Late at night, Ellen, who had been sleeping soundly, suddenly felt a [warning] from the Zhesi Gem on his chest.
That burning pain, along with the sharp noise generated by the program in his mind, made him sit up instantly and awaken completely.
Hestia Shadowsong, responsible for vigilance, appeared silently in the center of the tent—like a weightless shadow—only a step away from her most respected Master.
The girl’s emerald green eyes shone brilliantly in the dim tent.
Her messy, dark green short hair displayed a wild beauty, and her elf-unique pointed ears were tense at this moment.
She wore form-fitting leather armor suited for movement, outlining a tall and agile figure, with two short daggers at her waist gleaming with a cyan light in the darkness.
“Hestia, what’s wrong?”
Ellen yawned in confusion.
Looking at the elf girl, now almost as tall as himself, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: Elves truly are the noble race of legend. Three years ago, she was a skinny girl only up to his shoulder, but in a blink, she’d grown as tall as him.
Hestia didn’t respond with small talk, not even a prelude.
“Master, look at me. Let me show you the truth.”
Her fingertips moved like lightning, carrying a hint of the night’s coolness, pressing precisely on Ellen’s brow.
In an instant, Ellen’s vision was completely stripped away.
A violent torrent of memories crashed into his mind.
Fragments of information fused together, nearly overwhelming his consciousness.
[Count: 1]
A huge, scarlet number—1—kept pulsing.
It flickered deep in his mind like a brand.
[Scene One]: Ruins of Demon King City.
Gray-black world-ending flames burst from the fallen Demon King’s head, twisting the air.
He’d exhausted the last of his mana, body collapsing to the ground, then the thunder of hooves shattered the brief silence.
Blood Thorn’s black-armored heavy cavalry rolled over the ruins like a steel tide.
Belinda, draped in a crimson battle cloak, rode her warhorse, locking onto him in an instant through the smoke, her eyes burning with a near-mad possessiveness.
She waved her hand, and cold chains instantly bound his wrists and ankles.
The scene shifted to the depths of the Imperial Capital Palace.
Belinda’s face twisted in shadow.
Her “love” became lashings, shackles, endless possession, and sick “punishment”.
Every touch brought new pain and despair.
In the end, he died in a cold prison.
[Scene Two]: Still the Demon King’s fall, flames rising.
This time, he reached out toward the figure at the edge of the ruins, bathed in redemptive Holy Light—Reina.
A trace of satisfaction flashed in the depths of her ice-blue eyes.
A Sacred Teleportation Array lit up, swallowing Ellen’s form completely.
The scene changed again—not to a solemn sanctuary, but the Inquisition.
Inside a cold, oppressive stone chamber engraved with restrictive runes.
The so-called “Baptism” was more like torture for the soul.
Holy Light became a carving blade, stripping away his will, his memories, every trace of “Ellen”.
In the end, he wore the icy armor of a Saintlight Knight, eyes hollow and numb, a perfect puppet.
He forever served at the side of Saint Reina Saintglow, the most loyal ornament beneath her holy radiance.
[Repeat! Repeat! Repeat!]
Countless fragments flashed wildly in his mind.
Belinda’s imprisonment and twisted declarations of love.
Reina’s Holy Light and the carving of the soul.
Chains—sometimes wrapped in velvet, sometimes left barbed.
Holy Light—sometimes gentle white, sometimes razor-sharp gold.
Madness, emptiness, pain, numbness…
The scarlet number began to jump crazily: 1, 2, 7…24…100…
These two kinds of endings, like endless parallel lines bristling with thorns, repeated and cycled endlessly beneath the flashing scarlet numbers.
It was like endless torture!
Finally, the number froze—[Count: 2974].
“Ugh—ah!”
A stifled cry of pain forced its way from Ellen’s throat.
He clutched his head as if it would explode.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
The emotional shock from those scenes was overwhelming.
The agony of the whip in the marble palace, the soul-erasing torment of the Inquisition—all of it drowned him like a tide.
Hestia’s fingertip pressed to his brow was icy cold.
The elf girl’s emerald eyes locked onto her Master’s twisted face without a hint of pity, instead filled with urgency.
“Master, did you see it?”
Did you see clearly?
Two thousand nine hundred and seventy-four times.
She enunciated the number with extra clarity, as if afraid he hadn’t fully understood.
“You’re a toy fought over on this Wheel of Despair! Those two women tore at you, battled for you, played with you two thousand nine hundred and seventy-four times! Belinda used the Timeheart, and Reina stole the power of the Sanctuary. When you chose one, the other would push the cycle. Again and again, they reincarnated, lost themselves, yet stubbornly chose to pursue you!”
