Chapter 362: A Toast to Madness (2)
Gripping his head, Frey stumbled forward.
"What the hell did those bastards make me drink?! Some kind of alcohol?"
He questioned it—but quickly rejected the idea.
"No... that’s impossible. Alcohol doesn’t affect Awakened bodies."
It couldn’t be alcohol. If it were, he wouldn’t be feeling this way.
"What... the hell is happening to me?!"
The pain intensified with every step. Soon, he could barely even walk.
"Clana... we need to get out of here. Now."
He’d had enough. He was done with this place. But when he called her—
"Clana?"
—there was no reply.
"Clana?!"
Panic struck him like a lightning bolt. He pushed through the crowd, shouting her name—but no one seemed to mind him. Instead, they pulled him in as if he were one of them, laughing and dancing around him like he belonged there.
The headache got even worse, as if some kind of magic had been cast on him.
"Damn it! Where are you?!"
He grabbed someone he thought was her—only to find Ada Starlight staring at him in confusion.
"What the—?!"
He immediately stumbled back, only to realize upon a second glance that it was a completely different girl who went back to partying, unfazed.
"I’m hallucinating..."
He continued to stagger through the crowd, surrounded by maniacs still drinking that same thick red liquid.
"The drink..."
"The drink..."
"The drink..."
’Sticky red liquor... a substance capable of putting me in this state...’
"The drink..."
"The drink!"
"The drink!"
"Something filthy is coursing through my veins, mingling with my blood..."
"The blood!"
"The blood!"
"The blood!"
As the word repeated inside his ears, Frey finally realized something important.
"Blood...?! Demonic blood?!"
His eyes widened as he immediately clutched his mouth, realizing that what he had drunk was contaminated demon blood now writhing inside him.
He tried to vomit it out instantly—but it was far too late.
When Frey stood up again, the old madness he had once buried during his time in the Shadow Sect began to claw its way back.
The world spun around him once more, and to his shock, he saw Smiley and Sad dancing enthusiastically nearby—joined now by Angry.
The strange statues were dancing with joy, as if they’d finally been set free.
Behind them, sitting at a round table with a cup of the same drink in his hand, was the blue-eyed Engineer, raising his glass toward Frey.
In a sudden outburst of rage, Frey charged forward and punched the Engineer, sending him flying until he crashed into another table.
But when Frey looked again... he was stunned to find a stranger lying there, unconscious from the punch.
Turning once more, Frey saw a swarm of Scythe Abominations marching through the room, some of them attacking the humans now and then without warning.
"I feel like I’m going insane..."
He stumbled backward, disoriented, only to bump into someone else.
"Who now?!"
He turned angrily toward the figure—only to find himself staring directly into his own face.
"You!"
"I’m Frey!"
It was another Frey, one with black hair—a version of him from the days inside the Shadow Sect.
Then a third man bumped into them.
"Hey! Don’t just stand there like a bunch of idiots!"
"Frey!" shouted both the first and second Freys in unison, recognizing the third—Frey before the transmigration, the one who had lived a wretched life before waking up in this world.
"Can’t you guys shut up for a minute? I’m trying to relax here."
The three stared in confusion at the fourth Frey—the Writer. The man who had authored the story and lived the perfect life he always wanted.
Now all four of them sat at a table, staring at each other.
The silence was broken by the Writer Frey.
"...My novel is ruined."
"Shut up," snapped the black-haired Frey. "If your dumbass hadn’t written this crap, we wouldn’t be here to begin with!"
"Why are you yelling at him?" defended the Pre-Reincarnation Frey. "There was no way for him to know this would happen."
"We’re in deep trouble, guys..." the current Frey sighed, sharing the same despair.
"The Demon King is watching us... there’s a damn Engineer playing with our fate... and now he’s trying to awaken some kind of nameless king within us?! What kind of cursed nonsense is this?!"
"I don’t want to see that Nameless King among us," muttered the Writer Frey, agreeing with his counterpart.
"But what can we even do?" said one of them. "No matter how much we resist this fate, we keep following it anyway... Even suicide didn’t work..."
"It’s a curse, guys."
They all jumped in fear when a strange zombie slammed a disembodied brain onto the table.
"Who the hell are you?!"
The four Freys shouted together, while the zombie glared at them.
"I’m the Frey you buried under the dirt, you bastards!"
His rotten eyes burned with fury.
"You idiots... did you really have to dig me out like this?!"
The zombie turned toward the current Frey, addressing him directly.
"This is all your fault! Didn’t your mother teach you never to drink anything given to you by strangers?!"
"I—"
"Shut up, you damned drunkard!"
The zombie Frey groaned and scratched his skull—only to remember it was empty.
"Gods damn all of you..."
"No one move!!"
Suddenly, Shadow Sect Frey shouted in alarm, drawing the others’ attention.
"I think I dropped Balerion somewhere around here..."
His voice trembled in panic as Zombie Frey tossed his brain at him in disgust.
"You lost your sword?! You think that’s bad?! Look at this!"
Zombie Frey raised the stump of his left arm, revealing a festering, rotted wound.
"You lost a blade—I lost my entire hand! And a few other vital parts, too!"
He dropped his head down, prompting the others to do the same—only to recoil in shock at the emptiness between the zombie’s legs.
"Life hasn’t been kind to the undead..."
Seated among them, the zombie took a long swig from the drinks on the table, then stared directly at the current Frey.
"Listen, man... I know you’re starting to lose your mind from all the pressure..."
Pointing toward the others with the only finger left on his right hand, Zombie Frey spoke, blood dripping from his mouth.
"You’re still at the beginning of the journey. What you’ve seen here, and what lies ahead—whether in this place, the Empire, or anywhere else... fate will show you no mercy. But remember this, Frey."
He gulped down more of the strange drink, continuing to speak without pause.
"You are you. Never lose yourself."
"..."
Frey wanted to say something—but remained silent.
"...Time to wake up. Good luck, man."
Without warning, all the other versions of Frey vanished, and a blinding light flipped his entire world upside down, sending him spiraling into darkness.