《I Will Stand By the Villainess's Side Till My Death》 The page turns "Clack... clack..." That was the sound of the train wheels grinding against the tracks, mingling with the city''s hustle and bustle as it approached one of the stations. The train and the atmosphere were ordinary, and the number of passengers was not overwhelming. It was the last trip of the day. However, there was something remarkable inside the train... "Look, there he is again..." A woman whispered to her friend, her voice barely audible over the train''s noise. "We''re in luck... the eye candy is here." Her friend replied, "Are you sure he''s single?!" "Yes, I''m sure. I''ve often taken this train with him; he''s always alone and rarely receives any calls." "I don''t know, that seems hard to believe. How could he possibly be single with that height, that distinct aura, and those features?! Wow..." They whispered to each other in fragments, careful not to reveal their interest... but their intentions were clear. They were a little naive... Their gazes were drawn to a seated man, the seats beside him empty. He appeared to be in his mid twenties, with elegant clothes and sharp, attractive features. His umbrella was neatly placed beside him. His attractiveness wasn''t just in his handsome face; his face exuded masculinity, as did his entire body. especially in his distinctive black suit, his jet-black hair, and his intensely blue eyes. He was surrounded by an aura of intensity, as if an invisible barrier prevented anyone from approaching him. Yet, the women on the train couldn''t resist staring at him, their eyes drawn to his presence. Some stole glances, not brave enough to hold their gaze... it wasn''t just the women; the men''s eyes were also filled with envy and jealousy... "Damn... how can there be a man with that look..." "His clothes look expensive, but if he''s really that rich, why doesn''t he own a car? Why is he taking the train?!..." A man whispered to his friend, his words stemming from his jealousy, wondering why the women were so obsessed with that man. He himself was not bad looking¡ªbut let''s be honest, there was no comparison. "Shhh... be quiet, don''t bring trouble upon us," his friend replied, while the women''s stares around them were like arrows ready to be launched. "Ah!... sorry about that..."¡ªwhile trying to forcefully close his friend''s mouth. Some women hesitated to ask for his phone number, but none dared to, due to his powerful aura. They considered him completely out of their reach, and the chance of rejection was high. They settled for gazing from afar, and from this, some developed a new habit: boarding the train aimlessly, without a destination, to live in fantasy... Meanwhile, on the other side of the train, whether he was aware of their attention or deliberately ignoring it, he showed no sign. His gaze remained fixed, expressionless, as if lost in thought... The two girls continued their conversation about him non-stop, as if they were living in their own dream. However, their admiration didn''t last long. The next station was approaching, and they knew their journey with their "prince" was about to end. They often took this train just for the chance to see him. ¡ã¡ã¡ã The station announcement echoed through the train: "Approaching [XXXX Station]. Please mind the gap when exiting." This was his stop to get off, the closest station to his apartment. He stepped off the train, then paused for a moment, raising his head to look at the sky to check the weather. It had been raining that morning, but now, with night fallen, the clouds had dispersed, revealing a thin sliver of the moon. It had been a long day at the company for him; he was tired, and his steps were somewhat heavy. He began to walk, his sharp eyes emitting a distinct aura. Some passersby stared at him, but he showed no reaction, continuing on his way. He seemed lost in thought, as if some dilemma was about to unfold, but suddenly his eyes widened and a spark ignited within them. A hint of excitement appeared, and the fatigue seemed to vanish. His steps quickened, and his mind focused on one thing: returning to his apartment to do something he had hesitated about all week... He reached his apartment building, an unremarkable structure that blended seamlessly into any ordinary scene. But he hardly blended into the scene; he seemed to belong to another world... The sound of his footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway. He climbed the stairs, the hallway lights flickering and blinking intermittently,he walked towards his apartment. He was somewhat exhausted, the weariness seeping into his body. He reached his apartment door, fumbled for his keys, and finally, the lock clicked open. He pushed the door and entered, closing it behind him with a soft click. His eyes scanned the dimly lit room. It was a small apartment, just as he had left it: clean, tidy, and meticulously organized. Everything was in its place, clean and neat. This reflected his love and dedication to the small details. His small kitchen gleamed, and on the kitchen counter, his prized possession: his meticulously arranged coffee-making tools and his luxurious coffee machine. It wasn''t just coffee; there were many other beverages. Nearby, in the living room, the bookshelf stood as a testament to his passion for reading, filled with a variety of books: historical, literary, philosophical, and psychological. His love for books was undeniable. A subtle air freshener scent lingered¡ªjust enough to erase the traces of the outside world He carefully removed his jacket, folded it meticulously, and hung it in the closet. A shower was his next step. he headed towards the bathroom, his hands unbuttoning his shirt slowly as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Fatigue was etched in his eyes, his shoulders slightly slumped, as if finally preparing to release the burden of a long day. With each piece of clothing he removed, he felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. Steam rose, filling the bathroom with a warm mist that softened the cool air. His fingers touched the surface of the water gathering in the bathtub, testing its temperature before adjusting it slightly. Then he paused, taking a deep breath, savoring the fleeting moment before fully immersing himself in the waiting warmth. His body slowly sank into the tub, the heat seeping into his tense muscles, loosening them gradually. His eyes closed, his breathing calmed, and time slowed around him. Now, finally, he could leave everything behind. After finishing his bath, he headed back to his small kitchen to prepare his dinner. He stood in the center of the kitchen, selecting ingredients. With a sharp knife, he began to chop the onions with swift, precise movements, while the aroma of fresh garlic filled the hot pan. He melted a small piece of butter before adding the seasoned chicken slices, which began to sizzle and turn golden brown. While the pasta boiled on the side, he watched the chicken cook thoroughly, flipping it skillfully in the pan. Finally, his special touch¡ªrich cream, grated Parmesan cheese, and a sprinkle of black pepper. He garnished the dish with fresh basil leaves and took his first bite, savoring the taste of his own cooking. He ate in silence, then relaxed on the couch A table stood before him, and in its center, a novel.