Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Chapter 255: Sleeping Beauty [I]"Samael, are you listening?

Hey?

Are...

you ignoring me right as we walk?

Hey!

Samael!

" Thak—"Ouch!

" I winced and turned as someone smacked the back of my head.

It was Michael.

Still dressed in his Academy combat uniform that had definitely seen better days, he was walking right behind me.

"Focus," he said warily.

"You’re leading at the front.

If anything attacks us, you’ll be the first target.

" I frowned and looked around.

We were walking on a thin ledge along the escarpment of a plateau.

Like I mentioned at the start of this perilous event, Noctveil Wilds was a jungle divided into many tiers — like a stairway made for giants...

or a wedding cake.

Whichever analogy helps your imagination better.

To get out of this place, we needed to brave thousands of miles of jungle, then climb down a steep cliff...

then repeat the process several more times.

And the lower we went from here, the thicker and more dangerous the jungle would become.

Truly, this journey was going to be hellish.

I sighed, using my innate power to strengthen and slightly extend the narrow platform under our feet.

I didn’t want to disarrange the structural integrity of this place too much for two reasons: First, I had no idea if anything was hiding inside the cliff wall.

What if I disturbed something we couldn’t fend off?

By extension, I also didn’t want to draw more attention to us than needed.

We were in a vulnerable position here, after all, with barely any ground under us to fight properly if the need arose.

Second, I didn’t want to waste my Essence on patchwork when I’d probably need it later for something much more important — like keeping us alive.

The weathered stone creaked beneath us anyway.

Each step felt like an invitation for gravity to test our survival skills.

But I kept the ledge from crumbling, reinforcing it with just enough of my power to hold steady beneath our steps.

Threads of stone knit themselves tighter, unseen to the naked eye, though I felt every grain shift under my will.

It was like trying to hold a door shut against a storm — easily doable, but not something I wanted to keep up forever.

But by the looks of things...

I’d have to.

Because even if I created stair steps or, hell, a sliding platform that could take us down like an elevator from time to time — it would still take us at least ten hours of climbing down.

I scoffed.

"First target?

Michael, if anything attacks us right now, all of us would be as good as dead.

" "Don’t lump me in with you lot," Ray chimed from somewhere behind in the line we were moving in, sounding annoyingly carefree.

"Because if this was a story, I’d be the hero.

And everyone knows heroes don’t die.

" "Oh, you’re mistaken, Ray.

Heroes do die," I muttered without looking back.

"And if you were the hero, you’d end up as monster chow five Chapters in and doom the rest of us.

" Ray gasped theatrically.

"Blasphemy!

I’d at least make it to the end of Volume One.

Minimum.

" Michael rolled his eyes.

"You’re both idiots.

Just shut up and focus.

If Samael slips, we’re all going down.

" That shut Ray up for all of three seconds.

Then he started yapping again.

But I couldn’t pay any attention to him.

Because Michael was right.

My focus was indeed stretched thin.

How could it not?

My mind kept circling back to that delightful little chat I’d had with Asmodeus just a few hours earlier in my dream.

There were many things he said that stuck with me, but one in particular kept gnawing at my thoughts like a parasite.

’You’re a mistake.

And the gods hate mistakes.

’What did he even mean by that?

Surely not...

now that I had survived past the point in the story I was supposed to die, the gods would come after me for defying my fate?

That would be ridiculous!

...

Right?

I sighed and shook my head to chase away these useless thoughts.

Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it then, I told myself.

What was the use of worrying about the future that hadn’t even happened yet, right?

But truthfully...

I was worried.

Because aside from everything else, there was one more thing Asmodeus revealed that troubled me.

According to him, the Spirit King was creating his new Demon Princes by refining the powers of the old ones.

He was improving them.

Each Demon Prince was a stepping stone.

A prototype to be perfected.

A correction of what came before them.

A better and stronger version of their predecessor.

And if that was true...

then what exactly was he refining them toward?

...

I knew the answer.

You see, in the game, a renowned diviner two hundred years before the start of the main storyline prophesied the rise of a malevolent being who would herald the end of the world.

A creature of decay and hunger, of corruption and darkness.

The Queen of Black Rot.

The diviner proclaimed she would be unstoppable.

No king or man, no god or mortal, no weapon or power would be enough to stop her.

Everything would crumble before her and succumb to her unyielding rot.

At the time when this prophecy was made, it terrified a lot of people — even some high-ranking nobles.

But after two hundred years, fear had dulled into myth.

The prophecy had become one of those stories you’d only ever see in conspiracy forums online that no one takes seriously.

Even the Great Churches — back when they still held weight — declared the diviner’s words exaggerated.

They said the Queen of Black Rot was most likely a metaphor for sin, for moral decay.

Not a real threat.

But I knew better.

Because in the game, she had been very real.

And she was none other than Saint Inyasa.

...

Oh, right.

My bad.

I haven’t told you about Saint Inyasa yet.

Okay, so basically, every few generations have those few Awakened who are so boundlessly kind and righteous and just too damn good for this world that people start calling them saints.

You know the type — the ones who heal their enemies, hug orphans, and probably apologize if they accidentally step on a blade of grass.

Saint Inyasa was one of those.

She was a Saint of my generation — loved, revered, and practically worshipped by the world.

The kind of person singers would write songs about for decades to come, companies would beg to have as their ambassador, and peasants would name their kids after.

She shone so bright that even we nobles — the supposed arrogant bastards — actually kind of respected her.

But unbeknownst to the world and even Inyasa herself, she was being used by the Syndicate to sow the Seed of Eternal Blight.

When the time came, they’d force her to make the seed sprout.

That would result in the total corruption of the Northern Safe Zone — and just like that, twenty-five percent of the world would fall.

That was when they’d inject her with the Spirit King’s drop of ichor, exposing her soul to his corruption.

And that was how Saint Inyasa’s soul would be defiled and she’d be rebuilt into the Spirit King’s image, becoming the Queen of Black Rot.

I remembered that scene vividly.

Because in the game, it had been one of those gut-punch twists that nearly no one saw coming.

It was the moment players sat back, stunned, as one of the story’s best heroines they’d grown to love was twisted into an unstoppable villainess.

But here...

this wasn’t a game.

This was my life.

And if Asmodeus was telling the truth, then everything was on track for that prophecy to come true.

A bead of sweat trailed down the side of my face.

"Tsk.

" I clicked my tongue.

No.

You know what?

Everything was fine.

This changed nothing.

Because from the moment I woke up in that hospital with memories of my past life, one of my goals had always been to stop the Queen of Rot’s descent.

And I would do that.

I had to...

I...

I had to...

"Hey.

" Michael’s voice cut into my spiraling thoughts.

"You’re grinding your teeth.

" I unclenched my jaw, not realizing I’d been doing it.

"...

Ah.

Sorry.

" He frowned, looking like he was about to press further.

I was already halfway through rolling my eyes and brushing him off when suddenly— —Platch!!

"ARRHHHH!

" The sound of brittle stone giving way echoed, followed by a scream that could only belong to Vince — raw, panicked, and ridiculously high-pitched.

Both Michael and I turned sharply and spotted him falling off the cliff, screaming like...

well, exactly like how you’d expect a man falling off a cliff to scream.