundred years ago. Having lived a peaceful life for so long and learned to understand human emotions, she could not bear the shackles of such guilt! "Success is not final, failure is not fatal; we must march forward. Compromising with the enemy is the one thing we can never do." Lanqi looked at her helplessly, his mind answering her. He had run out of moves as well. To reach this point today, they had already given everything. Beyond this, all they could do was pray for the Goddess's blessing. If the enemy had been Perlman alone, he could manage a victory. Even facing two enemies, so long as they fought to win, he could still find room to maneuver. Unfortunately, this enemy was the most extreme kind. The moment he realized his chances of winning were slim, he abandoned the pursuit of victory and chose a purely vile, spiteful strategy. "..." Talia stared blankly at Lanqi. Their thoughts transmitted in a mere instant, yet she remained paralyzed with indecision. On the cracked screen to the side, Beelzebub laughed merrily, as if noticing their discord: "What is it? Are the two of you not on the same page?" This was the exact scenario he relished seeing. "Are you truly going to murder innocent people with your own hands? They will really die this time. Do you truly not care even about that?" Beelzebub's voice carried a haunting mournfulness, as though mimicking the countless souls destined to perish in the City of Palieu tonight. "Keep dreaming." Lanqi shot a sidelong glance at Beelzebub. Then, he turned his gaze entirely upon Talia before him. "Talia, kill Perlman, then head to the South Bank. Save as many people as you can," his mind instructed. "...?" Talia stared at him. She could not understand how Lanqi, who was gentler than anyone under normal circumstances, could be so resolute and decisive in a moment like this. "When you are decisive, I hesitate; when you hesitate, I am decisive. Looking at it that way, aren't the two of us invincible? When either of us hesitates, we just listen to the other," Lanqi's mental voice resonated, seeking to snap her awake. "Perhaps you feel that, in a sense, everyone who dies today dies because of this choice. You care, you will feel sorrow, you will suffer—but this is not your fault!" Lanqi firmly cupped Talia's cheeks with both hands. Her eyes widened in astonishment, compelled to meet the gaze of the young man before her. "All faults committed by a summon must be borne by the summoner. So cast aside your reservations and stop overthinking. Go and defeat the enemy. All the sin is mine. You bear no guilt whatsoever, Talia." Talia could hardly believe that Lanqi would speak such words to her one day. "As if you don't care, as if you won't feel sorrow and suffer..." Moisture gathered in her golden eyes as she looked at him. She knew that Lanqi cared far more about Christina and the Baptiste family than she did. Yet what followed in her gaze, once the emotional ripples cleared, was absolute resolve. "I understand." The instant her words fell, spatial rifts snapped open around Perlman once more—a clear signal of her unwavering intent to kill. Perhaps she and Lanqi would never achieve perfect harmony in mind and thought. Yet whenever she found herself lost while he remained resolute, she could entrust herself entirely to him. Having no unspoken accord was the finest accord between them. "What a pity. It seems you have made a choice you will regret for the rest of your lives." Though Perlman, controlled by Beelzebub, sustained fresh lethal wounds, he burst into boisterous laughter. Since the enemy chose to fight to the bitter end, he would ensure they lost as much as possible. He would never let Rocky McCarthy off lightly! *** Meanwhile. Palieu North Bank Sector 4. In the garden of Count Baptiste's manor, Beelzebub threw his head back and laughed. His laughter was manic and grating, like a fiend reveling in a sinister carnival. "Rocky, you won, but you will never be able to forget me! I will brand the agony of guilt into your heart forever!" He flung his arms wide, spinning in the rain while dangling Christina, broadcasting his sadistic delight to the entire world. "Allow me to perform for you first—I shall scorch this girl's flesh to ash, and then strip out her bones!" Beelzebub glanced toward the Baptiste family inside the manor. It wasn't just Christina; the despairing expressions of the Baptistes in this moment were exquisite vintage wine to present to Rocky McCarthy. "Stop it right now...!" Ignoring her grievous injuries, Inoan tried to lunge at Beelzebub again. "What's the rush? Don't you find this sound melodious?" Beelzebub sneered, stomping his boot heavily onto Inoan's head once more. "Well? You seem incapable of feeling pain—do you feel any stirrings right now? If not, how about I make her scream a little more pleasantly?" With a slight twist of his fingers, Christina's vertebrae emitted faint, rhythmic snapping sounds. Barely clinging to life, she screamed and whimpered in agony once more. The closer someone was to Rocky McCarthy, the more time they were worth torturing, heaping suffering and guilt upon him. "..." Lying prone on the muddy lawn, Inoan dug her fingers into the earth in despair. Pain was a concept she had never understood in her entire life. She had once believed she would go her whole existence without ever