¡ªit was a gift from a colleague after he helped her successfully oversee a project. Normally, it wouldn''t have caught his attention¡ªit was aimed at young adults, and his initial impressions were: it would be boring, he wasn''t a fan of fantasy. But he had accepted it. Interestingly, he hadn''t received many gifts in his life, so he was somewhat excited and it was just a gesture of thanks She was very hesitant when giving it to him, almost as if her soul were leaving her body from his intense Aura. But there was something worse than that¡ªshe gave him the wrong novel she intended to. It went unnoticed by her at that time. In return, he didn''t expect much from the novel, Especially in the early stages of reading it. It lacked depth for him, and He has a mountain of complaints about it: childish events, exaggerated power, empty dialogues, the author''s unfair treatment of the characters, and he loathed the main character with all his being¡­ The list was endless. What truly captured his attention and made him forget everything was the villainess, Victoria. From the moment she appeared, she ignited a curiosity and a feeling he had never known. One could say the author succeeded in reversing the roles for him; he now despised the main character and sympathized with the villainess... A whole week had passed since he decided to stop reading the novel due to the escalating events that didn''t sit well with him, or perhaps he was afraid something would happen to her. The situation was ominous, especially since it concerned his favorite character in the novel, and he found himself unable to stop thinking about her. All the developments were pointing against Victoria, which worried him about her fate. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. During this week, it wasn''t just a break; he sat analyzing and rethinking all possible scenarios. After much contemplation, he reached a logical conclusion: his favorite character Victoria was very popular as he assumed, and any harm that befell her would negatively impact the story as a whole. Since the novel was still in its first half, it was illogical for her to face a tragic fate at this point, which gave him some reassurance to resume reading. His curiosity was gnawing at him from the inside. He paused for a moment, then said, "Alright." He reached for the novel on the table, opened the last page he had read, and resumed reading. His mood quickly shifted with the events, especially as they revolved around Victoria. "Soft flip" He began reading the next page, then flipped another, and another. "Soft flip" "Soft flip" He quickly became immersed in the pages of the novel. His heart pounded, She was about to engage in a desperate battle, everyone was her adversary, whether they were evil or good, everyone had abandoned her. ... In the previous chapters, Victoria had successfully taken down her enemies, operating in secret as a phantom assassin, evading capture and keeping her identity hidden. Her victims, all from the noble class, caused a significant stir across the kingdom, and her presence became a serious threat to its stability. However, in the final chapters he read, her identity was exposed. The method remains unclear, but it appears she was betrayed, revealing her secret. The royal knights set a well-planned trap for her, a cunning and intricate scheme. They used two of her upcoming targets as bait, after discovering the common link between her victims, which was the issue of stripping the "Ravensdale Langford" Victoria''s family of their noble title. This time, the bait was not nobles, but knights, because they believed they could defend themselves against her. They surrounded her: the kingdom''s knights, Prince Rowan, Rowan''s right-hand man Marcus, an unnamed assistant knight, and Akra and Lorine, who were acting as bait¡ªthese two bore both noble and knight titles and were already engaged in battle with Victoria. It was a hard fight; they pushed her to her limit... As he continued reading, his heart pounded with anxiety: ? ...The knights of the kingdom, led by Rowan Eldenhurst, charged forward after agreeing to finally eliminate the fallen noblewoman, Victoria. They advanced towards her with their gleaming weapons, ready to put an end to her ''evil''. ? as the author described. But he didn''t see her as evil; it wasn''t that simple. He pressed the page, Immersed in the text... ?... She was suffering after Rowan''s strike successfully separated her from her followers¡ªan excellent strategy. Now she was alone in the ruined throne room, her black cloak torn at the edges, blood staining her arm. Despite that, her aura exuded a terrifying control, but her eyes and face¡­ signs of illness were even more evident, and a curse appeared on her face, indicating her use of forbidden magic that consumed both her soul and body. It was clear and obvious that she was pushing herself beyond her limits, and using that magic was tearing her apart... ? He felt as if he were experiencing Victoria''s pain and suffering, forcing himself to continue reading. ? Rowan declared, "Your secret is out, Victoria! So you''re the main cause of these terrible incidents. Because of you, most of the kingdom''s knights have lost their innocent lives. You have shed their blood without mercy. You''re also using forbidden dark magic. You are accused of all these crimes, and you will never escape." ? He answered in a sarcastically steady tone, his expression unmoved, "Manipulated... blind fool. She targeted the corrupt, did you a favor." ? ... As a knight and prince of the kingdom of Irondale, I declare you guilty and sentence you to the application of sacred justice. I will carry out justice against the evil you have committed, and we will not allow you to spread more corruption in our kingdom, nor will we let the souls of the victims go in vain." ? He sighed. He was always bored when he read Rowan''s dialogue. Although the events were somewhat based on naive and predictable ideas in his opinion, all the possibilities indicated that there was another character behind the scenes, whom he wanted to eliminate by attributing all the crimes to her. It was a predictable scenario, but he felt a bitter taste in his mouth, so he couldn''t control himself¡­ He continued ? Rowan''s eyes darting around the ruined hall. There lay the bodies of Lorin and Akra, who had already fallen. He whispered to himself, "We''ve lost too many already! Akra, Lorin, I''m sorry I was too late!" ? A sarcastic voice interjected, "Oh, ''sorry''? How very... responsible of you. After all, it was your brilliant plan that got them killed. He picked up where he left off... ? ...Rowan''s friends followed him one by one. "Don''t worry, Rowan, we''re here," Rowan''s right-hand man stated. "She''s using dark magic! Be wary!" Rowan said, his voice ragged. A heavy silence descended, the air thick with immense pressure. "What do you mean? She''s really using it?! Marcus asked, his voice barely audible, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. "That