Step. Allen’s consciousness drifted in an endless sea of stars.
The night sky, free of light pollution, was pure enough to make one’s heart pound.
Against a deep blue velvet backdrop, billions of stars glittered with cold, eternal light, like a diamond box the gods had carelessly knocked over.
Allen floated, or rather lay, on a slightly cool, almost nonexistent “grass,” gazing up at this entirely unfamiliar dome.
No Big Dipper, no Orion, no familiar constellation patterns from his past life.
A strange tranquility, carrying an eternal sense of loneliness, wrapped around him. His soul seemed to dissolve and scatter in this vastness, breathing in rhythm with the cosmos.
Was this the afterlife?
It seemed… quite nice.
After countless cycles of death, this peaceful world, belonging only to Allen, was a longed-for resting place.
Then, a figure appeared silently beside him.
A pure black dress wrapped around a delicate figure that seemed beyond human. Long black hair nearly melted into the night. Only a pair of deep purple eyes, like imprisoned nebulae, reflected an inhuman, cold luster in the starlight.
She was speaking to Allen. Her voice was ethereal, like the noise of cosmic background radiation, indistinct, yet like tiny hooks gently plucking at some hidden, forgotten string deep in his soul.
A source of light.
That throb was faint and distant, as if from billions of light-years away…
A bone-chilling cold suddenly struck, freezing the starlight and Allen’s thoughts.
“Go back… Your mission… is not yet complete…”
Finally, he made out her words.
Mission? What mission? Who are you?!
Was this long-haired beauty the legendary goddess?
Before the question could leave his lips, a tremendous force yanked him violently out of this star sea!
Allen’s eyes snapped open. Harsh breathing was clear in the silence.
The pungent smell of disinfectant replaced the cold of space. His gaze focused on a gleaming metal ceiling, with a soft surgical light as the only illumination.
He wore blue-and-white striped hospital clothes. Beside him stood an IV stand with a half-full bag of dark red liquid, and a transparent tube connected to his arm.
Blood transfusion?!
Allen was instantly half-awake.
This scene didn’t fit!
Metal walls, surgical light, IV bags… This was a completely different dimension from a medieval clinic with candles, herbal smells, and even fleas!
Could it be… he had finally died and returned to Earth, his home?!
“Young… Young Master?”
A tired yet surprised voice came from beside the bed.
Allen turned his stiff neck. Soft black short hair, a familiar maid’s lace headband, and a pair of red eyes now bloodshot, with traces of tears still wet.
Marianne.
She was leaning by the bed, obviously startled awake, with creases from her sleeve on her cheek.
Oh, still in the “Star Love Song” set. Not done filming yet.
But this scene… was beyond the curriculum, right?
“How… how long have I been lying here? And where is this? Has Livia come?” Allen’s voice was as dry as sandpaper.
Marianne straightened up, rubbing her swollen eyes. Her movements were sluggish, but her gaze locked onto Allen as if afraid he would close his eyes again the next second.
“You… have been asleep for three days,” she said flatly, but her tone carried a barely perceptible tremor.
“I thought… you wouldn’t wake up. This is the Inquisition Tribunal’s medical room. As for Livia… Miss.” She paused, her gaze drifting for a moment.
“She learned of your attack and wanted to visit, but the inquisitors… ‘politely’ stopped her.”
“Excellent!” Allen barely stopped himself from blurting out, forcefully suppressing the rising corner of his mouth.
As expected of the Inquisition Tribunal that could chase the Phoenix Overlord all over the map—this was great news!
Temporarily freed from Livia’s death glare, Allen’s heart, which had been unbearably heavy from the strange dream, instantly lightened a lot.
“So we’re now under the Tribunal’s ‘protective custody’?”
Allen asked with his eyes: You didn’t blow our cover, did you?
Marianne gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“The inquisitor said they need to ask you some questions once you wake up. During that time, you can’t contact outsiders.”
She paused, then added, “I… used the reason that I was the last person to have contact with you and could provide clues and testimony, to request staying here.”
Allen raised an eyebrow.
To be honest, Marianne’s decision surprised him, even moved him a little.
Logically, Marianne didn’t have to wade into this trouble. She had far fewer suspicions than Allen.
By staying, she would instead become a key target of investigation.
As a former member of the Crimson Spiral Order, perhaps many cultists recognized her.
If the Inquisition Tribunal extracted information from captured cultists, Marianne would be in danger.
However, Allen knew those madmen. They saw the world as a cage and death as liberation. They wouldn’t give the Tribunal a chance to capture them alive.
They remained in the human world only to “liberate” more people from the cage. To do that, they had to endure great suffering and strive for the “liberation” of all humanity.
This tone of “though we kill them, we truly love them” was probably something only these cult madmen, who didn’t value human life, could utter.
The teachings of the Crimson Spiral Order easily attracted those with deep inner wounds and self-destructive tendencies.
Allen had once been such a person.
In one playthrough, he was completely consumed by the desire for revenge, which allowed him to rapidly rise within the Order to the rank of Abyss Walker.
But even so, he was still defeated by Livia.