understanding what pain meant. Yet now, she finally understood. This pain made her wish she could endure the hellish torture in Christina's stead. Pain required no physical trauma; gouging the softest recess of one's soul was more than enough. It was no fleeting discomfort, but a lingering execution by a thousand cuts. She felt as though this sound was terribly familiar. It felt as though she had heard it countless times before. Yet she could not comprehend where she had heard it, or why it resonated so deeply. "Inoan..." "Oh? I wonder if you can hear her—she's still calling for you to save her." Beelzebub cupped a hand to his ear and tilted his head, listening to Christina's feeble voice. "Run... away..." Christina's voice grew fainter and fainter. "..." Rainwater mixed with tears, rolling down Inoan's cheeks into puddles strewn with withered petals, sending out imperceptible ripples. Upon the dark water littered with blossoms, her blood-red silhouette reflected faintly. As Christina's voice faded toward silence, Inoan's pupils contracted repeatedly. This moment felt fleeting, yet stretched endlessly long. "Why does this feel so familiar to me?" Inoan's lips trembled slightly. The world seemed to freeze. The rain continued to fall, yet the drops seemed weightless. The wind continued to blow, yet the gusts seemed directionless. An absolute hush fell over all creation. Flames, blood, charred corpses, agonized screams... Everything seemed like yesterday recurring. Suddenly, her mind went completely blank. Her consciousness traversed backward, regressing until it plummeted, as though her entire body were sinking beneath the surface of a suffocating, crimson ocean. Shattered fragments of memory swirled all around her. When she regained her senses, she was no longer in the rainy night, nor in the courtyard of the Baptiste manor, but standing upon a dark riverbank. Beside a pool of blood, she seemed to see herself. Dressed in an immaculate white maid uniform, she stood on one side of the river. On the opposite bank, a black-robed woman with crimson hair stood smiling at her. The red-haired woman moved her lips slightly, yet no sound came forth. Yet the words echoed clearly in Inoan's ears: *Because you are the exact same kind of monster.* *Have you forgotten the people you killed?* *Didn't they make the exact same sounds before they died?* "..." Lying on the ground with vacant eyes, Inoan's gaze gradually focused, turning manic. "I remember..." Images long sealed and buried deep within her memories surged into her mind like a burst dam. "I am..." "Ivanos." *** Beneath the dark clouds, Beelzebub, who had been laughing uproariously, suddenly felt an intense chill in the air. Before he could react, his right hand suddenly felt light. Instinctively looking down to tighten his grip, he found that his right hand—which had just been clutching the young lady's slender throat—had vanished along with his wrist, leaving no trace behind. "Aaaagh!" From the hollow stump, blood gushed outward, rapidly staining his ashen skin. Christina, her life hanging in the balance, had already reappeared across from him, cradled in the arms of the ghostly, red-haired woman. "H-how is this possible...?" Beelzebub's eyes bulged, his lips trembling. He slowly raised his head, his gaze wavering before him, overflowing with disbelief and profound terror. The red-haired woman seemed the very embodiment of the red spider lily. She was terrifying yet breathtakingly beautiful—a delicate balance of life and death, creation and destruction, a deity of death presiding over all. Her eyes no longer carried the docile subservience of a maid; they were filled with absolute, ruthless coldness—pure, undiluted human malice. Even as a demon, he felt an unspeakable, hair-raising sinister aura radiating from her. And that crimson, divine-era radiance— There was no question. There was only one wielder of the [Original Slate - Fire]. This woman was the notorious Cardinal Bishop of the Southern Continent's Resurrection Church—Ivanos! At this moment, Beelzebub dared not question the authenticity of the slate in the slightest, because the berserk mana radiating from her choked the breath right out of his lungs. This was the true jest of the Goddess of Fate! He could not even fathom how far he had provoked the Bishop of Destruction. "...I'm fighting Ivanos?! Rocky McCarthy, is even this part of your plot?!" Beelzebub cried out, his composure completely crumbling. A monster of this caliber was someone only a genuine High Priest could hope to withstand! *** Back in the Posen Demon Realm, Lanqi and Talia, who were in the middle of executing Perlman, froze in place. Neither of them had any idea that Inoan was actually the Bishop of Destruction, Ivanos. "Lanqi, is this your scheme?" After witnessing Lanqi's sealing slate, Talia felt nothing could surprise her anymore. "Th-this... how could I possibly orchestrate this? I'm not the Holy Emperor." Lanqi wore an equally dumbfounded expression. To be on the verge of ruin, only to be bailed out by an enemy... He felt an indescribable tangle of emotions. "Could it be... that I defeated a Cardinal Bishop before?" Talia was utterly bewildered. It seemed as though every offhand wish she made to Lanqi ended up coming true. The two exchanged a glance, then awkwardly looked away from each other.