level of carnage... it felt like dark magic. And now we know she uses it." Rowan''s gaze was fixed on Victoria, his expression stern. "Doesn''t this seem familiar? Doesn''t it make you wonder about what happened three months ago, doesn''t it?" Marcus''s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly. He nodded slowly, the weight of realization pressing down on him. "You think she was the perpetrator?" ? He commented with a sigh: "Nope, you fool." ? "She''s a criminal, of course. And now, she''s committed this atrocity. We must end this. Now." "Let''s go! No need to hold back our power before she regains her energy!" A sacred aura surrounded them as they brandished their swords towards her, their gazes filled with resolve to eliminate the fallen noblewoman, Victoria.? Rowan declared in his voice, "It''s over! You''ve caused enough suffering." But she just¡­it laughed. Her voice echoed in the hall, hoarse, tired, "it''s over? You really think you''ve won? How amusing... let''s see whose time is up first." His eyes widened as he read the fight. ?... Victoria''s eyes blazed with desperate determination, despite her ragged breaths and bleeding wounds. She danced between their blows, dodging with fluid grace, and retaliating with swift, powerful strikes. But it was Marcus''s plan to exhaust her, and it didn''t take long before she began to falter. It seemed she had reached her limit, just as they had planned. It was a one-against-three battle, and little by little, she began to weaken, to lose ground. Rowan, Marcus, and the assisting knight were no amateurs. They exchanged glances and coordinated their final attack. Rowan charged from the front, Marcus from the side, and the assisting knight covered their backs. In a decisive moment, Rowan unleashed a powerful, holy magic-enhanced sword strike. As Victoria struggled to parry, Marcus and the assisting knight seized the opportunity, their blades simultaneously piercing her body.? He muttered in disbelief, "She can''t... no. Not now. It''s... the middle of the novel. This isn''t happening..." He began to hesitate to turn the page, feeling frustrated. His hopes began to dwindle, and he felt a bitter taste in his mouth knowing that Her fate lay on the next page. The tension he felt was suffocating. He took a slow breath, He murmured softly, "She has healing powers, doesn''t she? It can''t be over." He slowly turned the page "¡­slow¡­ flip¡­" He cautiously resumed reading, dragging himself through the text word by word, as if delaying an execution. ? ... Blood gushed from her wounds, staining the ground beneath her a crimson red. She slowly raised her head, her eyes blazing with a pale gaze, a look wavering between life and death, carrying within it a bitter mix of despair and rage. She refused to surrender, even in the face of imminent death. ? He muttered in a trembling voice, his eyes glued to the words, as if refusing to believe what he was reading. "She can''t die like this... not after everything she''s been through!" He read on, his heart heavy with grief: ? ... She struggled to gather the last threads of her fading magical power, raising her trembling hands with difficulty, in a desperate attempt to deliver a final blow, to muster what remained of her magical strength. It was her last strike, but suddenly, her magical power shattered, like a mirror breaking into tiny shards, Victoria fell to the ground, her eyes fixed on the crumbling ceiling, as the last thread of her life faded away. She whispered final words, barely audible, "I''m sorr..." words lost in the silence of the hall, unheard by anyone. ? Silence. Then¡ª She... died. ... "thump..." He slammed the novel shut violently, its hard cover hitting the table with a resounding thump. His reaction was automatic, without him even realizing it.." Then, a profound silence settled... "What?" he murmured. He stared at the novel, his grip so tight on its edges that his knuckles turned white. His mind struggled to comprehend what he had just read. "That''s it?" He swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat. "After everything? After all she suffered? After all she endured?" His eyes fell upon the remaining pages, a desperate flicker of hope and curiosity compelling him to open the novel again. Perhaps¡ªperhaps there was something more. An unexpected twist, maybe a turn of events, perhaps she would return... He flipped the novel open again to the page detailing Victoria''s death, forcing himself to read on, but found nothing to satisfy him. Nothing. Just the typical arc''s end, a time skip, and then the protagonist moving on with his life, hollow dialogues, bland comedy, and, as usual, flirting with his harem without a hint of anything... His voice, a quiet murmur, carried a heavy weight of sadness. ''Why couldn''t you see her pain? You could have saved her, you incompetent fool.'' "I only cared about this novel because of her. If she''s gone... what''s the point? What''s the point of any of this?" His frustration faded into exhaustion. He leaned back, rubbing his temples. He wanted to continue reading, but he couldn''t. Victoria was the only reason he''d read this novel in the first place... Instead, he pulled out his phone and searched: "Sacred Prince''s Journey novel: Crown Warriors Victoria death." The results appeared: "...Victoria died in chapter 78..." It was the same chapter he was reading... A sharp pang hit him after reading that sentence. Again, he decided to search, this time using: "Prince''s Journey Victoria return chapter." Again, disappointing results. "...Victoria''s last appearance was in chapter 78, in her final battle scene with Prince Rowan..." his fingers jabbing at the keyboard in frustration: "Victoria return possibility... ''Stupid Prince''s Journey'' novel." He wrote it that way out of his frustrations. He scrolled through the search pages until he found a prominent fan blogger who had delved into the topic, and even asked the author directly... ? "...Yes, I asked him directly, without any beating around the bush, if there was any possibility of Victoria''s return. He replied: "Honestly, Victoria''s popularity wasn''t at the level I expected. It was rather disappointing, so I decided to end her arc, and I think it was a decent ending... As for her return, of course not. Look forward to a second character who will be better than her..." ? Those words were like fuel to the fire for him. He exhaled sharply and stood up, heading to his bedroom and collapsing onto his bed. It was well past midnight. He tried to sleep but couldn''t, as his foul mood wouldn''t allow it. He kept telling himself, "Pull yourself together, you''re a man, not a child to whine about a children''s novel"... But , his mind replayed the scene of her death... Out of frustrations he picked up his phone again to check the novel, then began reading the comments on the fateful chapter 78. But contrary to his expectations, he found that most of the comments were positive about it. "Victoria''s death, who cares? Still only five girls? Author, give us a proper harem already!". "RIP Akra and Lorine, they will be missed." "78 CHAPTERS. 