When he came to his senses from the madness, he discovered that the Order’s leader, a Listener of the Stars, planned to sacrifice the entire Royal Capital to gain power to defeat Livia.
Allen’s remaining humanity overcame his thirst for revenge. He backstabbed the leader, bloodied the Order, and finally got a satisfying death.
After that, Allen no longer wanted any association with the Order.
He would rather face death head-on as an ordinary person than survive by slaughtering innocents.
He was a villain, not a madman.
How bad could the worst fodder be?
Allen and Marianne’s relationship hadn’t reached the point where they would sacrifice their lives for each other.
Her daring to venture into the tiger’s den for him, disregarding her own safety, only showed that she still harbored a self-destructive impulse within.
Escaping the shadows of the past was never easy.
Allen understood Marianne, but understanding didn’t mean he approved.
“Marianne,” Allen said, looking at the black-haired maid’s tired yet intensely focused eyes, his tone incredibly gentle. “Thank you for staying here. I know staying by my side, a scumbag, is hard for you.”
“But following me only leads to endless despair and darkness. I hope I can bear the weight of that darkness for you, so you have a chance to return to the sunlight, go to Livia, and live the happy life you deserve.”
“So, please leave my side. The inquisitors shouldn’t give you a hard time. I can handle things here alone.”
Cut ties! He had to cut ties immediately! Let Marianne go find Livia, reunite, and elope—leaving him a way out!
Yet—
“No!”
Marianne’s reaction far exceeded Allen’s expectations.
She lunged at the bedside, her hands frantically grasping the sleeve of Allen’s hospital gown.
She looked up, and in her red eyes churned emotions Allen had never seen before—
Not hatred, not disgust, but a vortex of fear, despair, and twisted attachment.
“You said it!” She looked broken, yet seemed to be forcibly pieced together by some obsession into a pleading expression. “You said we were destined to be entangled, until death! You have to stick to your word!”
Marianne’s trembling fingers nearly dug into Allen’s arm, as if clutching a lifeline.
“All the pain, all the torment—don’t think you can bear them alone! Don’t leave me! And don’t you dare die! If you dare to die…”
She leaned close to Allen’s ear, her warm breath brushing his skin, but her words were icy cold. “Then I’ll die with you! I mean it!”
Allen: “???”
Sweat instantly broke out! Literally drenched in sweat!
What was happening?! Wrong script, right? Weren’t they supposed to hate and use each other?
What was this overwhelming yandere vibe?!
Was this Stockholm syndrome?
Had his mental assault been too intense and fried her CPU?
Oh no! If the player base saw the official childhood sweetheart say “die together” to the villain, the game rating would plummet into the abyss!
This wasn’t just a minefield—the game’s nature had changed! Pure love turning into NTR? Who could stand that?
With this level of fraud, the developers of “Star Love Song” would be nailed to the pillar of shame, never to recover!
This had to be the malice of the world!
Marianne wasn’t yandere—she was dragging him into mutual destruction!
If Livia saw her white moonlight like this…
Allen could already picture the miserable scene of being blown to bits by Livia, save points included, all evaporated.
Calm down! Allen de Laval!
The chasm of negative one thousand initial affection was an objective fact!
The probability of Marianne developing positive feelings for him was absolutely zero!
This was just a trauma stress response, an illusion!
Yes, that had to be it!
The priority was to get her together with Livia!
Allen forcibly suppressed the storm in his heart, squeezed out a sunny smile, even gave a thumbs up, and spoke loudly, a bit too deliberately:
“Don’t worry! Before I witness you and Livia achieve your perfect ending, this life of mine is tough as nails—I definitely won’t die! I’m the guardian angel of your love!”
Marianne didn’t respond to his grand declaration. She silently let go of her grip and sat back in the chair.
She lowered her head, her fine black hair covering her eyes, her expression unreadable.
But Allen could feel that the intense emotion in her hadn’t dissipated—it had only settled, becoming something thicker, heavier, spreading between them.
Allen didn’t know that during his three-day coma, Marianne had actually seen Livia.
Just a brief meeting at the heavily guarded entrance of the Inquisition Tribunal.
That golden-haired, blue-eyed girl was even more dazzling than in Marianne’s memory.
She wore elegant, expensive clothes, her demeanor noble and confident—a far cry from the country girl in Marianne’s memory who had fought off thugs for her on the border grasslands.
Blocked by the inquisitors, she could only communicate with Marianne, who hid in the shadow behind the door, against the bright sunlight.
“Are you Miss Allen de Laval’s maid?” Livia’s voice was gentle and proper, with just the right amount of distance. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Livia von Stern. Thank you for taking care of my fiancé.”
First meeting?
At that moment, Marianne’s heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand, hurting so much she could barely breathe.
She… didn’t recognize me?
Or had she already forgotten me?
Allen’s words thundered in Marianne’s mind: ‘She might pretend not to know you on purpose. Please don’t expose her. She has her reasons.’
Allen’s prophecy had come true, but Marianne still couldn’t quite believe it.
The look and tone in Livia’s eyes were so foreign they made her shiver.
Marianne lowered her head to look at her own fine, pretty maid uniform.
