Chapter 3: Kill Yourself (No Mercy)
“Infernal Sequence.”
Shiltina bit her lip tightly.
A pale silver stream of light gathered at her waist. In an instant, the light points condensed into a slender silver sword with a crystal-clear texture.
As soon as the slender sword landed in her hand, the grip gave Shiltina a reassuring touch, yet her mood remained heavy.
She had thought this exploration of the Nightworld was completely secret, but hadn’t expected to be tailed in the dark.
Moreover, the other party had used the disparity in information to launch a surprise attack—using a Word Command to turn Rast into a puppet who followed their every command, even to the point of sacrificing his life.
Even though logic told Shiltina that Rast was merely a projection within the Nightworld, their earlier conversation still made her deeply concerned about the “cycle” the boy had spoken of.
“What’s wrong, Lady Shiltina? Can’t bear to part with this projection you found in the Nightworld?”
“It’s alright~ As long as you willingly remove your crest attire, I’ll let him go… I could even rewrite his memory, brainwash him into a slavish follower who obeys your every word.”
The masked woman’s flirtatious laugh rang out from a distance, but it only made Shiltina’s heart sink further.
Without a doubt, the woman’s power came from the higher ranks of the “Infernal” Sequence, and judging from her performance, she had likely reached the third tier.
In the Infernal Sequence, the most basic “Whisperer” could only provide verbal guidance and suggestions. But to use a single command to forcibly control another’s mind during hostility—that level of blunt domination was only possible for the third-tier “Dancer.”
Shiltina took a deep breath. In an instant, the turbulence in her heart calmed.
Clearly, the opponent came prepared specifically for her. A Dancer’s seductive influence was so strong that even Shiltina herself could fall prey if her will faltered.
“Click. What a boring little girl.”
Seeing that Shiltina didn’t respond to her at all, the masked woman lost interest and shook her head slightly.
She kept her eyes on Shiltina, not sparing Rast even a glance, then raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
“Kill yourself.”
The masked woman didn’t truly believe that a Nightworld projection could threaten Shiltina enough to make her surrender—though admittedly, this Nightworld native was quite good-looking.
But as long as Shiltina wavered even slightly when the projection committed suicide, the woman’s objective would be achieved.
On the other side—
With the command given, Rast’s finger squeezed the trigger of his revolver.
Only, perhaps it was just an illusion.
In that split second as the trigger was pulled—
Out of the corner of her eye, Shiltina saw Rast, who had completely fallen under the Dancer’s spell, appearing as lifeless as a puppet—
Yet beneath that lowered face, a twisted smirk clearly surfaced.
...
The next moment.
Click.
The trigger pulled.
The hammer released.
The cylinder rotated. White light flashed at the muzzle.
However, what followed was not the white and red spray of blood and gore that Shiltina had imagined.
The silver-white revolver didn’t fire a bullet.
Yet, with the pull of the trigger, it was as if something truly pierced Rast’s temple.
Within his eyes, an icy blue brilliance suddenly burst forth.
Boom—
Behind Rast, a blurry phantom suddenly materialized, blotting out the sky beyond the window.
It was a towering spire standing alone on an island, surrounded by torrential rains and towering ocean waves.
And within the backdrop stood a shadowy figure wearing a pitch-black raincoat.
He stood beside the island’s cliff, the high tower looming behind him amidst the wind and waves.
In his right hand, he held an oil lamp resembling a lantern.
His face was hidden within the raincoat’s hood, hard to distinguish—only the lantern in his hand grew increasingly bright.
No matter how fiercely the wind and rain swayed around him, the flickering flame inside the lamp remained perfectly steady and unshaken.
From afar came the masked woman’s voice.
No longer that seductive giggle—but a scream of pain, hoarse and tortured.
The flame of that lantern not only reflected upon the sky—it also shone directly into the deepest part of the masked woman’s psyche.
Crack.
A shattering sound echoed.
A split suddenly appeared across the black iron mask.
Correspondingly, the bewitching pink in her eyes fractured instantly.
Her gaze turned blank.
Accompanied by painful wails, bright red blood seeped from behind the iron mask, oozing from her facial orifices.
Though the ability to directly manipulate another’s mind was both strange and powerful, the backlash from failure directly impacted the soul—delivering a grievous wound.
Behind Rast, the phantom did not linger long—it vanished in an instant.
Yet the masked woman’s screams, which had begun to fade slightly, were abruptly cut off.
A flash of silver-white stabbed through the air and vanished.
There was no eruption of blood and flesh.
But when the glow of that flashing sword dissipated, the masked woman’s twisted and grimacing face had already frozen—completely drained of color.
A gaping hole had pierced right through her chest.
Then—
Bang—
Her lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
With a subtle twist of her wrist, Shiltina gracefully returned the silver sword to its sheath.
Normally, engaging an Infernal Sequence opponent of equal rank would be extremely dangerous.
Any crack in her mental defenses could be seized upon, leading to her spirit being eroded by Word Commands and suggestions—reduced to a helpless puppet.
However, when her opponent made a fatal miscalculation and suffered such devastating backlash, the battle’s outcome was already decided.
Logically, investigating the body of this Dancer who had secretly followed her into the Nightworld, and confirming her true identity and background, should have been Shiltina’s top priority at this moment.
Yet more than the now-dead enemy, she was focused on the one who had turned the tide of this perilous battle.
Shiltina turned her head sharply, staring intently into Rast’s eyes.
Those eyes appeared clear and bright at first glance—but upon closer inspection, they were like two dark pools, devouring the light, leaving only the depths of blackness.
“‘Tower’ Sequence?”
“You’re a Nightwalker too?”
...
Not far away, Rast was also observing the solemn, sword-wielding girl in front of him.
After a moment, he put away his silver-white revolver and shrugged.
“To be honest, I don’t quite get what you’re saying.”
“But if you say so, then I guess I am.”
“More importantly—”
Rast looked at the corpse lying stiff and cold on the ground.
“I’m more curious about this ‘Nightworld’ you mentioned earlier, and things like ‘historical projection’ and ‘native’...”
“What do they really mean?”