5 GIRLS. THAT''S IT? MORE GIRLS OR I''M GONE!" "Author, give us MORE! We want a real harem!" "Good riddance! Victoria was annoying anyway. Let''s move on to the real plot." "Author, don''t listen to the whiners. More harem, less drama!" He gripped the phone tightly, and something inside him ignited, "...Damn you all." He closed his phone and rolled onto his right side. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep while his mind replayed that scene, over and over, the injustice and cruelty she endured, especially in her final moments. He muttered, "If I had the chance..." The thought echoed in his mind... "I''m sure I would have..." His eyelids grew heavy. "...saved you..." Then, suddenly, he felt an overwhelming drowsiness. Darkness spread around him. A strange feeling of weightlessness washed over him, a sensation of being without weight, the room around him faded away... Pitch black. Then¡ªnothing. Rats ... The pitch-black scene was abruptly shattered by a sound... [Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.] [Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.] [Memory Simulation Protocol: Terminated.] [Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.] [Emergency Directive: Memory Simulation Protocol Aborted.] The echo of an artificial voice resonated in his ear, piercing the layers of darkness. The world he once inhabited evaporated, leaving behind a void that echoed with solitude. His apartment ¡ªhis sanctuary from the outside world¡ªhis shelves lined with books, his meticulously organized room, all gone. The refreshing scent of air freshener that permeated the air, the familiar floorboards that warmed his feet ¡ªall succumbed to oblivion, like a dream fading into bitter reality. Then, the ultimate loss: the warmth that coursed through him like lifeblood, the vibrancy of a youthful body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the effortless flex of muscle and bone¡ªall extinguished. Replaced by an encroaching annihilation, a dark abyss that swallowed everything. With weary reluctance, his heavy eyelids fluttered open... The impenetrable darkness began to recede, yielding to the dim, clinical light of the desolate intensive care unit. Slender wires tethered his frail form to a complex network of monitors, each displaying a different set of data: electroencephalogram, blood pressure, heart rate, blood oxygen levels. The rhythmic beeping of the life-support machines sliced through the oppressive silence, each pulse heralding the deterioration of his vital signs. Yet, no response. No medical staff, no doctor, came to his aid; the outcome was sealed. Amidst the machines, a bed carried his body, withered to a skeletal frame. Though only twenty-eight, his thin skin clung to fragile bones ¡ª a grim testament to the ruthless disease that had claimed him a year ago, slowly draining the life from his once vibrant form. Upon his head, an advanced neural headset, a futuristic contraption reminiscent of virtual reality gear, but far more invasive, its tendrils reaching deep into his nervous system, interfacing directly with his brain. Precise electrical signals were sent to his brain through this device. Specific regions, particularly the memory center, were stimulated, and the resulting neural signals were transferred to a simulation device. These signals were then retransmitted into the patient''s body via his brain and nervous system, in an attempt to relive stored memories. The memories displayed were unpredictable, as this technology was still experimental. Typically, the device accessed events that had profoundly impacted the patient, whether joyful or sorrowful. He was one of the test subjects for this technology, to improve it and reduce the chance of recreating negative memories from the patient''s life, by collecting data and studying the readings of their data. This technology offered an alternative to euthanasia, aiming to ease patient suffering. For those enduring unbearable agony, it provided a way to extend life until its natural conclusion. It was a vision for terminally ill patients¡ªgranting them a chance to live, even as death drew near. To allow them to live their lives to the fullest... All that had come before were merely memories from his life. Though they might have seemed ordinary, his brain perceived them differently. His life was nothing more than a cage of solitude since the loss of his parents. The specter of orphanhood haunted him, even after his entire family cast him aside and stripped him of everything. He was unlike others. He buried his emotions deep within his soul, trusting no one, choosing isolation and loneliness. For him, only reading books, drinking coffee, and showering stirred his emotions. Therefore, the simulation program found little to display... Even though that was his final moment. No one was beside him... Knowing he was alone, even in his dying moments, a weak smile touched his lips. He could barely speak, but he forced the words out, a final, fragile utterance. "...Enough...", he whispered, his voice barely a breath. There was nothing left to say. His weary heart yearned for rest, its rhythm faltering as his other organs failed. His eyes drifted closed... Again... Darkness. Utter darkness. An endless darkness, seeping in, slowly devouring his senses. His vision faded, as if a black curtain was drawn over his eyes, leaving only an impenetrable blackness, unlike any he had known. A rush of emotions rushed through him, thoughts lingering in his mind: "¡­ so this is how it ends..." "¡­ Alone." "Figures." "... I always told myself¡ªbeing alone is better than getting hurt..." "...And in the end, it wasn''t life that broke me... it was the hope that things would get better." "Should I break down? But my heart turned to stone ages ago. Or... should I laugh at how pathetic this all is?" "But really¡­ was my life that dull and boring?..." "... All the memories I''ve relived were... just drinking coffee on my days off. Always the same kind..." "... There are also memories of cleaning days, and endless days of books... Was my life really that dull? Is this really all there was? Coffee, cleaning, books..." "... Seriously? God, is there something wrong with this simulation program, or was my life really this dull?..." "...So dull that a high-tech simulation had to dig up an old novel to make things interesting?..." "...but..." "... I was really angry that day. ...Over novel character''s death..." "... Can you believe that? ...A grown man, upset over that..." "... No¡­ its not about the novel but..." "... It was her story..." