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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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A brilliant white light erupted within the black void, flooding the space, its source unknown.
Leon, sensing something, stumbled back, his eyes wide with confusion.
He’d stabbed Jenison in the heart. The black dagger, still protruding from his chest, was proof of that.
So how…?
How was he standing there, unharmed?
He looked different. The flayed skin, the exposed eyes and cheekbones—all gone. His eyelids, his skin, his fingers and toes—all regenerated.
The only difference was the eerie white glow in his eyes.
But his expression, despite the unnatural glow, was filled with anguish. Tears streamed down his face, his expression contorted in a silent plea for forgiveness.
[…I’m… sob… so sorry…]
“…?”
He continued to weep, muttering unintelligible words. He didn’t seem to be in his right mind.
Killing him again wouldn’t be difficult.
Leon raised his dagger and charged, a dark aura clinging to him, hindering his movements, but he ignored it, his gaze fixed on Jenison’s throat.
He closed the distance, his pace quickening, but as he lunged, the dark aura intensified, restraining him, its grip tightening around his arms, as if trying to prevent him from striking.
He wouldn’t be stopped. His enemy stood before him, alive and well. He wouldn’t be denied his revenge, not even by the being who’d granted him this power.
“Let… go…!”
He broke free and plunged the dagger into Jenison’s throat.
A wave of relief washed over him, a sense of triumph, of finally achieving his long-awaited revenge. He’d brought the man who’d ruined his life to his knees. He felt exhilarated, powerful, invincible.
Then… confusion.
“…Huh?”
[… ]
The dagger hadn’t penetrated Jenison’s skin. Not a single drop of blood.
His blade seemed to be repelled, as if recoiling from his touch.
Jenison slowly raised his head, his tears still flowing, his voice a choked sob. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light, but Leon felt a sudden, inexplicable aversion to them.
Then, he spoke, his voice no longer filled with sorrow, but with a strange… resolve.
[…Ensure his safety…]
“What…?”
The world twisted and shifted, Leon’s vision blurring. His question died in his throat as he saw his own headless body falling to the ground.
‘…What… is… happening…?’
A hand, its fingers outstretched, sliced through the air.
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Silence descended.
First, there had been screams of pain.
Then, choked sobs of apology.
Now, only silence filled the black void.
Two figures remained.
One, huddled on the blood-soaked ground, their hands covering their face, their body shaking with silent sobs.
The other, a still, cold form, its body frozen in place.
Nothing else.
[…It… hurts… so much…]
[…I’m so sorry… so sorry…]
Tears streamed down the first figure’s face, their grief so palpable that anyone would have felt a pang of sympathy.
A minute passed, and cracks appeared in the black barrier surrounding them. It was time to leave.
Regret, sorrow, guilt, pity—a tangled mess of emotions.
The black dagger embedded in their chest crumbled to dust. The pain, though brief, lingered, a constant reminder of their failure. And with each throb of pain, the guilt intensified.
They should be begging for forgiveness, offering themselves as a sacrifice, yet all they could do was weep, their apologies unheard, their tears a testament to their helplessness.
What could they do?
The answer came easily.
He hated them. He despised them. He loathed them.
Then, they would accept his hatred, his resentment, his wrath. They would endure any pain, any suffering, if it meant atoning for their sins. It was the only way.
[…I’m… so sorry…]
They realized, with a pang of self-reproach, that their actions mirrored those of the “sister” he so despised. And all they could do was apologize, hoping to somehow ease his suffering, even if it meant a darker future for themselves.
Just before the black void vanished, a faint light flickered on Jenison’s forehead.
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‘Almost… there…’
Ruine, the Headmaster, worked tirelessly, deciphering the demonic magic that held Jenison captive.
‘The evaluation is temporarily suspended. Everyone except the designated personnel, gather here.’
‘W… What?!’
‘Wait, Headmaster?!’
She’d seen the paper Leon had torn, and she’d rushed towards the scene, ignoring the evaluation protocols.
A large, black hemisphere had already formed, the other students bombarding it with their magic.
“Step aside.”
“H… Headmaster?!”
“Headmaster! Jenison is…!”
“I know. Step aside.”
A thick, dark aura clung to her as she approached, but she dispelled it with a flick of her wrist. She recognized the demonic magic and immediately began working on a counter-spell.
Even demon magic could be deciphered and dispelled. It would take time, but it was the only way.
She could have blasted through the barrier with her own magic, but that would have risked injuring Jenison.
She trusted him to survive. He’d proven his resilience.
She worked quickly, the professors who’d followed her assisting with the counter-spell.
A minute passed, then two, then three.
As she neared completion, she heard two voices.
“Is… is it done yet…?”
“Please… just be alive…”
Hildegarde and Albert.
They weren’t the only ones worried.
“Please… please…”
“…Calm down, Lianna.”
Those who’d fought alongside him, those who cared about him, prayed for his safety. Even Professor French, consumed by guilt, waited anxiously.
The fact that Leon, now a demonkin, had taken Jenison made them even more anxious. Leon clearly harbored no goodwill towards him.
Even the professors who disliked Jenison were worried. A demonkin, a former student, had infiltrated the academy, and one of their own was in danger. It would be a scandal.
They worried about their own reputations, their jobs, but they all agreed that Jenison had to survive.
Four minutes after she’d started, cracks appeared in the black barrier, spreading like a spiderweb across its surface, then shattering, the fragments dissolving into nothingness.
“Jenison!”
“Is he alive?!”
Lianna and Albert rushed forward, finding him lying on the ground, unconscious.
Severed fingers and toes lay scattered around him, the ground beneath him soaked with blood and other fluids. It was clearly a scene of torture. Their faces paled.
“Is… is he…? No…!”
“Calm down! He’s breathing.”
He was alive, breathing, though unconscious. That was enough for now.
They looked around and found Leon’s body, its head severed, a dark aura still clinging to it. And beside it, his head, its expression frozen in a mask of disbelief.
“Is… is that Leon?!”
“I don’t think Jenison did this…”
The others arrived, relieved to hear that Jenison was alive. But one person reacted differently.
“Huh…?”
Hildegarde, the Saint, her eyes wide with shock, rushed towards Jenison, then collapsed, her legs giving way.
“…?!”
“…!!”
“How… how is this…”
They tried to speak to her, but she ignored them, her gaze fixed on a single point.
Jenison’s forehead, where a faint light flickered.
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