She suddenly withdrew her hand.
The maddening torrent of information ceased, leaving Ellen gasping like a drowning man dragged from the water.
His vision darkened, his body trembling uncontrollably.
The pain and despair from the residual memories of those cycles almost drove him to wish for death.
“Their promises are all black magic in disguise!”
Hestia’s voice trembled with suppressed fury.
“Master, Belinda wants to imprison your body, Reina wants to shackle your soul! They both want to make you their personal plaything—until you rot away completely!”
“You must have noticed it too. The closer to Demon King City, the more silent they became. They’re remembering everything, bit by bit. The way they look at you is like they want to devour you alive. Even you feel a strange familiarity with all of this, don’t you?”
The girl reminded him.
Ellen trembled like someone waking from a nightmare.
Belinda’s vow of never betraying him, Reina’s Baptism of Holy Light—they hadn’t lied, but both hid parts of the truth.
How could they endure it until now…?
Probably to destroy the Demon King.
Yes, that was the mission bestowed by the gods.
And the storm after defeating the Demon King…
Hestia’s emerald eyes glowed strangely in the dark.
“Master, the moment the war ends, hold my hand and leave with me.”
Her tone was resolute.
“Let me take you away from this filthy vortex.
Elves revere the freedom of the Wind. I swear, I’ll never harm or control you as they do!
Your remaining days should belong to you alone!”
Freedom.
At this moment, the word held an unspeakable allure.
The scent of the Forest, the unbound Wind, the breaking of all shackles…
After nearly three thousand cycles of despair, the promise sounded like a gospel from paradise.
Ellen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive away the shattered, terrible memories.
Hestia’s vow echoed in his ears, bringing the scent of Forest and freedom—so tempting.
But then he remembered Belinda’s chains and Reina’s warnings.
Escape?
Yes!
The thought grew in his heart like wild vines, nearly crushing his reason.
Ellen could even feel his leg muscles tensing unconsciously, desperate to dash from the cursed tent, flee Demon King City, escape everyone, and run into the darkness beyond.
But… No.
Another image forced its way in.
Not Belinda’s madness, not Reina’s coldness, nor Hestia’s promised freedom.
It was from the very beginning of his journey—a burning village.
Monsters had just swept through, leaving only ruins and charred corpses everywhere.
A child, bloodied and missing an arm, stared blankly at the blood-red sky.
That hellish scene, more than any pain from the cycle, had struck his heart first.
Then there were the caravans slaughtered by monsters during his journey, the farmers twisted into abominations by the Demon King’s corruption…
Their cries of despair echoed endlessly in his mind.
And the dead Jocelyn.
On the Taya Continent, she was called the Lord of Destruction, Barbaros.
Aside from Ellen, most thought she was a Giant or Titan Descendant, since she always hid in her massive Black Armor.
Since middle school, she’d been Ellen’s close friend.
Every day after the fourth period, they’d race to be first in the cafeteria.
When they reunited at the Sacred Spring Waterfall, even though she’d become a powerful figure, she still hugged him—the insignificant nobody—happily.
“Plum! I missed you so much.”
“Plum, I want to go home and drink cola.”
“Plum, I miss my parents. My mom’s braised chicken, my dad’s shredded pork with garlic sauce.”
“Plum, we have to defeat the Demon King. According to the Old Magician’s Notes. Defeat the Demon King, and we can go home.”
“…And finally eat a good meal.”
All of this had long since become a part of what he carried.
Ellen’s eyes snapped open.
He drew a deep breath, his body still quivering from the mental shock.
But from the deepest part of his soul, a strength grew—an absurd sense of responsibility unique to those who’d crossed worlds—silently holding his collapsing will together.
“First…”
His voice was hoarse.
“…Defeat the Demon King.”
He lifted his head, eyes fixed on the colossal Demon King City lurking in the night.
The fear remained, the shadow of the cycle pressed upon his heart, but a numb determination pushed down the urge to flee.
“The rest…comes after.”
He said it more to himself than anyone else.
Hestia’s eyes narrowed, studying the Master she’d always respected.
The elegant line of her chin tensed, then gradually relaxed.
She didn’t press further, only let out a soft, ambiguous sound from her nose.
“As you wish.”
She stepped back, her tall figure melting into the night, vanishing into the thick darkness at the tent’s entrance.
At some point, a wooden whistle had been left on the ground.
It was the style he’d taught her to make when they first stood guard together—drill holes, carve slits, remove burrs.
She’d made it far better than he ever had.
Ellen picked up the finely crafted whistle.
At his ear, the elf girl’s whisper lingered.
“Master, keep it safe. If you choose freedom in the end, blow it.
I’ll take you away.”