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "¡­ Victoria..." "... But she wasn''t just a character to me..." "¡­ She reminded me of someone..." "... The me from long ago..." "... I knew how it would end. ¡­ I knew. ¡­ And still, I hoped." "... I wanted her to be happy... Like i always wanted my self." ... His heartbeats, once a ringing presence in his ears, gradually faded, a distant echo dissolving into the void. Then, his inner whispers, his companions in solitude, subsided, leaving a silence deeper than any he had known. The sensation of his own skin began to slip away; it felt as though the boundaries of his body were blurring, as if he were becoming a ghost. Even the sensation of his clothes vanished. He tried to scream, to move, to open his eyes, but his body remained heavy, unresponsive, a prison he could not break. Despair engulfed him, a bottomless well swallowing him whole, a world devoid of time itself. He floated in a boundless void, adrift, his sense of time lost, a stranger in an alien world. He was becoming a mere idea, a disembodied consciousness. Suddenly, the darkness began to recede, as if black curtains were slowly lifting from his eyes. His inner whispers returned, clearer now, breaking through the suffocating silence. His sight gradually returned, from impenetrable blackness to gray shadows, then to a faint light seeping into his eyes. The pitch-black darkness became ordinary darkness, the darkness he was accustomed to. Then, sensation returned to his body, a searing pain swept through his entire being, as if his skin was being flayed, pulses of pain exploding throughout his body. He tried to scream, but his voice failed him. He felt his breath cut short, his chest pressing down on him forcefully, like a heavy weight crushing him, squeezing his lungs until he could barely breathe. He tried to resist, but his body was unresponsive, as if bound by invisible shackles. He was desperate, fighting for every breath, fighting to remain conscious, trying to find an explanation for what was happening, but his mind refused to succumb to the chaos that was engulfing him. The pain intensified, his breath choked, he could no longer endure. It was an unbearable sensation, his inner self screamed, resisted, but to no avail. In the moment he thought it was the end, his body finally responded¡­ His eyes snapped open, unable to think, his body moved instinctively, driven by the survival instinct, he inhaled deeply¡­ "Haaaaah!" Before he could exhale that breath, indescribable pain seized him. He waved his hands desperately in panic, sharp pain piercing his hands, ears, chest, head, and upper torso. The pain was concentrated in that area, then suddenly, he felt the pain subside, but it didn''t completely disappear. The lower part of his body, however, was stinging intensely. He turned his gaze to the source of the pain in his legs. His vision was blurred, barely able to make out anything in the darkness. They appeared as shadowy, spherical figures moving. Gradually, his vision began to clear, and suddenly, he wanted to scream, but he couldn''t; his breath was ragged. "Ugh¡­" A groan, like that of an old man, escaped his lips, he couldn''t speak, he was struggling to catch his breath¡­ Those balls he couldn''t distinguish were rats gnawing mercilessly on the flesh of his legs, about twenty rats, most of them retreated, but three couldn''t resist the taste of the flesh. Finally, the intense pain subsided after most of the rats retreated, he regained his senses, and quickly, he began to feel around the ground for something to drive away the rats¡­ "Anything¡­ please¡­ a rock¡­" he muttered quickly. He found something better, a long branch of wood, perfect for swinging, as if it were prepared for this moment¡­ Without hesitation, he grabbed the branch and began to swing it, it wasn''t a hard swing but it was enough for crushing the first rat''s head... "Crunch!" The first rat''s skull shattered with a sickening crunch, its blood splattering across the filthy floor. A sharp sting pierced his chest as he swung, like something jagged was scraping at his lungs from the inside. But there was no time for that; he delivered a second blow to the second rat. "Crunch!" The second met the same fate. Then came the third. As he raised his hand, the pain in his chest intensified... "Crunch!" The blow was unsuccessful; it struck its side, not its head. The rat shrieked, convulsing in pain before crawling into the shadows. The rat''s last whimper faded into an eerie silence as he ran, and the remaining rats retreated into the shadows, granting him a moment to catch his breath at last. His chest heaved, a desperate struggle for air, but his breaths remained ragged, accompanied by a faint gurgling sound, as if his breath was trapped... He tasted a metallic bitterness in his mouth, growing stronger, the taste of blood. He felt lightheaded, and his vision began to blur. He continued to do so while a strange feeling washed over him, a sense of otherness. "Shorter". As if the world had expanded. His perspective had completely shifted, his gaze fell upon his body, now smaller. He tried to move his hands or feet, but movement was a struggle, his limbs weighed down with pain. His eyes turned to his hands... He opened his palm marked by the calluses of labor and hardened by toil, across his body. A tapestry of wounds: old scars, congealed blood, and fresh tears from the rats'' teeth. Bruises bloomed on his skin, a testament to past violence. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through him. His clothes were tattered, a cheap, coarse fabric that chafed his skin with every movement. Its texture was dry, like sandpaper, creating a painful friction against his already damaged skin. The ragged holes marred it, like scars on the garment''s body, bearing witness to a harsh life. He looked around, he found himself in a cramped room resembling a cell. The air was thick and foul, a mixture of old sweat, moldy stench, and another revolting odor. The floor was cold stone, the chill seeping into his bones. And in the corner of the cell, a pile of straw appeared to be a makeshift bed." A small barred window, too high to reach, offered a sliver of moonlight. On the opposite wall, a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron, remained firmly shut. He managed to stand with difficulty, swaying slightly before taking a few hesitant steps. He scanned the rough walls, wandering through the confines of the cramped cell, He felt intensely dizzy, as if the ground were spinning beneath him "Where... what?" he thought, his body trembling with pain. "Did i die... or ... dream... is it? Has... the simulation... malfunctioned?" He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus, but the throbbing in his legs made it an impossible task. "Are these... another''s memories?" , The thought was a strained, internal whisper, his mind tight with a knot of confusion. "But... the wounds..." , His inner gaze fell upon them. "Real." He breathed the word internally, a raw, broken echo. "So... very real." , He tried to swallow, but his throat was blocked, as if something warm and sticky prevented him from swallowing. "The simulation... cannot... transmit pain." The thought was barely a sigh, a desperate attempt to cling to the frayed edges of logic. "Then... what... is happening?" Suddenly, the distinct echo of footsteps resonated through the corridor, the sound growing steadily closer until it halted before the cell door. Then came the metallic jingle of keys, followed by the click of the cell''s lock being disengaged. The heavy wooden door creaked open... A gruff voice cut through the silence. "I swear I heard something. Anyway, I forgot to take the body... Oh, it''ll be disgusting... now." The speaker stopped abruptly, a stout man with a circular build, his face round, with full cheeks. He wore a light helmet on his head, and his light blonde hair fell across his forehead. He wore a worn leather jerkin over a simple tunic, with some pieces of tarnished plate armor strapped to his arms and chest. His belly protruded noticeably. His eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth hung slightly open as he stared at the boy, who leaned against the wall, his face a mask of fear and confusion. Drops of sweat fell from his forehead, indicating his intense nervousness. "Aaaaaah!... a G-G-GHOST!?" the guard stammered, his voice laced with terror. He turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. The boy was left alone, still reeling from the pain and the guard''s reaction. "What kind... language wa...?" , he thought, his mind racing. "Why... do I... understand it? ...those clothes... a guard?" His breaths grew shallow, his muscles failing. A bitter chill seeped into his bones, despite the warmth of the cell. