Novel Full Chapter 1145: Forever Done With Masks
Chapter 1145: Forever Done With Masks
[Elite Soul – Eve]
Soul Rank: 3
Type: Warrior
Fusion Progress: 0 / 3000
[Elite Soul – Veyrin]
Soul Rank: 3
Type: Archer
Fusion Progress: 0 / 3000
[Elite Soul – Ito]
Soul Rank: 3
Type: Warrior
Fusion Progress: 0 / 3000
Quinlan allocated just enough Lesser Souls to make Ito rank up, just as he did for Eve and Veyrin.
The reason was simple: he wanted to rank Necromancy up as soon as possible. If he instead used his storage of Lesser Souls to rank these three further, he wouldn’t have enough ammunition left for the remaining seven he was planning to harvest today.
Once done, the tome snapped shut with a soundless clap and drifted back into the ether, leaving only Ito’s blazing phantom standing beside his new master.
Quinlan lowered his saber toward the lines of enemies. “Go. Kill.”
Ito did not hesitate. The blue phantom moved like a bolt loosed from a bowstring, plunging into the Fujimori lines. His old comrades shouted his name, some reaching for him as though he could still be reasoned with. But Ito showed no emotion, no hesitation, no trace of the loyalty he once bore. He cut them down with flawless precision and zero remorse.
The cries that rose up weren’t only from the Fujimori. Even the Consortium’s ranks broke into uneasy murmurs. Men and women who thought they’d seen everything now stumbled back, pale.
And among them was captain Rynne. Her eyes widened, lips parting, but no words came. Not at first.
Because her brain was replaying a strange event that occurred not long ago.
A few months ago, a soundless tremor rolled across the minds of all she knew.
It said:
[UNIVERSAL ANNOUNCEMENT]
A threshold has been crossed. For the first time since the inception of timekeeping, an entity has met and exceeded the foundational criteria to access True Necromancy.
Existing classifications are now obsolete.
Effective immediately, all current holders of the [Necromancer] class and its evolved versions shall have their designation reclassified to [Corpse Animator].
Reclassification Reason:
Insufficient connection to the Absolute Root of Death.
Incomplete authority over soul manipulation.
Reliance on external catalysts.
Unworthy.
The designation [Necromancer] has been reissued.
New holder: Quinlan Elysiar, the Primordial Villain, the Harbinger of Ruin.
This is not a revision.
This is a correction.
…
Silence followed. The only sound was Ito’s blade rending flesh from bone as his phantom rampage continued.
Rynne’s throat worked before her whisper finally came, fragile and trembling.
“Devil… are you this so-called Quinlan Elysiar? The Primordial Villain? Is that who you are beneath the mask?”
Quinlan’s hand rose. Slowly, he reached for the mask that had hidden him for so long. Fingers curled against its edge, and with one smooth pull, he lowered it.
For the first time, the world was privy to his face.
They did not see a monster.
They did not see the grotesque visage that so many of them had painted in their minds.
Instead, they were greeted by the face of a man. His features were strong and striking, the kind that stayed in the mind once seen. He was not divine nor monstrous, just a man who carried a kind of presence that made looking away difficult.
His lips curved in amusement as he slipped the mask into his pocket ring with a theatrical flip of his wrist, then he exhaled.
“Haaah. Freedom at long last.”
The question that burned through every mind was simple: why? Why reveal his identity now, when secrecy had been clearly so important to him?
The mask of Devil, the mask of Lord Black… He was shedding them all, but for what reason?
The answer came in two parts.
The first reason was practical.
Quinlan had always hidden behind the mask of Devil because he knew what would happen if his true power became known.
Every faction, every kingdom, every greedy hand in the world would hunt him. They would collar him, cast a slavery spell on him, and use him as a weapon for their own gain.
Secrecy had been his only defense against being hunted. Yet that time had already passed. The kingdom itself was hunting him now. They already wanted his head. They already wanted to place a collar around his neck, either physical or metaphorical.
There was no longer a drawback to revealing more of himself. Instead of wasting effort pretending to be an elemental mage, he could unleash everything at his disposal. He could kill as many enemies as he wished, harvest their souls, and grow stronger than ever before.
The second reason was personal.
Once, he wanted his true name to remain untarnished. Quinlan Elysiar was supposed to be seen as a man of honor, not as the criminal tied to the Consortium. He had thought reputation mattered. He had thought being seen as good would shield him from the condemnation of the people.
But the world had taught him differently. His experiences begged to differ.
Good and bad were illusions, convenient labels used by whoever happened to sit in the driver’s seat. The kingdom and its nobles were not just. They were simply the ones in power, and they crushed all who stood beneath them.
The Consortium was no worse. They were not inherently evil. They were underdogs, fighting with tooth and claw, doing whatever it took to survive and rise.
Quinlan no longer felt shame in that. He no longer felt the need to keep his allegiance in the shadows. He was Quinlan Elysiar, the Vesper Phenom of the Vesper Consortium, and there was nothing about it that required apology.
Once he rose, once he sat in the driver’s seat, he would make sure the people understood that as well.
And so the mask was gone. For the first time, he was not the Devil pretending to be something else. He was himself.
The air trembled as two figures landed beside him.
The first was Ignis, the Ashmancer. Ash and flame swirled around his shoulders as though he carried a storm with him. He tilted his head and sported a big smirk.
“Calling you Super Rookie or Mega Rookie is starting to sound like the understatement of the millennium.”
The second was Raika, The Brutalizer. She landed with a ground-cracking stomp. Her muscles bulged as her weapon of choice—her fists—dripped blood. A feral growl rumbled from her throat.
“I’ve already killed over forty enemies. What’s your count, rude bastard? I’ll defeat you today!”
Quinlan only grinned at her competitive fire and at Ignis’s humor. He gave neither of them an answer. Instead, his saber spun in his grip, and he darted into the nearest line of Fujimori soldiers.
“Rynne!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I got two new meat shields. You are no longer needed. Please go and back up my allies! They need a punching bag with your stats.”
The spear-wielding captain froze, wide-eyed. For a heartbeat, she almost shouted at him, furious at the blatant disrespect. Yet the words never came. Her throat tightened, her muscles shifted, and with mounting horror, she realized she felt compelled to obey. She hated it, but her body listened.
Ignis chuckled at the exchange, “You just called the legendary captain Rynne a punching bag… You do realize she’s the equivalent of Orianna in the army department, right?”
But he did not wait for an answer. Flames gathered in his palms and at his feet as he followed Quinlan into the fray with a giant explosion.
Raika hissed after Quinlan, voice full of challenge.
“Answer me, coward!” With a bulge of her leg and thigh muscles, she launched herself right after him, intending to outdo the man no matter what.
And just like that, the chaos of the battlefield grew sharper still.