This outfit represented both the face of the nobility and her class, her identity.
When she was little, she could only wear hand-me-down rags from the adults at home, but now she had a beautiful dress that belonged to her.
The maid’s life she had resented and thought miserable was actually something the former her—and countless people struggling on the poverty line—could only dream of.
How could she have forgotten that?
Marianne had served the nobility for so long that she had developed a pride that shouldn’t have been hers—
Although she was a maid, she was still part of high society.
But in truth, she was no different from that little girl from the poor countryside.
In the eyes of the nobility, she was a commoner who didn’t know gratitude, who didn’t recognize her place. She was even uglier than her bastard young master.
The sunlight was too dazzling. Livia’s beautiful face blurred in her vision, becoming so distant.
Suddenly, Marianne remembered that back when she was still wearing rags, Livia already had decent clothes to wear.
Back then, a sad, thick barrier had already existed between her and Livia.
The long-awaited reunion brought not joy but the numbness of a death sentence.
Self-loathing, pain, self-doubt flooded over her like a tide. She couldn’t even look into Livia’s eyes, her gaze dodging wretchedly.
Livia was a hero with a strong sense of justice, with no tolerance for sin.
No matter how strong the enemy, she would unhesitatingly step forward to save those in need.
But Marianne wasn’t worth saving.
She was a genuine former cultist with blood on her hands (though ultimately not).
The future of standing shoulder to shoulder with Livia, living openly and honestly, had vanished without a trace.
She had lost the courage to walk toward the light.
The bastard young master she had once deeply hated, this man who had seen through all her ugly sides and still handed her a twisted lifeline, had become the only driftwood she could grasp while drowning.
She hated him. Hated this mutually tormenting relationship. Hated the darkness he brought.
But ironically, it was this darkness and torment that gave her a sick sense of “safety.”
Both guilty people—in front of Allen, Marianne didn’t need to pretend to be pure.
Because they tormented each other, the pain of this unredeemed state was replaced by other pains.
That was exactly what Marianne needed.
In this boundless darkness, she wasn’t walking alone.
She couldn’t leave Allen now.
Allen didn’t notice the complex emotions swirling in Marianne’s eyes, almost ready to swallow him.
Having successfully planted the “guardian of love” flag, he felt he had escaped trouble. His attention soon returned to the abnormal details of the room.
Blood bag… surgical light… metal walls… sterile environment…
The dissonance crawled up his spine like a cold snake.
No doubt about it: he had lost too much blood, and the Inquisition Tribunal had saved him with a blood transfusion.
In this medieval society, where they still practiced bloodletting and old-school medicine dominated, how could such a modern transfusion exist?
The prerequisites for blood transfusion—blood compatibility and blood types—were discoveries of the early 20th century!
As for plastic bags, transfusion tubes, sterile techniques, electric lighting—things Allen was familiar with—how could they belong to this era?
The Inquisition Tribunal… or rather, the Church behind them… definitely had something going on!
Clearly, their scientific technology had actually reached near-modern levels!
Was that right?!
Allen’s transmigrator brain spun at high speed.
If the original “Star Love Song” had settings that surpassed its medieval background, that was a sign of the developers’ lack of historical knowledge.
But Allen, who had spent countless cycles in this so-called game world, knew very well that although this world had fantastic elements like crests, on a societal level, it still followed the most basic laws of historical development.
Crests weren’t magical enough to allow the underlying tech tree to leap out of nowhere!
Under the Church’s veil of mystery, secrets hidden were probably more shocking than he imagined.
He suddenly looked up, his sharp gaze shooting toward the mirror-like metal wall opposite.
Behind it… were there eyes watching him?
According to classic tropes, the answer was usually—yes.
From the moment Allen contacted the Inquisition Tribunal, there was no turning back.
He had made a dangerous choice with a slim chance of survival: stay and fight the cultists to the death, rather than try to escape.
Only then could he truly draw the Church’s attention to him.
It was a risky move.
How could Allen know about a cult hideout that even the Church didn’t know?
That alone made Allen suspicious enough, and he had no reasonable explanation.
His only option was to solidify the claim that he had received a divine revelation.
But doing so put him in even more danger.
Compared to openly rebellious cultists, someone who used God’s name to swindle was undoubtedly a more dangerous heretic.
His chances of leaving the Inquisition Tribunal alive were minuscule.
Even so, he had to seize that sliver of hope.
Minuscule didn’t equal zero.
The most important thing for a prophet was psychological fortitude.
To fool others, you first had to fool yourself.
Yes! Allen’s countless cycles must have been God’s test!
This was a true miracle that even the Church couldn’t explain!
He prayed to God, and God granted him a temporary cheat—wasn’t that enough to show God’s favor?
Those favored always act recklessly.
The Inquisition Tribunal—what right did they have to convict someone who constantly experienced miracles and received divine grace?
Allen stopped pretending.
A grin spread across his face, a “sunny and cheerful boy” smile. He raised the hand without the IV, facing the empty wall, and waved vigorously, full of energy, as if greeting an old friend.
“Yo! Dear folks, you’ve worked hard! Thanks for saving my life!”
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