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he lost his balance, succumbing to darkness. He fell upon the cold stone floor, still and unmoving... ¡ã¡ã¡ã Moments later, the guard, panting and wide-eyed, returned with another guard, a woman named Elara. "Are you sure you weren''t hallucinating, Borin?" Elara asked, her voice skeptical. "I swear, Elara! He was standing right there, like a... a ghost!", Borin insisted, still shaken. Elara was in the lead, advancing with confident and swift steps, a stark contrast to Borin''s stammering panic. She was tall, with broad shoulders and a slender waist, reflecting her physical strength and agility. She scanned the cell with a critical gaze from her piercing grey eyes, Her face was not of traditional beauty, but it was strikingly compelling. Her sharp features reflected an unwavering determination, and her dark, brown skin added to her strength. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back into a tight and practical braid, falling behind her shoulders, revealing the sharp line of her jaw and the resolve of her chin. She wore light leather armor, adorned with small metal plates, providing simple protection without hindering her movement. Elara approached the boy''s prone body, her expression shifting from skepticism to concern. "Has he moved?" , She placed a finger beneath his nose, checking for his breath. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, each one punctuated by a soft, wet gurgle... "He''s alive!", she exclaimed, her voice sharp. "Borin, go quickly! Summon Priestess Lyra! Fast, GO NOW!" Borin, his face a mask of bewildered compliance, stammered, "Ok-okay, I will, I will now!" He turned and bolted down the corridor, the clatter of his greaves echoing off the stone walls. Elara''s thoughts raced, her brow furrowed. "I swear, he wasn''t breathing this afternoon. He was dead!..." A flicker of something like hope, or perhaps desperation, sparked within her, reflected in a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Maybe... maybe my cursed luck is finally turning?" .... Blood & Silver Scarcely a moment had passed before Borin returned, his metal armor clanking wildly through the corridor, his lungs laboring for breath. Following him, Priestess Lyra advanced. Her long, flowing robes enveloped her form, cascading to the floor and concealing her silhouette. Lyra was strikingly beautiful, despite the severity of her countenance. Her face was youthful, with delicate and harmonious features, and her azure eyes gleamed with a cold, alluring brilliance. Her presence commanded attention¡ªa stark contrast to the rough surroundings. Her rigid posture and the tight line of her lips hinted at deep displeasure. Reaching the cell door, her voice rising to a sharp, accusatory pitch. "Elara! How dare you bring me here at this hour?" Elara struggled to keep her voice level, retorting, "Do you think I wanted to see your ugly face? I brought you here for urgent matters." "My face? Ugly face, indeed," Lyra sneered, narrowing her eyes, "Perhaps you should examine your own reflection... But never mind that. You told me I was late, and that... He hadn''t survived?" "Forget that," Elara dismissed her. "Can you just start examining his body? He''s breathing, I''ve confirmed it." "You know, even a simple examination like this will cost you," Lyra reminded her, her voice laced with a subtle threat. "Yeah, yeah, I know¡­" Elara replied, sighing, anticipating the inevitable demand for payment. Lyra stepped forward, wrinkling her nose against the cloying stench that permeated the cell. "It reeks in here, god! Can''t you clean this place once? It''s like a cesspit... And there are dead rats here too!" Her fastidious nature was evident; her distaste for the squalor was palpable. Borin interjected, "Dead rats?!" He muttered, "But I didn''t get any of them. And my hand aches from all that swinging for nothing." Lyra looked at the cell. It wasn''t completely dark, but seeing the details was difficult for Elara. She frowned in frustration and said, "Don''t you have a better way to light this place?" Lyra asked in a displeased tone. "A single lantern isn''t enough to see anything clearly." Raising her hands, Lyra whispered a soft incantation, and a gentle golden aura glowed from her palms. The golden light spread through the cell, steady and constant, like a small sun within. revealing its filthy details and the boy''s body lying on the ground. Lyra''s gaze settled on the boy''s body, examining him from a distance, her expression a mix of disgust and professional curiosity. Despite her revulsion, a clinical detachment took over, the healer within her assessing the damage¡ª Elara''s eyes fixed on the boy''s pallid, grime-glistening skin, her stomach churning. Evenly, with dry amusement, she said, "Forget his condition; surviving in this place alone is a miracle in itself..." Lyra barely crossed the threshold of the cell, then turned, her face a mask of deep revulsion. "I won''t touch that." She pointed a finger, her voice sharp and decisive. "Borin, come here. Be useful." She gestured to the boy''s crumpled body in the corner. "Adjust him. Lay him flat on the ground." Borin, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and nausea, replied, "Ah... alright..." He approached the body cautiously and with hesitant steps, as if the vision of the boy standing moments ago was still etched in his mind, like a phantom¡ªhis mind conjured the idea of the boy lunging at him at any moment. He grabbed the boy''s surprisingly light legs and dragged him to the center of the cell, then used the toe of his boot to roll the boy onto his back. With visible effort, he forced himself to touch the boy''s hands, stretching them out, then fumbled with the boy''s tattered shirt, pulling it aside. The boy''s chest was laid bare, revealing a horrifying tableau of crisscrossing scars, swollen bruises, and discolored wounds. Old injuries mingled with fresh ones, rat bites, and the telltale marks of cauterizing irons formed a macabre pattern across his chest and arms. The skin was a canvas of discolored swellings. A wave of revulsion, sharp and undeniable, washed over everyone present. They averted their gazes, their stomachs churning, trying to suppress