Little Tyrant Doesn’t Want to Meet with a Bad End

Roel stared at the blood-red name that had suddenly appeared along with the change in his surroundings. He couldn’t see the person clearly due to the concealment of the fog, but just the name itself was enough to shake him up.

Ro Ascart.

This was an unforgettable name for the Ascart House for it represented its height of prosperity.

Of course, the Ascart House did flourish in Winstor’s era too, but his time dated too far back that hardly anyone could remember it anymore. So, the members of the Ascart House tended to associate their house’s golden era with Ro Ascart instead.

In fact, Roel had grown up listening to stories of Ro’s adventures, and that was how he knew that his ancestor used to study at the Saint Freya Academy. It was just that the details about his encounters in the academy were absent in the records, so there wasn’t much for Roel to work with.

He knew that there was a chance of encountering Ro Ascart in ‘Night of the Demons’, but he didn’t really bank on it happening because the possibility of it happening was simply too low.

It had been over nine hundred years since the founding of the Saint Freya Academy, and the total number of Ringbearers throughout its history likely numbered over a thousand. The chances of encountering a specific individual were almost null, and in the first place, he wasn’t certain whether Ro Ascart was a Ringbearer or not.

Roel’s train of thoughts wasn’t wrong in the sense that he really wouldn’t have encountered Ro under normal circumstances, as shown by how he met Rodrick earlier on. But clearly, the situation he was currently in was anything but normal.

He should have teleported back to reality after defeating the Ring Guardian, but instead, he was brought to this grassy, hilly terrain instead.

Roel, there have been some weird pulsations coming from the dungeon recently.

Chris’ words suddenly echoed in Roel’s mind, ringing warning bells and reminding him to remain guarded. The greatest safety net of ‘Night of the Demons’ lay in its ability to offset injuries and casualties, but was it still reliable now that the dungeon had been disrupted by mana pulsations?

Roel didn’t have an answer to that question, but he had no intentions of risking his own life to verify it. He stared at the blood-red name that signified killing intent directed toward him as he began channeling his mana reflexively. At the same time, Grandar and Peytra also began making their moves upon sensing a peril in the environment.

“This feeling… He possesses the Crown Origin Attribute too!”

“Roel, hurry up and get behind me!”

A hoarse and authoritative voice first sounded, followed by an agitated female voice. Grandar’s massive body immediately manifested in front of him while a humongous serpent made out of stone quickly coiled her body around Roel. The two ancient gods eyed the menacing threat standing before them warily as the fog concealing Ro Ascart finally began to dissipate.

A young man with a slender body frame came into appearance. He wore formal noble clothes and a pair of boots fashioned a few centuries ago. There were several badges representing honor and glory pinned in front of his chest, and a long black cape fluttered together with his long jet-black hair. His golden eyes shone brightly like stars, bringing him an imposing presence that was at odds with his feeble appearance

How beautiful.

This was the most direct thought that emerged in Roel’s mind when he first caught sight of the young man in front of him.

The overwhelming scent of danger coming from Ro Ascart contrasted sharply with his delicate appearance, creating a powerful and unique disposition that wouldn’t lose out to Nora and the others.

It would appear that this was a clone of Ro Ascart from the time he challenged ‘Night of the Demons’, evidenced by the ‘Book of the Truth’ insignia he wore on his chest and the lack of a weapon in his hands. It was good to know that Ro Ascart was unarmed, but this was unlikely to affect his fighting prowess by too much given the nature of the Ascart Bloodline.

Roel stared at the silhouette in front of him with many thoughts running through his mind. Seemingly noticing his stare, Ro also raised his head to return the gaze.

The moment the two golden eyes met one another, Roel’s pupils suddenly contracted a little as a mysterious sensation started enveloping him. At the same time, Peytra shouted anxiously.

“No, don’t look into his eyes!”

The Primordial Earth Goddess had reacted swiftly, but it was still too late. From the moment Roel met Ro’s eyes, his consciousness began drifting out of his body, placing him in a trancelike state. His movements and expression seemed to have frozen at that very moment. The mana he was channeling slowed to a halt, causing the light shrouding him to fade.

He could no longer hear Grandar or Peytra’s shouting anymore. Along with his retraction of mana, the two ancient gods couldn’t sustain their manifested bodies any longer and started crumbling. By the time a wind blew through, there was no one by his side anymore.

Ro Ascart began making his way toward Roel with composed footsteps.

…

Illusion spells used to exist in the ancient era, but as the ancient phantasmagoric beings marched toward extinction, this class of terrifying spells gradually faded into oblivion.

The terror of illusion spells lay in their surreptitious nature and the difficulty in dispelling them. It was no different from a curse of death when used against solo enemies as it would incapacitate them, leaving them completely open for the killing blow.

