Novel Full Chapter 1741: Home Sweet Hellhole
Chapter 1741: Home Sweet Hellhole
Villain Ch 1741. Home Sweet Hellhole
His senses recalibrated in a blink, and then the world reloaded around him—not with the sharp burn of hellfire or the towering halls of some sanctified battlefield, but with cold stone, thick shadows, and that familiar, metallic tang in the air.
The Cursed Crypts.
Home sweet hellhole.
Allen’s avatar materialized at the top of the cracked obsidian staircase leading down into the main chamber. Stained glass above him filtered in blood-colored light. His cloak fluttered once before settling.
None of the girls were online.
Not Shea. Not Jane. Not even Zoe.
That was… normal.
Expected.
After the night they’d had, even they needed a break.
Allen exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders in-game.
He checked his HUD. One quest was active. Simple one. Daily bounty refresh.
[Objective: Kill 10 Players in the field of influence (0/10)]
He didn’t sigh. He didn’t smirk. He just accepted it like someone accepting the fact that laundry exists.
Routine.
No drama. No glory.
Just… something to do while his mind chewed on other things.
After he killed the players, he returned to the Crypts and shifted—quite literally.
His character dissolved into black static for a second before reemerging in a new form.
Al.
He warped to the outskirts of the market plaza. The one set up inside the Gorroc City, where mid-tier players came to trade gear, dungeon loot, or just stand around looking cool.
Allen walked through the cobbled path with easy, careful steps. Most of the players around him didn’t even glance twice.
Which suited him just fine.
He passed a trio of level 80 sorcerers bartering over a cursed wand A guy in a pumpkin helmet was selling Phoenix Feathers out of a coffin-shaped backpack. A female bard player in a skimpy outfit was trying to convince a paladin to sell her his hammer in exchange for an “offline date.”
Allen snorted.
He made his way to the auction NPC near the fountain. It was a creepy, hunched old man with no eyes and a stitched-up mouth who still somehow spoke telepathically. Allen checked his vendor tab.
His cursed dagger? Sold.
The poison-flavored ring from the Shadow Chapel dungeon? Also sold.
And his cursed mana converter—finally, finally—had been bought by some desperate soul for way above market price. Probably someone building a scuffed necro build with no idea how to sustain their mana pool.
Good. Allen collected the coin. The satisfying chime of gold clinking into his inventory made something relax in his shoulders.
Progress.
He stepped away from the NPC, letting himself blend back into the crowd.
And then—
He saw them.
Darren and Liam.
Right across the fountain. Standing near the potion vendor like nothing had happened. Like the last few months hadn’t been soaked in blackmail, tension, and Sophia’s spiraling mess.
They looked… happy.
No. Relaxed.
They wore new gear sets with gold trim and glowing crests. High-end. Polished. Too clean for anyone still in Arcane Wardens.
Because they weren’t.
The new guild tags above their names said it loud and clear.
[Order of Valiance]
Elio’s guild.
Back in the family.
Allen stopped walking.
Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at them through the cracked bone mask, his expression unreadable behind the shadows of his disguise.
Liam was laughing about something.
Darren was showing off a new potion—some kind of flame resist concoction—and explaining how it saved his ass during a PvE raid.
They hadn’t seen him.
“Oh…” Allen muttered to himself, voice low and dry. “They surely moved fast.”
He didn’t feel angry.
He didn’t feel hurt.
Not anymore.
Allen kept walking through the marketplace, shadows stretching across the cobbled ground as the afternoon light filtered through the skeletal trees surrounding the plaza.
The game’s eerie ambience—always somewhere between dry and beautifully decayed—muffled the background chatter of player stalls and guild recruiters.
A necromancer was trying to flirt with a merchant. Two low-levels were arguing about potion prices near the fountain. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a harp being plucked—probably an emote spam—faded into nothing.
And Allen?
Allen just walked, hands in his coat pockets, Al’s broken mask half-hiding the small smirk that had long since faded into something unreadable.
He hadn’t forgotten.
Not Darren’s sudden silence. Not Liam’s weak apologies or the way both of them avoided eye contact when things got messy.
But watching them laugh like that earlier—already back in the gilded safety of Elio’s Order of Valiance—he didn’t feel the heat of betrayal anymore.
No fire. No rage.
They’d already made their choices. They’d crawled back to the place that expected the spotlight. Where they felt accepted.
And honestly?
Allen knew they’d already gotten their karma.
He didn’t blame Elio.
Elio was a good guy. Honest, by Hell’s Gate standards. He ran Order of Valiance with actual backbone, not just performance metrics. He’d always looked out for his guildmates, including Darren and Liam, even when they didn’t deserve it. The man played clean, even when surrounded by players who thrived on dirty.
It wasn’t Elio who pulled them away.
It was Sophia.
Her web had been patient, subtle, and way too personal. She knew where to press. Who to whisper to. What secrets to dig up and toss like grenades. And Darren and Liam—well, they weren’t evil in this case. Maybe yes, evil but compared to Sophia? They were nothing. But yes… they were weak and too easy to manipulate. They cracked when things got messy. When lines blurred.
They followed her because she trapped them.
So yeah. They chose survival.
And now they were back in Elio’s ranks.
Allen shook the thought off and concentrated on the market around him.
The buzz of the plaza felt louder now.
A glowing banner caught his eye.
“Ancient Bindings – Trade Only.”
Bold. Specific. Probably overpriced.
The stall was run by a tall lizardman player named CoffinDealer, a trader with a bone-white top hat, gloved claws. Right now, he was locked in a very heated, very ridiculous debate with a healer dressed like a plague doctor—full black robes, bird mask, and all.
“I’m telling you,” the healer said, arms flailing slightly. “The Bindings of Thorns trigger 12% more passive bleed than Rotlace’s Whisper.”
“That’s exactly why it’s trash,” CoffinDealer hissed. “It procs on you, you fungus-faced fraud. Thorns don’t care about sides. You wear it, you bleed.”
“I build around the bleed!”
“And I sell to people who want to live through more than two PvP fights!”
Allen paused just long enough to snort under his mask.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Thank you for the Magic Castle, William_Tex!
600 Power Stone = 1 bonus chapters
400 Golden Ticket= 1 bonus chapter
Magic Castle= 4 bonus chapters
Space Craft= 6 bonus chapters
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