the bile that threatened to rise, even Elara, accustomed to such gruesome sights, had to steel herself. Lyra''s professional facade faltered momentarily, the sheer brutality of the boy''s condition testing even her hardened resolve. Lyra muttered, a hint of disbelief in her voice, "How is it possible he''s still alive?" She reached out to check his breathing. A shocked, "He''s alive?" She gasped, "He''s breathing... it''s very weak and erratic." Her gaze shifted to his chest. She observed "His chest seems full from the inside, and there are some broken ribs..." Then, she began thinking of the cause "Given the weak breathing and filled chest, internal bleeding seems likely, with the lungs potentially involved." She turned to Elara. "He''s breathing, but if you leave him like this, he won''t survive for long, you know." "If you want me to treat him, this will cost you more than you anticipated." Lyra stated calmly, her eyes calculating. Elara replied firmly, "Just do it, we''ll discuss the cost after you''re finished." A flicker of satisfaction crossed Lyra''s face, a subtle tightening of her lips into a near-imperceptible smile, before she quickly returned to a professional demeanor while checking the boy¡ªshe muttered, "Okay, his body condition is very bad... It''s severe. Now he can''t be moved, and my magic isn''t able to purify all that blood..." Lyra''s brow furrowed into a deep frown of concentration as she muttered," I need to act fast... There must be another solution to get that blood out..." Lyra turned to Borin again with a serious look. "Borin, there''s a tool pouch inside The Healer''s Cell. Bring it here. Quickly!" Borin responded reluctantly, grumbling, "Alright, alright... I''ll get it." He hurried to fetch the tool pouch. While she waited for Borin''s return, Lyra spread her palms over the boy''s chest, closed her eyes, and whispered the magical incantation: "Sacred Light Magic, Healing Eleventh Gate: Life Essence Revelation" As her hands glowed with a distinctive golden aura, they moved slowly over the boy''s body, tracing his wounds. Another glow appeared on the boy''s body, revealing his arteries and blood vessels glowing with light. Her hands stopped over the chest area, her focus intensified, and she began to examine it carefully, focusing on a small vein cut, a result of the rib fractures. She whispered to herself, "Excellent. The source of the bleeding and the blood pooling are revealed. I will drain the blood quickly..." She paused, her brow furrowed in concentration. Borin had already returned by the time Lyra finished her examination. He carried a pouch filled with what appeared to be medical tools. Lyra quickly opened the pouch and removed a piece of cloth and a bottle of herbal antiseptic liquid. She thoroughly cleansed and disinfected the boy''s chest. Then, she retrieved a small, sharp knife and moistened it with the antiseptic. With a precise movement, she made a small incision between the boy''s ribs, on the right side, carefully avoiding damage to the internal organs, pinpointing the incision site with her magic. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Dark blood began to flow slowly from the incision, mixed with some air bubbles. It was viscous, and it flowed steadily, as if something were pushing it out. Lyra watched the flow intently, her expression serious. Finally, the boy''s body responded, coughing blood uncontrollably, a desperate attempt to expel whatever choked him from within. His eyes, barely open, saw only vague shadows and dim lights. His mind, muddled and hazy, couldn''t form thoughts or understand. Vague sounds swirled within his head. His body remained invaded by pain, the pain in his chest, in particular, pressing on every nerve, every cell. He breathed with difficulty, his breath irregular, broken, as if trying to inhale air through a straw. His limbs gave weak, almost imperceptible twitches and tremors, a mere echo of movement, as if even the act of involuntary spasm was a monumental effort for his exhausted body Incomprehensible and vague murmurs escaped his mouth, cries that expressed his pain and confusion, but his body was too weak to utter them. They were muffled cries pleading for help, but reaching no one. Nevertheless, there was a spark of will to live within him, a force driving him to breathe, to cough, to return to life. He was merely a faint consciousness floating in a world of pain and confusion. Lyra''s eyebrows raised slightly, her gaze analytical with sharp professional focus. She watched the flow of blood, calculating its volume and assessing its color and consistency, studying the boy''s response, searching for evidence of her intervention''s success. Behind her, Elara watched the scene with narrowed eyes, a mix of curiosity and anticipation on her face, her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, as if she were watching the outcome of the first stage of her gamble. Meanwhile, Borin flinched, gasped, and stepped back, his eyes darting between the blood and the convulsing boy. Shocked¡ªhe had thought the boy was dead. The boy looked extremely tired, pale, and exhausted, fatigue evident on his face. The blood continued to flow for a few moments, then stopped. It seemed the lungs had rid themselves of most of the accumulated blood. Then Lyra raised her hands again, and with magical incantation: "Sacred Light Magic, Healing Ninth Gate: Inner Essence Restoration," A faint golden light glowed from her hands and then spread into the boy''s chest, reaching the inside of the lungs. Lyra felt the magical life energy interacting with the boy''s body, removing the remnants of blood and accelerating the healing process. She saw the damaged tissues heal, the damaged cells regenerate, and the state of the lungs return to normal; the broken rib was slowly healing. After a few moments, the boy''s breathing stabilized, becoming normal and regular. Then, as if the last vestiges of his strength had finally abandoned him, he slipped into a deep, unconscious slumber. His body, exhausted from the ordeal, finally surrendered to the overwhelming need for rest, a fragile peace settling over his battered form. Lyra said, "Well, we''ve passed the danger stage. Now, let''s move on to the rest..." As Lyra''s incantation, ''Sacred Light Magic, Healing Third Gate: Outer Essence Purification,'' a soft golden aura enveloped her hands Then she approached the deep wounds that were slowly healing. She moved between the wounds, treating them carefully. "Such deep wounds, yet his body fights back with surprising strength," Lyra thought, her brow furrowed in concentration. An unusual resilience. "The damage is extensive, but the magic is taking hold". Lyra focused intently on the major wounds¡ªthe deep and severe ones, The boy''s body responded noticeably, his natural healing powers pushed beyond their normal limits. The wounds closed gradually, tissues regaining their natural color, leaving only scars. After a few moments, Lyra stepped back and examined the boy carefully. "Well, I think that''s enough. I''ve healed most of the fatal wounds that were threatening his life. There are still some wounds left." Then Lyra asked casually " Do you