Chapter 233-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
This gilded, relief-engraved Flintlock Pistol was Margaret's hunting gun. Before today, she had only ever used it to kill game.
Under absolute focus—taking aim, pulling the trigger, the shot firing, the quarry five meters away letting out a cry—every step unfolded in Margaret's eyes as slowly and clearly as water dripping from stone.
Not until the figure crumpled with a groan did Margaret feel as though she had finally broken the surface of the water. She gasped for air, realizing what she had done.
It all happened in an instant. Vincent hadn't even had time to demand answers for Margaret's betrayal before he collapsed, coughing blood.
He fell against the edge of the stone Altar, one arm still clutching the sword atop it, refusing to let go even as the blade had already shredded his palm.
Ye Zheng stepped forward and drew a sharp little knife, aiming it at the man's heart.
The young Emperor's lips quivered. His face was ashen—at last stripped of his deliberate show of weakness, revealing a fragility he could no longer hide. Ye Zheng read his lips: he was repeating "Margaret" over and over.
Ye Zheng felt an inexplicable wave of revulsion. She pushed the knife forward, and just as its tip pressed against Vincent's chest, blooming a stain of blood, she suddenly stopped.
The blade had pierced through the Emperor's heavy ceremonial robe, and in that moment she thought she heard a faint crack.
She looked into Vincent's eyes. Those fading golden irises reminded her of the dead Sykes—yet unlike before, gazing into those golden eyes this time brought no relief. Her heart drummed with unease.
Something clicked in Ye Zheng's mind. She looked down at the blood spreading across the man's chest and abdomen—at some point, the blood seeping out had turned gold!
Vincent seemed to realize it too. He smeared a hand across the wound, raised it to look, and color flooded back into his face. He burst out laughing.
"The Blood of the God I never had time to bring out—you released it for me with your own hands."
"How very kind of you, nameless little girl."
He spat the words through clenched teeth, bracing himself against the stone Altar as he slowly rose. His hand slipped inside his coat and produced a half-shattered little glass vial. Inside it lay a single, crystalline golden droplet.
The Blood of the God, a sacrificial offering, and the Divine Sword—all three had converged.
Ye Zheng stared at that familiar golden drop, her gaze darkening sharply. A tremor of regret rose through her—she had overlooked the Blood of the God. She should have confiscated it along with the Divine Sword first—
No. Her knife tip had happened to pierce that tiny vial at precisely the right spot to release the Blood of the God. Rather than bad luck, such a slim coincidence felt more like the hand of fate pushing things along!
"Ye Zheng!"
Margaret's urgent cry came from behind.
Ye Zheng turned. Whipping strands of hair blurred her vision.
Through the haze, she saw a gale erupt from nowhere inside the sealed Cellar. Candles went out one after another, shattering, yet the deep underground chamber did not plunge into darkness. Instead, white light blazed so fiercely it seemed ready to explode at any second!
The blinding white light closed in on Ye Zheng from every direction. She couldn't force her eyes open and had no time to think.
Eyes shut, she spun on instinct, the unassuming little knife rising high once more before plunging down!
"Ahhhhh—"
Within the boundless white light, a scream rang out.
If her guess was right, Vincent himself probably didn't know the exact steps to summon a deity. He had merely clumsily imitated his ancestor's legend. Just now, without realizing it, he had offered his own blood to the Blood of the God and the Divine Sword, stumbling into contact with some kind of entity from another world.
—Perhaps there was still a chance to sever the connection.
Stab after stab, the howls were unceasing. Eyes closed, Ye Zheng felt warm blood spatter across her face, yet her hands never faltered—utterly merciless.
After what felt like an eternity, the young man's screams fell silent, and the blazing white light gradually faded.
Had she stopped it in time?
Her lashes trembled softly as Ye Zheng opened her eyes.
Beneath her knife, the young man lay at death's door, bathed in golden blood, like a deathly white statue drenched in gold dust.
Ye Zheng touched her damp cheek and raised her head—her pupils contracted to pinpoints in an instant.
In the dim, cavernous Cellar, countless enormous eyes hovered in midair, all gazing down at the tiny humans in unison, radiating silent mockery.
Clang—
The little knife slipped from her grip and clattered to the ground. Ye Zheng's dark eyes went wide as she scanned one floating eye after another.
…No, more than eyes, they were windows into other worlds. Each eye was crammed with different creatures—black goats emitting rhythmic syllables, bipedal rafflesias, humanoid beings with scrambled features, translucent specters…
They hailed from different worlds, yet now gazed in unison at one fragile world, radiating a covetous malice so thick it seemed ready to drown the space at any moment.
Ye Zheng seized the dying man, her face cold with fury, and slammed a fist into his face. "Vincent Aston, what have you done!"
Vincent peered through swollen eyelids at the countless otherworldly eyes. Fear and fragility overtook his expression, and he shook his head in bewilderment.
"I-I just… followed the method passed down from my ancestor… I don't know why it turned out like this…"
The young Emperor was equally lost, trembling with terror. He couldn't even feel his numerous critical wounds or his life slipping away—he could only stare at the malice-laden eyes overhead, his thoughts unreadable.
What gods? They were all ravenous monsters from other worlds!
Ye Zheng's fists clenched tighter and tighter. What were they going to do? She had no supernatural abilities right now—she couldn't possibly stop them…
Suddenly, Ye Zheng's gaze locked onto one particular direction. Among that dense swarm of eyes, she met the stare of a single one.
Inside that hovering otherworldly eye dwelled a blooming red flower, its luster so rich it seemed gorged on blood, swaying gently as though in high spirits.
—Blood Flower.
The Blood Flower that had once taken the lives of her loved ones.
"Ha…"
Ye Zheng slowly exhaled, a frigid smile curling the corner of her lips. At last, she understood—how the Demonic Domains had come to be.
"Vincent Aston!"
A sharp, icy shout rang out. Ye Zheng's toe kicked the fallen knife into the air, and she caught it once more, this time driving the blade straight into the man's heart!
[Vincent Aston.]
In his daze, the young Emperor lying on the ground heard strange syllables whispering in his ear. Oddly, he could understand their meaning.
[Offer us your land, your people, your soul… and we shall grant any wish you desire…]
His body heat was draining rapidly. Under the gaze of countless eyes, Vincent felt a bone-deep chill.
A life of being belittled and suppressed, a life about to end, Margaret's betrayal, the unbearably crushing weight of those innumerable stares… The more he dwelled on it, the more fury and resentment swelled within him. With a trembling hand, he reached out, as if desperate to grab a lifeline that didn't exist.
"I accept!"
At the very instant his heart was pierced, Vincent's eyes bulged as he sealed the pact.
Overhead, countless eyes curved into smiles.
Ye Zheng released the knife. She stepped back twice. Laughter high and low echoed through the air, vibrating against her eardrums, drowning out every thought.
She had failed to stop it. Vincent had surrendered his entire nation to countless other worlds!
A thought struck Ye Zheng, and she whipped her head around. At the far end of the Cellar, she saw Margaret.
Margaret stood with her back to Ye Zheng, facing one especially large eye—an eye that housed creatures with human bodies and dragon forms.
As if sensing her gaze, Margaret turned. Her red hair swept upward, revealing those pale irises filled with an emotion Ye Zheng couldn't decipher—something like a smile, or perhaps a quiet resolve.
*
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