Origin Levels and bloodlines meant nothing before this ancient curse, for illusion spells were an introspection of one’s heart. It was impartial to lofty gods and powerless mortals alike.

And right now, Roel had fallen into a deep sleep under the effects of an illusion spell.

…

Roel found himself resting on a chair in a cinema theater, staring at a constantly changing screen in a daze.

The soft chair felt incredibly comfy to rest in, and there was a faint sweetness lingering in the air that left him in a deeply relaxed state. His mind was completely blank, reminiscent of an USB stick awaiting to take in new information, which, in this case, was no other than the film playing in front of him.

It told of a long yet transient story of a youth, from the moment he realized his own fate, to the pursuit of the evil cultists, the corpses that filled the streets of the Holy Capital, the fresh blood that dyed a ship’s deck red, a devastating calamity and unknown enemies hiding in the shadows, and the endless trials that seemed to be lined up before him.

Roel watched the youth trudge ahead without rest as thoughts began instinctively surfacing in his mind.

Isn’t this enough already? How long more do I have to work for? I should have done enough to be worthy of a rest.

Along with those thoughts birthed a profound feeling of exhaustion in his heart that left his body so heavy that it felt almost as if someone had dumped a mountain on his shoulders.

Ever since he became cognizant of his fate, his life had been a wreck of nervousness and busyness. Despite his composed appearance, he had been desperately struggling with all he got for his own survival. While his peers were enjoying their childhood, he was frantically trying to enhance his transcendent abilities, develop the Ascart Fiefdom, and build up his own following.

His efforts did pay off. He managed to overcome many crises along the way and averted many death flags he had as the antagonist. However, he soon came to realize that the end of one crisis only marked the start of another.

Before he knew it, fatigue had already starting building up in his mind. He tried to ignore it, but it was getting increasingly difficult to do so. No matter how high he climbed and how powerful he became, it didn’t change the fact that he was a fallible mortal who would eventually tire out.

Besides, was his effort really meaningful at all? Could he really avert his premature death if he continued down the current path he was on?

He had no answer to those two questions, but he did know of a cruel fact.

Over the past thousand years, there was not a single bloodline awakened member of the Ascart House who had lived past thirty.

Regardless of whether it was the wary and meticulous Winstor or the unbelievably talented Ro, neither were able to live to a ripe, old age. It was almost as if someone had cursed the descendants of the Ascart House to a fate of premature death, tightly gripping onto their necks to stifle their breath.

What if all of my struggling has merely led me on a detour toward my inevitable destination of death?

He had a feeling.

Once the film playing before him came to an end, he would finally be liberated from all of his burdens.

It was an inexplicable thought that arose out of nowhere, but he was neither surprised nor opposed to it. He simply continued watching silently as the film cut toward his fatigued face, revealing his blank eyes.

It felt like everything would end like that when a voice suddenly echoed in his ears.

“… They have forgotten about their family, their country, and the whole of humankind. When they avert their eyes from their responsibilities and surrender to their desires, the only path they’ll walk down is the path of destruction.”

It was the voice of an old man, but it seemed to harness some sort of mysterious power that finally cracked the indifference on the young man’s face for the very first time.

Family, responsibilities…

As those words echoed in this dim space, ripples began forming in Roel’s placid mind. He suddenly felt that something was missing in the film, and it made him stare hard at the screen to figure it out.

Just what could it be…

He thought really, really hard about it, and it finally struck him.

A father who was strict on discipline but overly lenient on his children, a clingy but adorable little sister, a graceful and magnanimous but troublesome angel, a kind and gentle but frighteningly bold fiancée…

More and more people filled up his mind at an astonishing rate, causing the film to flicker in uncertainty.

Things were different now. He wasn’t the loner of the Ascarts’ manor anymore. While he was shaking hard on the strings of fate, they entangled him with more and more people that it was nigh impossible to unravel those bonds now.

“Wow, I’d actually need the permission of so many people if I ever want to take a break…”

Spirit finally began returning to the eyes of the black-haired young man.

…

At the same time, in the academy, a white-haired old man standing by a windowsill with a staff in hand revealed a faint smile. Antonio gazed at the forest veiled in fog as he remarked deeply to the companions who stood behind him.

“Tonight is the night that the rose comes into full bloom.”

…

On the grassy hilly terrain, Ro Ascart finally arrived before Roel. He raised his delicate hand to slit it across Roel’s neck like a dagger, but oblivious to him, a chilling frost had already begun cloaking Roel’s body surreptitiously.

The moment Ro Ascart’s finger came into contact with Roel’s skin, the aura of eternal frost suddenly gushed outward like a furious tsunami, swiftly permeating into his hand and creeping further upward.

“Hm?”

Ro Ascart let out a confused murmur as he raised his gaze, only to realize that those dull golden eyes from a moment ago had regained their gleam and were staring right back at him.

A cold, killing intent lingered in the air between the two young men.