want me to continue, Elara? That will increase the bill." Elara looked surprised for a moment, then began to wonder, "Okay, okay, but how much do I owe you so far?" Lyra''s eyes lit up, and she smiled slyly, as if she had been waiting for this question from the start. "Oh, Only twenty silver coins!" Elara''s eyes widened in astonishment and dread. "TWENTY silver coins? That''s... that''s too much! I could buy four slaves with that..." {1000 bronze coins = 1 silver coin, 1000 silver = 1 gold coin} With a pleading voice, Elara tried, "Is there any discount?" Lyra raised her eyebrows coldly. "No discount. You called me ugly, and let''s be honest, you were jealous of my face. So, no discount for you." Elara stepped back, her face sweating. "But... but that was just a joke! You can''t take all that money for a few wounds!" "A few wounds?" Lyra retorted sharply. "This boy was on the verge of death. I saved his life. Twenty silver coins is a small price for that." Elara looked at the boy, now breathing quietly, then back at Lyra. "Okay, I''ll pay." With a curious tone, Lyra asked, "Is he really worth it?" "I understand why you''re interested in him," Lyra said with an understanding tone, then elaborated, "On his two hands, you know these branding marks represent different groups, like the ''Masters of the North,'' the ''Mine Traders,'' and others... This significantly reduces his value." Lyra sighed deeply, and whispered to herself: "Five marks on his body... this boy has seen hell." She knows that the slums are a slave''s hell. Every gang steals them from another to exploit them to the utmost. The marks etched on his body are not mere tattoos or decorations, but brands indicating his repeated servitude. Five different marks, each telling a story of repeated sale, enslavement, and neglect. This boy had passed through the hands of many masters, as a commodity to be bought and sold, yet he survived despite everything... Elara replied nervously, "I don''t know what will happen, but I don''t have choices..." Lyra looked at her, her gaze piercing. "Anyway, it''s a gamble you''ve decided to take. I hope it works out for you. But don''t forget to move him to another cell, a clean one." "Ugh... he''ll also need cleaning." she said, waving her hand in the air, as if to dismiss an invisible, unpleasant smell. She began gathering her tools, stating: ''Well, I''ve finished the essential part. The rest will heal with time. But don''t expect him to return to normal quickly. His body is extremely exhausted." Then she looked at Borin, who had been watching everything with wide eyes, and said sharply: ''Don''t just stand there like an idiot. Bring me clean water to wash my hands!" Borin gave a swift nod and hurried out, coming back with a bucket of water. Lyra commenced washing her hands. Upon completion, she dried them with a clean white cloth retrieved from her bag, and then meticulously returned it. Then, with a sharp tone and narrowing eyes, she said, "Now, it''s time to pay..." her lips pressed into a straight line, as if mentally calculating every silver piece. Elara sighed nervously, then turned to Borin and asked, "Borin, do you have any money?" Borin replied in his deep voice, "No, I only have some bronze coins... barely enough to buy a loaf of bread." {His monthly payment is 1,800 bronze coins, equivalent to 1 silver, 800 bronze coins} Elara sighed again, then took a small pouch from her pocket and opened it. It contained a few silver pieces, which she handed to Lyra. "Take these ten pieces. I''ll give you the rest next time..." Lyra looked at the silver pieces in her hand, then at Elara, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Only ten pieces?" Elara replied, "I know, but that''s all I have right now. As I said, I''m practically Ruined at the moment..." Lyra''s brow furrowed slightly. "Hmph. Alright, I''ll accept this for now, but don''t expect any further assistance from me until you settle the remaining debt." Elara, with a hint of forced bravado, added, "I don''t need you again." Lyra started to yawn, stretching slightly, and replied, "You always say that..." Then, her voice laced with drowsiness, she continued, "My work here is done. Don''t forget, the boy needs a cleaner cell... I cast a spell on him; he will sleep for two days at least. His body needs that, at the very least." Then she turned and walked towards the cell door. Before crossing the threshold, she cast a final glance at the boy''s body lying on the floor, a quick look devoid of any clear expression, as if checking something. She continued down the dark corridor, wondering curiously, "There''s something... something strange..." Soon, silence returned after her departure. As Lyra disappeared into the dark corridor, Borin looked at Elara, then at the boy lying on the floor, and then back at Elara. Borin''s face was filled with worry, and his deep eyes held questions he dared not ask. "What now?" Borin asked in his deep voice, which carried a hidden note of anxiety. Elara looked at Borin, her eyes fixed on him seriously. Her features were pale, but she maintained her composure. "Now, take him back to his previous cell, that''s your job," she said in a firm tone that brooked no argument. Borin continued, in a hesitant tone, "I know, but this boy is suspicious, how can he still be alive! He was dead! I won''t dare approach him again." His voice trembled slightly, and his eyes looked at the boy with suspicion and fear. Elara replied in a practical tone, "In any case, just take him. We''ll discuss his matter tomorrow." She didn''t want to prolong the conversation on this subject; she felt extremely tired and had an urgent desire to end this long day. Lyra left, leaving Borin alone with the boy. Borin muttered with a grumble, "Why is it always me..." He looked at the unconscious boy and hesitated to approach. He remembered the wounds, the flowing blood, and felt a shiver run down his spine, especially as he looked at the boy''s tattered, mud- and blood-stained clothes. At that moment, Borin wished someone else was in his place. Borin sighed, then spoke to himself, "Elara would be angry if I dragged him on the ground again, especially after she paid and Lyra went to so much trouble to heal him." Then he mumbled, "A cart will be easier." He quickly set off to find a cart and soon returned with a small wooden cart that he left beside the boy. Borin approached the boy and extended his hands, his heart pounding as he lifted him. He was surprised by how light and cold the boy''s body was, and exclaimed, "Damn, is he dead again?!" He quickly placed the boy in the cart and rushed to the boy''s cell. He quickly entered, tossed the boy from the cart onto the straw bed, then hurried out and closed the door quickly, as if the boy would follow him. "Finally, I''m done," Borin sighed in relief. "Now, to my room." Borin left the cell, heading to his room, yawning wearily... Inside the new cell, the boy remained still, his breathing shallow and even. His eyelids fluttered slightly, as if in a light sleep. But beneath the facade, his mind was sharp, his senses heightened. He had heard their every word, felt their every touch, but his body didn''t respond...